Hat Trick Plus 2

We just returned home from the annual Fundietonfieldvilleview High School academic awards ceremony. The Girl came home with the Outstanding Band Student award for the 5th straight year. She sooooo rocks. Hardcore. Drum major tryouts are Thursday. Keep your fingers crossed.

They Can't Be Serious

There are 13 days left in the school year. The Girl had to be at school 30 minutes early today to attend a mandatory assembly regarding the proper debarkation of school buses in the event of an emergency. The Girl only rides the bus ten to fifteen times a year - mostly to and from band events since she transfers into Fundietonfieldvilleview ISD and their buses no longer run past our house (they stopped 2 weeks after The Girl transferred in, despite over 30 years of prior daily drive-bys, but that's another story). However, there are plenty of other kids who ride the bus to and from school every day plus to and from band or other extracurricular activities and have been doing so since school started back in August. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't this morning's festivities have been presented at the beginning of the school year - or am I the stupid one here?

For All the Moms

I got this in an email today and just wanted to share it with you in honor of Mother's Day.

This is for the mothers who have sat up
all night with sick toddlers in their arms,
wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer
wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying,
'It's okay honey, Mommy's here.'

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at
work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains
on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and
make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.
And all the mothers who don't.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to
babies they'll never see. And the mothers
who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art
collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars.
And that when their kids asked, 'Did you see me, Mom?' they could say, 'Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world,' and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but understand how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with
their children and explained all about making
babies. And for all the (grand)mothers who
wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.

This is for all the mothers who go
hungry, so their children can eat.

For all the mothers who read 'Goodnight,
Moon' twice a night for a year. And then
read it again, 'Just one more time.'

This is for all the mothers who taught
their children to tie their shoelaces before
they started school. And for all the mothers
who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons
to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls 'Mom?' in a crowd, even though they know their
own offspring are at home -- or even away
at college -- or have their own families.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids
to school with stomach aches, assuring them
they'd be just FINE once they got there, only
to get calls from the school nurse an hour later
asking them to please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone
astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they
bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

For all the mothers of the victims of school shootings, and the mothers
of those who did the shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors,
and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,
hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who taught their
children to be peaceful, and now pray
they come home safely from a war.

What makes a good mother anyway?
Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, balance the checkbook and
sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?
Is it the ache she feels when she
watches her son or daughter disappear
down the street, walking to school alone
for the very first time?

The jolt that takes her from sleep to
dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put
her hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again
at 2 A.M. when she just wants to hear
their key in the door and know they
are safe again in her home?

Or the need to flee from wherever she is
and hug her child when she hears news
of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are
universal and so our thoughts are for
young mothers stumbling through diaper
changes and sleep deprivation...
And for mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. For all of us...

Hang in there. In the end we can
only do the best we can. Tell them
every day that we love them. And pray
and never stop being a mother...

Dear Receptionist Person

The fact that you only make $6 an hour is no excuse for your glaring lack of professionalism. The office in which we work is staffed with no less than three people who hold doctoral degrees, not just the one whose name is on the door. When you speak to one of us directly, please feel free to call us by our first names - we all have to work together and we prefer to keep things collegial. However, when speaking to patients or agencies about us, please refer to us by our correct professional title: DOCTOR Insertlastnamehere. We all worked very hard to earn those degrees while you were off smoking hashish in the woods somewhere frying your brain cells to the point where they no longer function adequately. To refer to us by our first names undermines our professional credibility with both the patients and the agencies that refer business to us. Between the paper thin walls, shabby worn-out 1980's furniture and the appearance that it is a public health clinic rather than a private psychology practice, this office has enough professional credibility problems as it is without you adding to them.

When I make a request in a polite fashion (speaking slowly because your brain is fried like your overbleached hair that's far too long for a woman of your years), don't take it as a personal affront and go whining to the boss, "Do we really have to do that?" Yes, you do because that is what a professional office worker does. If it's necessary to tell you again, I can't promise to be so nice. Then again, you probably won't understand a word I have to say because of your limited vocabulary and insistence upon behaving like some cutesy little 7-year-old girl - even though you're 52.

Oh yeah, and it's a PSYCHOLOGIST'S office. Why the hell do you and the office manager wear nurse's scrubs? It's not like you ever even touch the patients.

Every day I come up with a new rule about what my practice is going to be like. It's shaping up to be the opposite of whatever you are.

Seen While Driving

So I was driving in the suburbs and in front of a church there was one of those portable signs on wheels that read, "Christian Karate." Will someone please explain to me why such inanity is necessary? Are the concepts of peace and self-control central to martial arts really so heinous as to merit shielding the children from them, because they might sound "too Buddhist"? Puh-leeeze. Just because something is "Christian-based," that doesn't necessarily make it wholesome. Just ask the kids from the FLDS compound that are now scattered across the state.

Overheard In a Restaurant

I was lunching solo in a restaurant the other day and overheard a conversation between two fine, upstanding Texas Ladies that went something like this:

"Natter natter natter bitch McCain. Natter natter natter. Bush natter but Obama bitch natter natter and that Hillary? Well just prattle natter bitch, bless her heart."

