tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15811891791175442622024-02-07T21:48:11.377-08:006birds2feedLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-42213248043795420522015-06-24T10:22:00.002-07:002015-06-24T10:22:23.151-07:00Amazing Things About Me (for a change of pace) <div class="MsoNormal">
There is nothing I cannot do or learn to do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not being boastful or exaggerating. I am telling you what I have heard people say
about me many times over the course of my professional career. Now I could write out a boring list of all my
accomplishments and skills and places I have worked in my lifetime, but you can
easily read about those things in my profile.
I am going to take this opportunity to give you the exciting stuff, the
real me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is important that I tell you all of the things I have
done that are NOT in my profile. I have
worked in a toy store, a children’s clothing store, a junior’s clothing store, a
fast food restaurant, a grocery store, the supply department of a large hospital,
and the public library. I have worked as
a bank teller, legal receptionist, legal assistant, dance teacher, customer
consultant at Xerox, babysitter (as a teenager), daycare provider (as an
adult), legal document and trial transcript summarizer, medical
transcriptionist, chemical dependency counselor, first grade teacher associate,
on-site property manager (x2), landlord, general construction contractor,
income/payroll tax professional, contract and proposal writer, paper craft
artist and educator, drywall hanger and painter.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are several ways to look at this list, but I am going
to address the two that I feel are most important. First, your initial thought may be that I
can’t stick to anything. If that is your
opinion, I understand and I certainly don’t fault you if you want to stop
reading right here. The other way to
approach this list is to think about what all of my experiences say about me as
a person and as a professional. Also,
please keep in mind that I have never, ever been fired or let go from a
job. The following is a bullet-point
summary (I LOVE bullet points) of the information I learned about myself when
examining the list, and what I think you should take away from it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisa Burkle<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Highly intelligent, masters complicated processes
quickly</span><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Expert interpersonal skills and relationship
builder<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Expert writer and communicator<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Enjoys and requires frequent challenges<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Analyzes problems and written materials
accurately and efficiently<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Thrives on brainstorming and heading up projects<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Completes projects successfully from start to
finish<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Creative and unique thinker<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Able to operate a drill and hammer a nail<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Talented wordsmith<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Great sense of humor<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Flexible, adaptable and exudes positive energy<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Entrepreneurial spirit<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
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So there you have it.
A little summary of me. Please
contact me anytime to talk about how I might be a good fit for your
organization. I have one caveat. While I do find the topic of insurance
fascinating and enjoy researching, analyzing and writing about it, I do not
want to sell it. Aside from that, I
would love to connect with you on just about anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. Facilitate,
staff, data, content, strategic, program, implement, achieve, instruct,
lead. Okay, now I have also optimized my
summary by making it key-word rich. I am
creative, but also practical.<o:p></o:p></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-67158932215250600502015-06-24T10:10:00.001-07:002015-06-24T10:10:14.027-07:00Cool bottle...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFr6hOvqkK2_uY0EdjtbnKIQvJfLztH7Q4a-_EcRebdERwfIYf-o6hrbZy00nnLqdRlX9H8MzsNyf_iMMWbSrkWPJgbgWjt7eCXPtPlL4UZNPfXYi6Uh9uMYcdpgDcy7VhpWvZjuUnjDSD/s1600/bottle3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFr6hOvqkK2_uY0EdjtbnKIQvJfLztH7Q4a-_EcRebdERwfIYf-o6hrbZy00nnLqdRlX9H8MzsNyf_iMMWbSrkWPJgbgWjt7eCXPtPlL4UZNPfXYi6Uh9uMYcdpgDcy7VhpWvZjuUnjDSD/s400/bottle3.JPG" width="373" /></a></div>
<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-47906652232748993302015-06-15T14:45:00.000-07:002015-06-15T14:45:14.624-07:00For the birds<div class="MsoNormal">
If you walk into my office at work, you may notice that I
have birds everywhere. I never really noticed
this myself until someone recently made a comment about how I must love
birds. Birds on the walls, bird figurines, birds,
birds, birds. This gave me pause and I
thought for a minute and said, “Actually, I really kind of hate birds.” Real birds.
This reminds me of one of my favorite children’s movie lines from
Madagascar. Melmin the giraffe said, “EWWW. Nature!
It’s all over me! Get it off!” (Notice
I said one of my favorite “lines,” not favorite “movies.” I don’t particularly like children’s movies
and I don’t want any misunderstandings there.)
I had to look that quote up to be sure I had it right. I cannot believe that movie was released in
2005!! Anyway, the line really stuck
with me and I love it. Not that I don’t
like nature, but there are some aspects of it that repulse me. Like swimming (aka, submerging my vagina) in
rivers or lakes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have decided my love of birds is really only theoretical. I love the IDEA of birds. Real birds disgust me. And they scare me. And I am unbelievably allergic to them. I can walk into a house and immediately know
if the owner has a bird because I will instantly turn into that grade school
kid with the constant runny nose and watery eyes. The sneezing is non-stop until I get out and
stay out for at least two hours. Their
beaks are pointy and gross, their eyes are beady, their feet have sharp little
claws and they fly around unpredictably, especially if they are trapped in your
garage. I don’t understand why their
poop needs to be white. I understand the
purple because of the berry eating, but I seriously don’t understand the white.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that I’m thinking about bird poop, I remember that my
oldest daughter used to get pooped on by birds freakishly often. One time a bird pooped on her through the car
window as we were traveling down the highway.
How does that even happen?
Seriously, birds pooped on her all the time. Weird.
Talk about Nature! It’s all over
me! Get it off! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Birds can be amazingly colorful, their singing is beautiful
(mostly) and they are free to fly wherever they choose. I can appreciate those things about birds, I
just don’t really want to look at them or be anywhere near them. Have you ever been to one of those
walk-through bird exhibits at the zoo?
No thanks. I’ll pass. I’ll just
wait outside for you guys. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And what about chickens?
Those things are absolutely disgusting.
They do not even have the redeeming qualities of being able to sing
beautifully or fly gracefully through the air.
I enjoy chickens so much more when they are dead. I love to grill up their carcasses and eat
them and make omelets with their unborn young, but I don’t want to be anywhere
near a live one. I don’t even like
THINKING about chickens. They need to
eat gravel with their food so their stomachs can mash it up. What the hell? Why can’t their stomachs just work
right? That really makes me question the
efficacy of the evolutionary process.