"Really? Well, bitch prattle natter rattle Obama, but then again bitch bitch prattle Hillary natter rattle prattle. But then again, I don't vote."

Sorry dumbass. If you don't vote, you effectively forfeit your right to natter, prattle or rattle - much less bitch about the political process. It's people like you who have done your level best to fuck up the country. Why don't you help unfuck it up for a change? Get your ass to the polls and vote.

Right Side Up Again

We've all heard horror stories about insurance companies jerking people around when it comes time to pay on a claim, despite thousands paid in premiums. I am proud to say that didn't happen. My Texas Farm Bureau Insurance agent, Marc Lancaster out of the Hood/Somervell County office returned my phone call from Sunday at around 8:30 yesterday morning. I called in the claim a little after 9am when the main office opened and the claim was COMPLETED before 1pm. I had to go to the wrecking yard to sign the release of the vehicle to the insurance company and retrieve The Girl's remaining possessions and will have to sign a power of attorney & send it back with the title, but as soon as those make it back to the home office in Waco, they'll cut me a check for nearly what we paid for the car back in July. Granted, I'm not telling The Girl how much it is. All she knows is that she has to get another job - closer to home - and I'll be taking her to & from until she can save an as-yet-to-be-determined amount of her own money to get another car.

Marc told me today that our premiums will barely even go up because he's keeping us on the premium line & just adding a point. I hate to sound like a commercial, but Farm Bureau Insurance has branches in all 50 states. You should call them. Their coverage is more extensive and for lower premiums than any company I've seen. On top of that, they have the most amazing customer service - bar none. If you call Marc for a quote, tell him Doc sent you.

If you're interested, here are the pictures we took yesterday at the wrecking yard - with the car right-side-up. We never did find her paycheck. Then again, $140 is a small price to pay...

They Walked Away

It was the call every parent dreads. The Girl called in sick to work and she, her godsister and two other friends went driving around yesterday afternoon - in TWO cars, no less. With the price of gas, "cruising" is on my list of pretty-much banned activities, but we were at Suz's helping her move into her new house - where apparently the teenagers don't have to lift a finger - and I didn't want to make waves. This has always been a bone of contention between the two of us. She thinks the kids should never be "bored," so she pretty much lets them do whatever they want (her two have always been brats, too - big surprise). I think that if you keep them busy, they don't have time to get bored or in trouble. But what could I possibly know about anything? Nevertheless, the girls got "bored" sitting around. Nevermind there was plenty of work available that they would have been perfectly capable of doing.

45 minutes after they left, Suz's cell phone rings and my daughter is screaming something about a wreck and wanting her mom. She didn't call me because she couldn't find her cell phone so she used her godsister's & Suz's number is programmed in at #1. The Girl was crying and screaming, "I"m sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry!" As I calmed her down so I could find out where they were so we could get to them, all I could think was, "I'm so thankful she's able to make this call."

So we all loaded up in The Man's pickup and headed that way - down a windy, VERY bumpy country road. Apparently The Girl stopped so that the other 2 girls could catch up. When they did, she gunned it, lost control, hit a tree, flipped her Explorer and skidded many yards down the road, totaling her car.

Imagine driving up on this scene, knowing your child was driving that vehicle - yeah, the red one that's upside-down:
Or this:
Or this:

Interestingly, in a reflexive, protective move, The Girl threw her arm across Suz's daughter's chest on impact. Once the vehicle came to a stop, they both crawled out of the open windows. Had the windows not been rolled down, they both would be picking glass out of their skin today. Instead, they have only a few abrasions from the airbags deploying and on their necks from the seatbelts holding them in place. Oh, and the emotional toll on The Girl from losing both her beloved car and her equally beloved job in the same instant.

The police, fire & EMT guys said that they were lucky. If they'd been in a convertible, then most likely they both would have been killed or seriously injured. A convertible like the red convertible Mustang my goddaughter HAD to have, so Suz naturally bought for her. The car they almost drove but didn't because Suz's daughter isn't licensed yet and The Girl isn't on their insurance policy.

So in the postgame analysis, even though The Girl thinks I'm mad because she wrecked her car, I'm not. I am thankful to be able to call the insurance guy tomorrow about handling the totaling of her car instead of cashing her life insurance policy and finding myself in the surreal and unenviable place of having to plan a funeral for a child. I'm happy she's home watching TV and sending text messages to her friends instead of on life support or in the morgue. I don't mind being inconvenienced by taking her to & from school until she can afford to buy another car. I don't mind helping her find another job closer to home or even taking her to and from the new job so she can save money to get another car. I'm endlessly grateful that my only child, my precious Girl, is home, safe and mostly that she is still alive to be able to try out for drum major in a couple of weeks, go on her band trip, compete at All-State solo & ensemble and most of all spend another summer floating in the pool and solving all the world's problems with me.

Meh.