Why did the chickens with teeth and properly working stomachs die out
and the ones that need to eat gravel live on?
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Ponder that while you enjoy the following photograph.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTdxg83rm5cQOnCeI5DjFnOsF74r8qWxVvOZZbwHrF9_w8hcAudWJrK9A42RvfN22oUtKLJu9EwH9l-bKgdt-j8wBSv6XzZG3CjdX_6vEsQyvGAlf-ulyWsq3t-BrHWsDpvWV9HxAWGhZ/s1600/IMG_2820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTdxg83rm5cQOnCeI5DjFnOsF74r8qWxVvOZZbwHrF9_w8hcAudWJrK9A42RvfN22oUtKLJu9EwH9l-bKgdt-j8wBSv6XzZG3CjdX_6vEsQyvGAlf-ulyWsq3t-BrHWsDpvWV9HxAWGhZ/s320/IMG_2820.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<v:shape id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_s1026" style="height: 204.4pt; margin-left: 0; margin-top: 0; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: left; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: top; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 153.3pt; z-index: 251658240;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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<w:wrap type="square">
</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape>Me and my custodian doing battle with a bird over a nesting spot.<br />
<br />
Please note the title of my blog and my cover photo! I just made the connection. It was several years ago when I titled it and my sister made the cover design.<br />
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-34379395099146612202015-06-14T10:01:00.000-07:002015-06-14T10:01:39.785-07:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
So many people joke about having
ADHD, but I have an official diagnosis now.
Here is a sample of two consecutive days my life. A bit of background is required here. As you may have noticed in my previous post,
I applied to the Regents Alternative Pathway to Iowa Licensure program. Much to my surprise, they accepted me. Graciously.
Classes began June 5 and it is pretty intensely compact. I was diligently working on Thursday because
I promised myself I would not be THAT student.
You know, the one that always turns assignments in just in the nick of
time. The old me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
On Friday I wrote the following
email to my RAPIL cohort (that is what our group is called):<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
[I started off with a compliment
about one of our classmates. Not
relevant here.] <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Here is another little nugget for
your enjoyment. You may recall that yesterday I emailed you guys to ask
about that CCC#1 review guide. Well, in true Burkle fashion, I neglected
to check your replies. I spent a good number of hours writing responses
to each one of those. And there are a TON. With two remaining, I
checked back in to my email and saw a barrage of wonderful responses from you
all that would have set me straight and saved me lots of time. Last night
I completed the ACTUAL assignment. It was a full RAPIL day for me.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Having said that, I can tell you
that I know the first section very, very thoroughly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lisa</span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 5pt;">
As the day started on Friday, I was so looking forward to seeing my
psychiatrist for follow-up. I was very
proud of myself two days ago when I received the reminder phone call. “Ha!” I thought, “I am already on top of
it. It’s written on my calendar.” I was going to get to talk all about my
favorite topic…ME… and let him know how I probably need a slight increase in my
dosage of ADD meds, particularly in light of my day on Thursday. I spent all morning writing an absolutely
fabulous linkedin profile summary about ME.
I even made myself laugh out loud.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 5pt;">
Next I went to a spin class with my daughter at noon. On the way, I texted my son, “Where are you?” After class I texted him again, “????” He replied, “I’m at work.” Oh, yeah.
He told me last night that he was working today. I forgot. While at the gas station filling my
daughter’s tank, I bought a couple of songs from iTunes that I heard on the radio
and I checked my emails. Oops. Overdraft notice from my bank. I bounced a check to my son’s basketball camp
that I signed him up for AFTER the deadline.
Shit. I stopped at the bank to
transfer money and then emailed the camp director to let him know I bounced the
check but that the money is in my account now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I’m starving because I hadn’t eaten all day. Because I
forgot. But I am also thinking I need to
pick up my kids from their dad’s house soon.
I called to tell them I would be there in twenty minutes. I stopped at the Arby’s drive-thru (I hate
fast food) and grabbed a sandwich. While
paying for my food, the cute guy taking my money was giving me the stare down
and I could tell he thinks I’m attractive.
I am seriously questioning his judgment because I recently left the gym
and I hadn’t showered in two days. As I
pulled away with my food, I saw him in my rearview mirror hanging out the
drive-thru window watching me and waving.
No joke. That gave me a little
smile and I continued on my way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was headed to get the kids and I glanced at the clock in
my car. 1:43. My appointment with my
doctor was scheduled for 1:30!!!! I made
a quick u-turn, called the kids to say I won’t come until later, and then called
the doctor’s office to tell them I had inadvertently missed my
appointment. The receptionist told me if
I can make it in four minutes, my doctor will still see me. No way.
But I headed there, anyway, to reschedule and leave him the following
note:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Dr.
H************ (he has a very long name),<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">My failure to
show up for my appointment today says it all.
I was so looking forward to speaking with you <u>and</u> I had it
written on my calendar. However, I got
distracted and forgot. I clearly need an increased dose of my medication. I apologize for the inconvenience. I have rescheduled for July 29 (first
available) [47 DAYS FROM NOW!!!] and I am on the cancellation list. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Respectfully
and apologetically,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Lisa Burkle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now if all of that doesn’t make your head spin, I’m not sure
what would. And I can assure you that
not one bit of that was embellished at all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-8485179469111840532015-06-13T09:08:00.000-07:002015-06-13T09:10:20.628-07:00For you, Valentine.[circa 2009] Yeah, I've been out for awhile. But, I'm back. I need to share these hilarious Valentine cards my son passed out this year. He is in fifth grade. My other kids were writing out their cards and Isaac said he didn't want to pass them out this year. When pressed for a reason, he indicated that he "hates doing all that writing." I remembered something I had seen online that would alleviate this problem. It's a photograph taken at an angle close to his hand. Then, we punched a hole on top of his hand and one under his hand. Stuck a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">DumDum</span> through and they were good to go. No writing involved. After we made a bunch for his classmates, we really went crazy for his teachers. We dressed him up like Cupid and his teachers LOVED it!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorqW2X1guL-aEN-056aNBZ0vnhgJRuYZ4lLSmb-kqBynoglZp-cDJEz6WtZQpZqDyud-QivjqMwJjvXRk7GOu4AqY_OXa7Q6s7QA0PByj9fzeXxBjv6uFVHNep91rowH3KzdvwZ7bqFaj/s1600-h/060.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441259137449449938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorqW2X1guL-aEN-056aNBZ0vnhgJRuYZ4lLSmb-kqBynoglZp-cDJEz6WtZQpZqDyud-QivjqMwJjvXRk7GOu4AqY_OXa7Q6s7QA0PByj9fzeXxBjv6uFVHNep91rowH3KzdvwZ7bqFaj/s200/060.JPG" style="cursor: hand; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNV0Y3C6YeAp8s-1yX6YIr_wZSG45nFWVqu8OPGKWJQPLLJHWUXb5DL3hvF0Uk1TFSWS33VrN_aIwfr_IHtPlb8uwORc7dbRR21NzV3raRbL5uMDEVGM2LWNcz6u9sqgBUX9D2ZLXKnLo2/s1600-h/059.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441259148220290850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNV0Y3C6YeAp8s-1yX6YIr_wZSG45nFWVqu8OPGKWJQPLLJHWUXb5DL3hvF0Uk1TFSWS33VrN_aIwfr_IHtPlb8uwORc7dbRR21NzV3raRbL5uMDEVGM2LWNcz6u9sqgBUX9D2ZLXKnLo2/s200/059.JPG" style="cursor: hand; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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Here's the thing about me, though. As you may know, I work at the school. So, of course, I had to mention the Valentine to all of his teachers in order to receive the credit and praise I so crave (and deserve-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hehe</span>). What's up with that? Sometimes I just think I am so funny. I mean, I really crack myself up. Isn't that pathetic? I do a lot of stupid stuff, too, that cracks me up. I will share these with you as well, because I am not shy about my personal foibles. NOTE: "Foibles" might not actually be the correct word to use here, because it refers to a minor weakness or failing of character; slight flaw or defect. My flaws are neither minor, nor slight.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-67820487185822008062015-06-13T08:32:00.004-07:002015-06-13T08:58:51.269-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
[written 5/6/15] So here we go. I have
made a goal to write for a half hour every day.
I actually started with the goal of an hour every day and that was
yesterday. I wrote for exactly zero
minutes yesterday. Therefore, I think my
goal may have been too lofty, so I’m lowering it to a half hour. And look at me go! I have already started. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am going to begin with the story of my teacher intern
program interview. As is the case with
many of my appointments, I was running late.
Time is elastic to me. I always
underestimate the amount of time a task may take me. I was going to stop at the post office to
mail my daughter’s graduation invitations and thought that would be a quick stop. That turned into hand-stamping 46 envelopes
at the postal counter. Not an easy task,
pealing all those little stamps off a sheet and sticking them on, particularly
when you are a little jittery from your medication for ADD. But that’s a story for another day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I leave the post
office with 25 minutes to get to my interview.
No way in hell. I had to make the
call of shame to let them know I would be late.
She was friendly and seemed okay, yet I was still very nervous and
stressed and jittery. And almost out of
gas. I sped to Iowa City and about
halfway there, my last bar was gone.
Running on fumes. There was no
time to stop for gas or I would be even later.
And I was the final interview of the day, so I knew they would want to
get home. I decided praying was my best
option. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made it. Parked my
car in the parking ramp near the College of Education and tried to compose
myself as I walked across the street to the building. I didn’t want to be that crazy hot mess that
rushes in all flustered apologizing up and down. Nope.
Not me. Not me at all. Well…totally me. But, I acted calm and collected and gave a
very personable and professional thank you for waiting for me. I apologize for being late. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The professor that was assigned the “greeter” position gave
me a warm welcome and assured me that this would not be like a typical job
interview. It was an opportunity for
three professionals from the state universities to have a conversation with me
to determine if they think I would be a good candidate for the alternative
teacher licensure program. I would have
an opportunity to ask questions. “Please
just be yourself,” she said, “we want to get to know you.” Okay.
You asked for it. I decided to be
myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all, I feel I did a nice job answering questions
honestly and professionally. I later
looked over the star teacher interview format they were using, which the
interviewees knew about ahead of time. I
realized AFTER THE FACT, that I had answered almost all questions ON
POINT. Yay me! About three fourths of the way into the
interview, one of the interviewers gave me the following scenario, “Let’s say
I’m a student in your class and we have spent a lot of time on a class
community service project and we are excited about it. The principal tells us we can’t do it. How should I, as a student, act when I see
the principal in the hallway? Should I
turn my head away from him?” I looked at
my interviewer and gave a shoulder-shrugging, both palms up, isn’t-it-obvious
look and said, “Well…you flip him the bird!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bear in mind this is a nice, professional, well-mannered, middle-aged
group. But, while they didn’t guffaw at
my terrible joke (although I thought it was completely HILARIOUS), I think
they, too, thought it was hilarious. I
kind of half-heartedly apologized and said, “I’ll bet you haven’t heard THAT
today.” They chuckled and said, “No, we haven’t.” Back on task.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I left the interview feeling very pleased and amused with
myself. Just having had the experience
was great. I am really okay if they
don’t think I will be a good fit for the program. Something better happened to me in that
interview. One of the interviewers asked
me, “So, Lisa, how many books have you written?” I looked at him and said, “Zero.” He told me
that I should keep that in the back of mind.
I should write a book. I’m not
really sure why he said that, but I feel he saw something in me. He thought I had something to say. So, I’m saying it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will leave you with the image of my glorious exit from my
fabulous interview. Remember the parking
ramp? Remember how flustered and
medication-jittered I was? I was
chuckling to myself as I walked into the ramp.
I walked to where I thought my car was parked. No car. I walked up the ramp. I walked down the ramp. Those damn ramps are so fucking
confusing. They go up, but not
really. There are ups and downs and
in-betweens. After about nine minutes, I
called my daughter in a panic. “I can’t
find my car!” She said it has to be
there. Try pushing your key button to
make it honk. So I did. I could hear it honk! As soon as I walked toward where I thought it
was honking, I couldn’t hear it anymore.
Walk, walk, walk, walk. Push,
push, honk, honk. Please don’t let any
of my interviewers be parked in this ramp.