I really don't have anything to say. That said, I leave you with this cryptic hint:

Stroke of Insight

Imagine for a moment that you're a neuroscientist. Now imagine that you've had a stroke. Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor had an opportunity few brain scientists would wish for: One morning, she realized she was having a massive stroke. As it happened -- as she felt her brain functions slip away one by one, speech, movement, understanding -- she studied and remembered every moment. This is a powerful story about how our brains define us and connect us to the world and to one another.

Online Winkelen

HEMA is a Dutch department store. The first store opened on November 4, 1926, in Amsterdam . Now there are 150 stores all over the Netherlands. HEMA also has stores in Belgium, Luxemburg, and Germany . In June of this year, HEMA was sold to British investment company Lion Capital.

Take a look at HEMA's product page. You can't order anything and it's in
Dutch but just wait a couple of seconds and watch what happens.

http://producten.hema.nl/

Don't Mess With Little Old Ladies in Texas

It's a good way to get your ass kicked!

The Danger of Imaginary Friends

In the history of mankind, more lives have been lost and destruction and suffering caused in the name of Imaginary Friends than by any other concept. Most adults who talk to imaginary friends that tell them what to do are called "mentally ill" or "delusional," except certain special types, because evidently that kind of delusional is okay. This is because all of their real friends have the same Imaginary Friend because they're not allowed to hang out with people who have a different Imaginary Friend (per the Imaginary Friend, of course). So, because "everybody does it," and they're afraid not to because the Imaginary Friend has told them that "Bad Things" will happen if they don't, the people all share the in the special Imaginary Friend delusion and call it "religion." The even people build big special buildings that cost lots of money for their Imaginary Friend to live in, most of the time a whole bunch of them in the same town. Then they give It a percentage of their income, even if they don't have enough for themselves, because apparently Imaginary Friend needs money too.

Since the special Imaginary Friend kind of delusion is protected -and even encouraged- by their leaders, it's even more okay. Because, come on, if the people don't have to think for themselves because their Imaginary Friend does it for them and tells them what to do, that can only be good for the government, right? Think about it. If the government can convince the poor gullible people that Imaginary Friend wants them to support the government's policies even when they're foolish and that if they don't, "Bad Things" will happen, that can only be good for the government.

When the people meet somebody with a different Imaginary Friend, they argue about which Imaginary Friend is better. Then, because it's an argument that can't be won because it's about Imaginary Friends, everybody gets mad and calls all the real friends they know who have the same Imaginary Friend so they can have a real war with the people with the different Imaginary Friend, to prove whose Imaginary Friend is the bigger badass - with real weapons, injuries, loss of life, rape, pillaging and destruction to back it up.

That's just silly. I don't want to play.

Way to Go Band!

Man, oh man, our band kids here in Fundietonfieldvilleview, Texas are an amazing bunch. They competed in the UIL concert & sightreading contest Wednesday and earned straight first divisions in both. That, coupled with their straight ones in marching back in the fall, earned our little ragtag bunch of band nerds the much-coveted Sweepstakes Band award for the first time since the 2002-2003 school year. As "the mom that goes to stuff," I had the privilege of witnessing both events. From my seat at the back of the auditorium during the concert event, I watched 2 of the 3 judges bobbing their heads and appearing to really be enjoying themselves. During the sightreading event (where the kids have to perform a piece of music they've never seen before after their band director talks about it for 4 minutes), they didn't sound like they were sightreading at all. It was flippin' awesome.

Soooo, the party will ensue at my house next Saturday. It's going to be a blast they've worked hard to earn. This coming week is Spring Break for The Girl. Hopefully, we'll have the pool ready to go by then.

Individual Differences

I've been busy re-organizing my files and files and files of testing protocol blanks. Really, I didn't realize just how much I'd accumulated and how horribly disorganized they were. Now everything neurocognitive rehabilitation-related is in one file, everything assessment-related is in 3 files and all of the important articles and lectures are in another file. 'Tis all good. Over the course of the reorganization, I ran across this and thought y'all would appreciate it.

The Fable of the Animal School

Once upon a time, the animals decided they must do something heroic to meet the problems of "a new world," so they organized a school. They adopted an activity curriculum consisting of running, climbing, swimming, and flying, and to make it easier to administer, all the animals took all the subjects.

Duck was excellent in swimming, better in fact than his instructor, and made passing grades in flying but was very poor in running. Since he was slow in running, he had to stay after school and also drop swimming to practice running. This was kept up until his web feet were badly worn and he was only average in swimming. Nevertheless, average was acceptable in school, so nobody worried about that but Duck.

Rabbit started at the top of the class in running but had a nervous breakdown because of so much make-up work in swimming.

Squirrel was excellent in climbing until he developed frustration in the flying class, where his teacher made him start from the ground up instead of from the treetop down. He also developed charlie horses from overexertion and then got a C in climbing and a D in running.

Eagle was a problem child and was disciplined severely. In the climbing class he beat all the others to the top of the tree but insisted on using his own way to get there.

At the end of the year, an abnormal eel had the highest average and was Valedictorian.



I have not clue one from whence this came. If you know the author, please let me know so that I can give them due credit.