Please don’t let them see me walking and walking and sweating. And
honking. Horrible. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
NINETEEN MINUTES!!! I
timed my fiasco because that’s just something I do. Sometimes if I have an annoying teacher in
spin class who talks too much, I will start to keep track of the number of
seconds she can keep quiet. When she
talks again, I start the timer again.
Usually she can only make it about eight seconds before talking
again. Anyway, if you think nineteen
minutes isn’t that long, try walking up and down a parking ramp for nineteen
minutes in your dress clothes when it’s warm out. And when you are now going to be late to your
spin class because of losing your car in a parking ramp. Let’s hope they decide I would be a good
candidate to eventually teach your children in the public school system. <o:p></o:p></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-18073196286427568832012-03-31T15:54:00.002-07:002012-03-31T16:03:07.098-07:00Letter to Troops in Afghanistan (by my son)Dear Amercian soldier,<br /><br />Me and my 5th grade friends are all hoping that everyone is safe and I thank you and your allies for fighting for our country.<br /><br />I live in Cedar Rapids, Iowa and the weather here is fine. Just became spring here. School is doing fine besides being caught talking with my friends or getting late assignments, but I truly have been working on those types of things.<br /><br />I enjoy playing outside with my brothers, and I play video games sometimes.<br /><br />It's pretty hard to handle all five of my siblings (two brothers and three sisters). Not to mention raising my parents (I'm kidding on that one. haha!).<br /><br />Well, I hope for all of you, and your allies, safety. I wish all my blessings to the American soldiers' health.<br /><br />From,<br /><br />Elias B.<br /><br />[While Elias certainly doesn't make it easy for me, I guess I will allow him to live one more day.]Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-79594913125812402602012-03-18T16:20:00.001-07:002012-03-18T16:21:54.541-07:00Hardcore Badass CyclistYesterday I was at the gym in the morning. I went to cycling class. I call it ‘cycling,’ not ‘spinning’ because cycling sounds way more badass. Spinning sounds lame and girly. Anyway, all was good there and I had a great work out. I was feeling all pumped up and I went over to the weight section of the gym to stretch as is my usual custom. While I was stretching, I noticed my cute chiropractor lifting weights so I thought I would head over to say, ‘hi,’ and make a witty comment. <br /><br />A little background on my cute chiropractor. My oldest daughter was his receptionist for awhile and I take my kids to him for adjustments. He has seen me and my children in all our glory; fighting, being obnoxious, tracking mud into his office, crying, yada yada. I referred a friend to him and when she called and mentioned my name, he just laughed. He personally calls me when I fail to remember an appointment and he waits patiently for me to finally arrive. He is a great guy. I need to remember to ask him if his adjustments can help with ADD.<br /><br />Anyway, I walked over to where he was lifting, said ‘hi,’ and then gave him a little crap for wearing a Cornhusker t-shirt. He told me more people talk to him when he wears that shirt than any other time. We shared a little chuckle and then I turned to walk away and tripped over a weight bench. EMBARRASSING! Thank goodness I didn’t fall. He laughed. Then he said, “Nobody saw it,” with a little smirk. Of course, that was bullshit and we both knew it. That isn’t the first time I have tripped at the gym. I’ve even fallen before. I know…shocking.<br /><br />My next foible came later in the afternoon. I bought myself a road bike on Friday. I am extremely fired up about it. It is a beautiful thing. So beautiful, I want to make love to it. I saw a commercial for the television show ‘My Strange Addiction” where this guy loves his car so much, he has sex with it. How does that work?! Personally, I think it would be a lot easier for me to have sex with my bike than for him to have sex with his car, but whatever. I thought I would take the bike for a spin down to Coffeesmiths and relax with a cup of joe and then head home. The ride was fabulous, smooth and easy. The problem was I couldn’t get one of my cycling shoes to clip into the pedal.<br /><br />Of course I have cycling shoes and of course I had pedals with clips installed. I cannot be seen riding around on my badass bike in regular tennis shoes on regular pedals. My bike has the ten-speed type handle bars, not the straight across kind. As soon as the guy at the bike store called the bikes with the straight handle bars “sporty mom” bikes, I walked away. I was having none of that. <br /><br />So picture me out riding with my black biking shorts, my neon yellow racer back tank and my neon green bike helmet. I was totally feeling it. Except for that one shoe that wouldn’t quite clip in right. I could still pedal just fine, but it wasn’t right.<br /><br />When I got home from my ride, I decided to get my allen wrench out and make some adjustments on my pedal clips. The left one was a smidge too tight and the right one wouldn’t clip at all. I was a professional biker with the allen wrench and the adjusting of my pedal clips. I made a couple of turns with the wrench and rode down the sidewalk. Still not quite right. But here is the problem, no one told me that the pedal clips are very sensitive and only need a small turn to make a big difference in tightness. I gave them another turn with the wrench.<br /><br />My 8-year-old daughter came outside and was all excited to ride her bike with me. I told her I would ride down the street with her to her friend’s house. To my delight, my shoes clipped perfectly into the pedals. I knew I could do it! Pretty soon I would be helping other bikers make adjustments when I’m out on the road.<br /><br />We reached her friend’s house and I pedaled up the driveway and never have I felt such panic when I realized, yes, you guessed it, I couldn’t get my feet off the pedals! The clips were way too tight! I was paralyzed. I didn’t think to just keep pedaling. I just stopped and let out a little screech when I fell over in slow motion sideways onto the concrete. I cannot believe I didn’t utter a curse word because let me tell you, I was thinking it. I broke my fall with my hand and banged up my knee pretty good. I managed to fumble one shoe out of the clip when a teenager from next door ran over to see if I was okay. The only way to get my other foot off the pedal was to take it out of my shoe. Remember I’m laying sideways with my bicycle in a heap on the driveway. Not so badass.<br /><br />All I could think about was my precious brand new bike. When I got my feet out, I limped it over to the grass with one of my shoes still attached to the pedal. I yanked the shoe off the pedal and checked the bike over for signs of damage. I did guff up the handle bar a little, but it wasn’t too bad. Luckily I had my tool with me and I could make some more adjustments to the clips in order to ride myself home without any mishaps. You can sure as hell bet I had my feet yanked out of those pedals before I came to a stop again.<br /><br />I hobbled into the house with one bloodied knee and a bruised palm. I don’t feel so embarrassed anymore because that’s kind of badass, isn’t it? Coming home all bloody from a bike ride? When I do something, I go all out hardcore.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-82601995183146583702012-03-09T12:24:00.000-08:002012-03-09T12:26:25.486-08:00I forgot what this is aboutHey, hey, hey! It’s me again. After only two short years off, I’m back to blogging. Not sure why, just feeling inspired…or wordy. So much has happened. And so little, really. I have been thinking lately about my tendency to jump topics or get sidetracked in the blink of an eye. I realize now where my children get their ADD. People often joke about having ADD, but we are truly a household full of attention deficit disordered individuals. Out of eight family members, five are diagnosed, one is undiagnosed but clearly afflicted and two are untouched by the disorder, except when having to suffer the repercussions of living with six people who cannot get from the kitchen to the bathroom without stopping to play with a piece of lint on the carpet. <br /><br />In case you are wondering, I am the undiagnosed one. This really hit home during my kids’ parent-teacher conferences this week. It’s funny how kids can be so different, but yet so alike. My three elementary students all had basically the same conference. I could have scheduled one conference and gotten the gist of how all three are doing in school. All three teachers told me my kids LOVE to write. They will write and write and write. That’s great! I love that. However, one teacher handed me a stack of incomplete math assignments, either not started or never turned in. The other two teachers told me the kids need to work on homework completion and turning it in when it is completed. Another issue is getting their reading logs signed each day.<br /><br />I often hear myself telling my kids, “You have the same things to do every single day. How can you forget to do them?” Well, how come I can’t seem to remember to sign their reading logs every day? How come I can’t remember to ask to see their homework? It’s not like it’s a new thing. When teachers (or doctors) suggest having a regular quiet time set aside every night for homework, I hang my head in shame. It makes so much sense, but I FORGET! How does this happen?! I have no explanation. I get home from work and there are just so many interesting, and not so interesting, things happening that grab my attention. OR, better yet, the kids are occupied and QUIET. So rare at my house, I cannot bear to stir things up. Homework and reading logs be damned! Then, by the time the action picks up again, guess what?! I have totally forgotten about the homework.<br /><br />I’m sure for the next couple of weeks I will be very diligent. I will make sure their work is done and I have signed their reading logs. I will be feeling so on top of the situation. Then, that piece of lint will catch my attention and we will be back to square one.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-10920039642730349312010-06-15T06:31:00.000-07:002010-06-15T06:31:00.645-07:00Passive aggressive non-conformityAnother etiquette issue. Sort of. One thing I really like about club sports versus recreational sports is no treats. Let me explain. You enroll your child in soccer at the YMCA. At the first practice, some go-getter mom hands out a treat sign-up sheet. Usually it involves signing up to bring a snack and a drink for post-game refreshments for the kids. <br /><br />I have a couple of problems with this. First, I have enough trouble getting my child and his ball to the game. I do not want to have to remember my date for bringing the snacks and drinks. What a pain in the ass. Again, I end up scrambling. I hate to scramble. I make bad decisions when I am scrambling.<br /><br />Second, the snacks are usually something like fruit roll-ups or rice krispy treats and kool-aid or a juice box. Have we not learned anything about childhood obesity?! Hey, everyone, get your child active and exercising and then fill him with candy and sugared drinks. We wouldn’t want to actually replenish their muscles and fluids with something like apples or water. In fact, if you actually bring a healthy snack, you will hear groans from the kids and face the side glances of disapproval from the parents. You will face the same consequences if you forget the snacks on your snack day. Oh, the horror! That is even worse because everyone will be saying, “Johnny was supposed to bring snacks.” Or, “No snacks today. Johnny’s mom forgot to bring them.” If you remember the “food” part, you will hear, “What?! Where is the drink?”<br /><br />I discovered the simple solution to this problem. When I am handed the snack sign-up sheet, I simply pass it on to the next person and no one is the wiser. Plus, I get a sense of satisfaction knowing that I bucked the system. Stick it to the man!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-74525218959733769432010-06-14T05:46:00.000-07:002010-06-14T05:47:16.538-07:00Thank you notes and other disastersI am completely inept at social customs and etiquette. I recently attended a bridal shower. As a side note, I was coming inside from eating on the deck at the shower and I slammed my ankle in the door. OMG! I was cut up and bleeding and I think I may have bruised my bone in the process because it is taking forever to feel normal again. I almost fell down. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?! Then, a couple of weeks later, on the last day of school, I was carrying a bunch of stuff in my arms and I fell in the hallway and got a nasty rug burn on my knee. Is that old lady, or what? I will definitely be breaking my hip someday. Fortunately, I was alone in the hall because there happened to be an assembly that morning.<br /><br />Okay, back on track. So, anyway, at the end of the shower I spotted a small, blank envelope on the floor next to me and thought to myself, “Oh, that must have fallen during the package clean up.” I casually picked it up and tossed in onto the coffee table. I looked around and realized that people were busy writing something. So then I thought it was game time or something. But, no…I finally got it. Everyone was writing their names and addresses on the envelopes so that the bride can mail us thank you notes. What’s more, they are writing the bride’s return address on it as well. This is shocking to me! Really?! Let me get this straight. I address an envelope so that you can mail a thank you to me when you have already thanked me in person? I can assure you that while it is fun to get mail, I will be dropping that baby, envelope and all, right into the recycle bin. That poor tree. <br /><br />Not only do we lose a tree in this redundant thank you process, but I receive a very disappointing piece of mail. I don’t know about you, but I always experience a little thrill when I see a hand-addressed envelope in the mail. Then I realize it’s just a thank you note. What a total let down. Even worse is when I realize the thank you note came from a birthday party one of my children attended. I get a little flutter thinking my child has been invited to a party. But no, this is just another reminder of the fact that I do not have my children send thank you notes after their parties. Triple whammy. Kill a tree, experience a total let down, and then feel like a huge loser.<br /><br />Here is my plan for the future. On my children’s party invites, which I will send via email, I will write, “Please be advised that in the spirit of conservation [of trees and my time-I won’t say this part], my child will not be sending thank you notes. Rest assured I will see to it that my child thanks your child profusely during the party.” This might actually work, except that I am usually scrambling at the last minute to put a party together because I have blown it off until the day before their birthday.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-1477102528058736342010-05-25T06:52:00.000-07:002010-05-25T06:52:00.372-07:00Virgin Blogger (new to blogging, NOT a virgin who blogs)Hey, out there. I have had a couple of people comment on the fact that I don't post often enough. I would love to increase my readership. Any suggestions on how to promote my blog? Additionally, if you enjoy it, become a follower so that you will get notifications of new posts and you won't have to keep checking the blog, only to become disappointed when you see the same old post at the top. Feel free to recommend it to others.<br />I am using this opportunity to let you know that one of my worst fears about writing is that I will make a typo or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">misspell</span> a word or use improper grammar. My fellow writing snobs will understand. I sincerely apologize if this happens in any of my posts. The foibles of my life do not embarrass me nearly as much as bad writing. (I just ran spell check and found I had misspelled "misspell." Hee hee.)<br />All comments are welcome.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-30243611519298310542010-05-24T06:47:00.000-07:002010-05-24T06:47:00.981-07:00I love this<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3_RYIEwkgzn3E88A5bFzOWJQSpILZyaWpLlqUpjZ5WZr0F-xzjZXhJDxMGstXPjkzzJe2CajeGlVf4-2haNfCQCQeRMo_PLnXsm0laaISM-TCDJWAOKTKAF6o1LjIv7bTHpv08f4ssl_/s1600/249270409_664e6841fa.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 160px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474091286087173618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3_RYIEwkgzn3E88A5bFzOWJQSpILZyaWpLlqUpjZ5WZr0F-xzjZXhJDxMGstXPjkzzJe2CajeGlVf4-2haNfCQCQeRMo_PLnXsm0laaISM-TCDJWAOKTKAF6o1LjIv7bTHpv08f4ssl_/s200/249270409_664e6841fa.jpg" /></a><br />My sister sent this to me awhile back. Probably a not-so-subtle hint.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-25937674589962514442010-05-23T06:41:00.000-07:002010-05-23T06:41:00.442-07:00When Naughty Kids Get in TroubleIn my last post, I mentioned that two good things had resulted from the incident on Tuesday. Well, after some consideration, I have realized that I completely missed the most important benefit of all. Principal now knows that I actually produced a child that does, indeed, feel remorse for his actions. Here is what I mean. My daughter, Piper (6), was in the principal’s office within the first week of kindergarten. She made it again during the first month. AND, she was in the office during her second month to meet with a social worker because of the whole DHS thing referenced in an earlier post. They had to meet with her in the counselor’s office without me knowing. I work at the school. Imagine my mortification, if you will.<br />We are now down to the final two weeks of school and you would think that a kindergarten student has a pretty good handle on the rules by now. Not so. Not my child, anyway. When Piper gets home from school, she gives me her mail and then shows me her communication sheet from the teacher. Most students get a sticker on theirs. Piper will hold hers up with the back facing me and I can see LOTS of writing through the paper. My shoulders drop, my head drops and I say, “What is it?”<br />Monday Piper was messing around in the bathroom AGAIN. Ten minutes later she showed up to class. She will not be using the hallway bathroom anymore.<br />Tuesday At lunch, Piper took another child’s Twinkie, smooshed it and took a bite out of it. She spent her recess on the wall.<br />Wednesday Piper pulled the Twister mat right from under another student. That student fell and hit her head. Piper lost the rest of center time. Mrs. P and Mrs. N witnessed this also. (As if I might not believe it.)<br />Thursday There is an X on her sheet indicating there was some kind of trouble, but the lines were all used up from previous days. Not sure what happened.<br />Friday Piper didn’t work in her Literacy Center. She was messing around. Today was the second day that Mrs. M had to tell Piper to stay out of the mud. (Maybe that was yesterday’s issue.) She was sent to the office for recess.<br />Aside from Thursday, obviously, these are the actual written words of her teacher. What an eventful week for Piper. So, yes, I am kind of glad Elias got in trouble. At least he has the wherewithal to express remorse when he is sitting across from the principal in her office.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-33165599881142247162010-05-22T06:38:00.000-07:002010-05-22T06:41:12.448-07:00When Smart Kids Get in TroubleOn Tuesday, my son’s (Elias 9) teacher pulled me aside at school to let me know that she had to write Elias up because he had threatened to kill another student. Elias would have to meet with the principal later that day. The funny thing is, his teacher was so apologetic about it. She explained that the other student had nagged him and nagged him and nagged him (yes, a girl) until he exploded. So, later that day, the principal waved me into her office and said, “I just have to tell you about this.” When she called Elias into her office, he sat down across the desk from her. They discussed the incident briefly. He put his head down on her desk with his hands on either side. “I know, I know, it was SOOO inappropriate. I never should have said it.”<br /><br />After Elias left, she called the other student in to the office to discuss the incident. The principal explained that Elias should not have said those words. The student said, “His words did surprise me, but his frustration didn’t.” <br /><br />Two good things resulted from this incident. First, Principal had a great laugh because she RARELY sees remorseful students. Second, the school made a record so that someday, when my son really does go ballistic and kill someone, they will be able to say they had properly addressed the early signs of his rage.<br /><br />Shout out to my new friends! Spread the word.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-24217276594651709072010-05-04T08:04:00.000-07:002010-05-05T06:40:27.717-07:00Rated M for matureJust so we're clear, I do not swear in front of my kids. I think I have been honest enough in this blog for you to believe this is the truth. The worst thing I say in front of my kids is "flippin'," as in, "Get that flippin' dishwasher unloaded!" Occasionally I use a "freakin'." I have started to use the word "shit" in front of my 13-year-old. Just now and then, not every day.<br /><br />My intention was to keep this blog fairly clean, but people tend to read it, or at least comment on it, more often if there is a juicy word in the title. Whether it be "douche bag" or "f***ing," the language keeps 'em coming back. Besides, to be honest, bad language is really more my style.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-84712595668182628982010-05-02T08:00:00.000-07:002010-05-02T08:00:01.185-07:00Yeah, I'll bet she has some big f***ing bags and wrinkles under that eye mask<div>Allure’s 9 Simple Steps to Younger-Looking Eyes</div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKzrNqDyTIKVFX3UNz5qMA72yf4XTeGHlacnwA1nmxYJtFtrMRrtqETIejNSMNL8Q8zG3rCWkLstQcJMPrj7rTvuxMUIMMiENEw3qx_cCmKeABHtwjr6r2jjGIxRI4lE9S94iWwZTYK11/s1600/youngereyes.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466311562745751698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKzrNqDyTIKVFX3UNz5qMA72yf4XTeGHlacnwA1nmxYJtFtrMRrtqETIejNSMNL8Q8zG3rCWkLstQcJMPrj7rTvuxMUIMMiENEw3qx_cCmKeABHtwjr6r2jjGIxRI4lE9S94iWwZTYK11/s200/youngereyes.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div>REALLY?!!!</div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-45731215595962722462010-05-01T07:34:00.000-07:002010-05-01T07:37:28.755-07:00Pissed off scrapbookerI have a couple of subscriptions to scrapbooking magazines. I was flipping through one the other night and realized that I get a little pissed when I read them. I have finally figured out why. When I look at the sample layouts, I see a picture of two cute, clean kids hugging each other and I read this in the journaling, “I love to watch the relationship that is developing between the two of you. Six years separate the two of you and you get along like peas in a pod. You are our oldest and youngest, and as I watch you together I am reminded how wonderful it is to be a mother.” This makes me want to barf. I’ve seen others that read something like, “You are such a little stinker sometimes, but you are always daddy’s little angel.” First of all, I hate it when people portray their lives as perfectly harmonious and blissful. And second, I hate those people that think their kids are perfect. <br />Admittedly, my kids’ scrapbooks have lots of cute pictures. But, I don’t really write that much about the photo other than to identify the time and place (if I am able). I feel like that type of journaling just isn’t me. It is not my style at all. <br />While thinking about this post, I came up with a great idea. These blog posts would make GREAT journaling for my family scrapbooks. I will print them out and stick them on the pages next to all those super-cute photos. The only issue is that the kids love to look at their books and these posts probably are not appropriate for them to read at this point in their lives. Maybe I can make a secret book for those rated PG-13 and R pages. When the kids are old enough, I can put those pages in their books. I am totally psyched.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-69794140160862534692010-04-30T13:14:00.000-07:002010-04-30T13:17:24.350-07:00Douche Bag follow-upI think I have totally ruined the phrase for my son and his two friends. Every time someone says it, they will think of me and the whole 'washing out the vagina' thing.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-78822393497400276202010-04-28T15:31:00.000-07:002010-04-28T15:33:21.069-07:00Don't be a douche bagLast week, I was driving Isaac to soccer with two of his teammates. I love carpooling because I learn so much about my kids and their friends. I just pretend like I am pre-occupied with driving so they will talk more freely. The key is to not ask questions. You do not want them to think you are listening. Anyway, they were tossing around the term “douche bag,” talking about how a kid at school is always calling people “douche bags.” One of the boys in the back seat made the mistake of asking, “What does it mean, anyway?” Another one said, “Well, ‘douche’ means ‘shower’ in French.” At this point, I could resist no longer.<br />“Do you guys want to know what it means?” My unsuspecting victims, in unison, said, “Yeah!” “Well, I don’t even know if they make them anymore, but it’s a plastic bottle with a long nozzle on top. A woman uses it to wash out her vagina.” A short pause of absolute silence. Then a collective, “Ohhh, don’t say any more. That’s enough!” I told them, “If you guys ever want to know anything, just ask me.” Obviously, I get a giant kick out of doing this kind of thing. I am not shy about telling it like it is. The bonus is that my son will actually ask me things. So far he has asked me about condoms, periods and all kinds of things about puberty. If you want your kids to ask questions, my advice to you is to just be straightforward and fairly brief. That gives them time to let it soak in. And, they will know that a simple question won’t lead to a long, involved and uncomfortable conversation.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-71244015368329710312010-03-26T15:21:00.000-07:002010-03-26T15:22:30.650-07:00Battle on Brougham RoadOkay, so I have finally done it. My total humiliation is complete. After you read this, you will wish you were my neighbor purely for the entertainment value.<br />This post concerns my three sons, well, really one in particular, Isaac. The boys do their homework right after school or it will never get done. It still requires a bit of nagging, but not nearly as much as there would be if we tried to get them to do homework after dinner. Anyway, after homework yesterday, they wanted to go outside and have a Nerf gun war. I warned them that they would end up in a fight, but they assured me they would not. They said they had played the other day with no problems. So, okay, I let them go.<br />About twenty minutes later, I could hear screaming, the bad kind of screaming. I spied on them from the window for a few minutes and I saw my middle son threatening to hit Isaac with a Nerf gun. Then I heard Isaac screaming at him and calling him a retard. Finally, Isaac tackled my middle son and my youngest son jumped on Isaac and began punching his back. I decided to intervene. I opened the window and told them to put the guns away and come inside. Isaac then screamed at me, said I never do anything about the others and called me a retard. <br />I am NOT going to be disrespected like that, I thought to myself. Here is where it got bad. I decided to take action. I closed the window and headed outside in a huff. I attempted to pick Isaac up to take him inside, but he fought back. I was still trying to get a hold of him when he grabbed my legs and took me down. A struggle ensued. We were rolling on the front lawn in a full-out battle, each trying to get control of the other. Keep in mind that I was still in my nice work pants and turtleneck. I WAS ROLLING AROUND ON THE FRONT LAWN FIGHTING WITH MY 11-YEAR-OLD SON! I finally got on top of him with my knees on his back. <br />“There, how do you like being picked on by someone bigger than you?,” I hissed. <br />I stood up, composed myself and took a quick look around to see if there were any witnesses. Sure enough, the most conservative, judgmental guy in the neighborhood was walking his dog right across the street, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen us. How do you even recover from that? It occurred to me that I could yell something at Isaac to make it look like we were just kidding around, but I didn’t bother. I just went inside the house and hoped that he was the only witness.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-49179729163991710912010-03-03T06:59:00.000-08:002010-03-03T07:00:11.878-08:00<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ahhhh</span>…I just finished my morning scream fest and I can now relax and sit down at my laptop to write. First, let me acknowledge that, yes, I failed. My last post was Sunday and today is Wednesday. What can I say? I can only continue to try.<br />People are always saying to me, “I don’t know how you do it. Our schedule is crazy with just two kids. I can’t imagine having six.” In case you are wondering, here is a little rundown of my typical Monday and Tuesday schedule. I get home from work around 3:00, grab a snack and take off with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cassidy</span> to pick up a teammate and take them to gymnastics. By the time I get back home, the other kids are off the bus and usually running a bit wild. I come in the house and ask for any mail they may have from school. I send Isaac and Elias to their rooms to read for 20 minutes and then I have to sign off on that in their school agendas. I know that Elias does his reading. I am not so sure that Isaac has been reading lately. I’m going to have to spy on him today and find out.<br />Anyway, I nag and nag Piper and she still <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">doesn</span>’t get her mail to me or get her school stuff put away. I usually have to tell Levi two or three times, but he eventually does it. Then I have to start in about chores. Isaac is supposed to load or unload the dishwasher. They need to pick up things they have dropped around the house. In between all of these things, there is a fair amount, sometimes a lot, of bickering and fighting.<br />On Mondays, Piper has to be at gymnastics at 6:00 and Isaac has to be at soccer at 7:30. Levi has wrestling on Monday (that is going to change). Throw in a band concert for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cassidy</span> and things get really interesting. On Tuesdays, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cassidy</span> and Piper have dance and Elias and Levi have soccer. Things will heat up in April with more soccer practices as they start training outside, not to mention the beginning of baseball for Isaac. I am skilled at arranging carpools, so I will need to start organizing soon.<br />I want to get one thing straight. I am not complaining. The fact is, I get a payoff from all of this. I love youth athletics. I am so excited each weekend to go to a gymnastics meet or soccer game. Is that sad? I’m not sure, but it works for me.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-85136886132255567312010-02-05T13:14:00.000-08:002010-02-05T15:06:14.075-08:00Mom's Best FriendFriday, February 05, 2010<br />7:30 am<br /><br />Isaac walks out of the bathroom. “CLEAN UP IN AISLE 4!”<br /><br />Mom, “Okay, I’ll get Korky.”<br /><br />Elias, “Who’s Korky?”<br /><br />Isaac, “Mom’s best friend.”<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivN4TfWocmFofalL8BWeYUY4WjYn_1TufDpTTwyJrPQxkrxTuV4rvh2LpqaMHzMe-CoAq1CMM5HBJ5oM05Yhrk_k8DWqmmYeUOECVEH9HjjJUJXsR7RP0mddh2ObiNNzG8wwbMwSEBt0Xe/s1600-h/93-8-Unpackaged.jpg"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivN4TfWocmFofalL8BWeYUY4WjYn_1TufDpTTwyJrPQxkrxTuV4rvh2LpqaMHzMe-CoAq1CMM5HBJ5oM05Yhrk_k8DWqmmYeUOECVEH9HjjJUJXsR7RP0mddh2ObiNNzG8wwbMwSEBt0Xe/s1600-h/93-8-Unpackaged.jpg"><br />Original Korky® Plunger<br />p/n: 93-8</a><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivN4TfWocmFofalL8BWeYUY4WjYn_1TufDpTTwyJrPQxkrxTuV4rvh2LpqaMHzMe-CoAq1CMM5HBJ5oM05Yhrk_k8DWqmmYeUOECVEH9HjjJUJXsR7RP0mddh2ObiNNzG8wwbMwSEBt0Xe/s1600-h/93-8-Unpackaged.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434871683526778338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivN4TfWocmFofalL8BWeYUY4WjYn_1TufDpTTwyJrPQxkrxTuV4rvh2LpqaMHzMe-CoAq1CMM5HBJ5oM05Yhrk_k8DWqmmYeUOECVEH9HjjJUJXsR7RP0mddh2ObiNNzG8wwbMwSEBt0Xe/s200/93-8-Unpackaged.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivN4TfWocmFofalL8BWeYUY4WjYn_1TufDpTTwyJrPQxkrxTuV4rvh2LpqaMHzMe-CoAq1CMM5HBJ5oM05Yhrk_k8DWqmmYeUOECVEH9HjjJUJXsR7RP0mddh2ObiNNzG8wwbMwSEBt0Xe/s1600-h/93-8-Unpackaged.jpg"></a>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-62953510064406308732010-02-04T06:33:00.000-08:002010-02-04T14:34:21.655-08:00Guilty Pleasures and Guilty Omissions<strong>My Guilty Pleasures</strong><br /><br />*People magazine<br />*Forensic Files (it's not a fictional television show)<br />*Cold Case Files (again, not a fictional show)<br />*Watching the relationship of John and Kate go up in a puff of smoke (only watched the show briefly until I became resentful that Kate had the ingenuity to market her family and get free tummy tucks and vacations and stuff) (followed the story of their downfall very closely in People)<br />*pop music<br />*looking at the headlines on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">KCRG.com</span> and only reading the articles that involve particularly heinous or grizzly crimes/accidents<br />*Hoarders<br />*Intervention<br /><br /><br /><strong>My Guilty Omissions</strong><br /><br />*never read the paper<br />*have a subscription to The New Yorker and RARELY read it (only read it if I happen to hear from my daughter that David <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sedaris</span> has written an essay)<br />*never watch public television<br />*never listen to public radioLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1581189179117544262.post-45499261364672735182010-02-03T17:24:00.000-08:002010-02-03T19:56:36.993-08:00My two sisters and I are starting a crafting blog. We all dabble in various crafts and we plan to share some of our projects. If you are interested, click on the Crafty Sisterhood link over to the left.<br /><br />This is the time of year when I really start to get depressed. Not just a little bit down, but really depressed. The snow is no longer pretty. In fact, it's downright dirty and makes everything else downright dirty. It is still really cold. I feel more cold now than I did in early January. I need to start getting on the treadmill just to get my blood pumping and work off some of my anxiety. But, I need to be in the mood to exercise and I'm not. I haven't been in the mood for about four years.<br /><br />Today some of my co-workers were talking about their Wii Fits and the fact that they can't get good cardio workouts with the Wii. They only use their Wii's to tide them over until they can get to the gym. I just walked out of the room. This is the type of talk that only fuels my depressed mood. I don't think I will ever be the type of person who discusses her cardio workouts. Wait, I won't ever be the type of person to HAVE a cardio workout. I wish I was, believe me.<br /><br />On that happy note, I am off to bed. I am hoping to wake up tomorrow with a better attitude. For those of you that are interested, I may even shower.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04579297395740726715noreply@blogger.com2