And so it begins...another season of standardized torture, er, I mean, testing.  It makes me want to give a hearty Charlie Brown-esque AAaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhh!

So where was I??

I just get so annoyed with the whole process.  And have yet to understand the point.  My kids have been in school for some time now and it never gets less annoying.  Anyway, it's been a long while since I had a good rant here at the blog, so here goes...you have been warned!

My kids are stressed, y'all.  The school puts too much pressure on these kids.  The schools/school district/government/whoever...puts too much pressure on the teachers for their students to "perform".  And for what?  Some kids simply don't test well--cliche, yes, but it's a fact.  Some kids are not going to master certain subject matter whatever you do, however you teach it.  These kids don't know why they are taking these tests, only that they have to take them.  Don't get me wrong, I agree that tests such as the SAT and ACT, actually serve a purpose.  And when you are taking a college entrance exam, you know WHY.  When my kids ask me, "Mom, WHY do we have to take these tests?"  It's not an easy question for me to answer because I feel so strongly about it.  And I don't want my children not to care.  So I tell them that they are designed more to test your teacher than to test you.  I tell them to give their best effort and then don't give it another thought.  "But my teacher said I have to do well or, or, or..."  Or what?  This year, I chose to give my kids a sage piece of advice my dad once gave me..."In 20 years, who is going to know or care that you made a D in that class?" 

What?

Yes, 20 years ago, I, a student at Meredith College in Raleigh, North Carolina,  a preacher's kid, no less, made a D in Religion.  Go ahead and have a laugh at the irony.  It's okay.  At the time, I thought the world was going to cave in around my pretty little head.  Also, I knew my parents were forking out a ridiculous amount of moola for me to attend college and so that was stressful for me.  But when my dad said those words to me that day when I was so distressed, I learned that keeping things in perspective goes a long way toward keeping a girl sane. 

SIDEBAR:  Now, let me mention here, that "Dr. I-know-your-name-but-I'm-not-going-to-use-it-here", professor of Religion at Meredith College (a women's college with Baptist roots! <clears throat>) was a bespectacled, clog wearing, mustachioed, tweed jacket and khaki wearing, sitting on the front of his desk, atheist who in NO WAY should have been teaching a religion class.  Now that is my humble opinion.  But I sat there every class and had to listen to that man malign my personal belief system and tell me that the Holy Bible was nothing more than a historical work of fiction.  UGH!  (You are entitled to your own opinion about Jesus and the authenticity of the Bible, but please allow me that same courtesy.)

But I'm afraid I digress...

Anyway, that piece of advice from my dad really took a load off my shoulders.  And so I shared it with my kids..."In 20 years, no one is going to know or care how you scored on this test.  So, just keep it in perspective!" 

Yes, teachers and schools need to be held accountable for providing a fair and adequate education for our kids, but is this the right way?  And I'm not saying there should be no expectations of students to learn certain things.  Let's just suppose for a second, that these standardized tests are meant to assess how well the teachers are doing...

You can be the best teacher that ever walked the face of God's green Earth and your students may not "perform" to the "standard".  And even if they DO meet or exceed the standards, does that mean you have a good teacher on your hands?  What your students know or don't know, in my opinion, does not define how a good a teacher is.  A good teacher is defined by compassion.  Willingness to think outside of the box.  Flexibility.  Making learning fun and interesting.  NOT teaching to some test. 

I don't claim to have all the answers, but I do know this...there has to be a better way. 

But then, nobody ever consults me about these things. 

<steps down from soapbox>

To Whom It May Concern:

Once again, the pointlessness of my neighborhood HOA dues has been confirmed.  Now, that is something I should thank you for bringing to my attention. 

I received in the mail today another of your "communications", which are now to the point of being ridiculous.  Have you really reprimanded me for having a folding lawn chair and a baseball bat on my porch?  Your desperation to find covenant violations astounds me.

You state in your communication to me that your management group is "seeking to preserve the integrity and value of the homes within [our] community".  It seems to me that you are serving only as nit-picking Nazis who are wasting the paper on which your communications are printed, and thus, wasting my HOA dues.  Or perhaps you must only somehow justify your employment and the exorbitant fee you are paid to do your so-called job.  Or maybe you enjoy sending the homeowners in our subdivision into a blind rage every so often.  I haven't the faintest idea which is the case, although I'm strongly leaning toward the blind rage. 

It is unfortunate that this harassment is part of living in this subdivision, which would otherwise be a very lovely place.  Had we known of your "management", I assure you, we would not be living in this neighborhood.  If I had a hot pink utility building on my front lawn, or a jacked up rusted out camper on cinderblocks in my driveway, I could understand that you would be interested.  I am amazed that our homeowners dues go toward paying for the policing of miscellaneous small items on my front stoop. 

I believe your time would be better spent policing the vandalism that has been taking place at our pool over the summer.  Or monitoring the damage to some of the signage in the neighborhood.  Or sending nastygrams to the lovely neighbors who shot off fireworks in our neighborhood for the whole month of July.  Now that would be worth paying for.

By the way, your inspection failed to note the two pairs of sneakers on my front porch as well as the dead flowers in my planters and the smattering of leaves on my sidewalk. 

I'm afraid you are falling down on the job.  Tsk. Tsk.

Yours Truly,

Joell 

(Shwew, I feel a lot better.)

 

"Habit if not resisted, soon becomes necessity."~ St. Augustine

Ever considered that we're all a tad OCD? 

It occurred to me today...in the bathroom, no less...as I realized that <gasp> someone had put the toilet paper on the roll WRONG.  Perhaps you were all unaware that there is a right way and and wrong way to replace the empty roll of TP. 

Let me help you. 

WRONG:

RIGHT:

You do see the difference, don't you? 

Of course you do. 

In fact, you may even think that the wrong way is the right way.  You'd be wrong, but that's beside the point.

Don't misunderstand me, I was grateful (surprised, but grateful) that anyone other than myself had bothered to replace the empty roll--that I hadn't sat down, done my business and THEN realized the roll was empty.  When I sat down and looked at that roll of TP wrongly situated, my first thought was, "Awww, yay, somebody put a new roll on."  And as quickly as that thought had come and gone, I had the sudden and unavoidable compulsion to "fix" it.  I've got to admit, it scared me a little bit. 

But not enough to keep me from fixing it.

What is it with these people?  These "property management" people.  I'd like to manage THEIR property!  Yeah, that's right.  I'd like to go all ninja on them fellahs right about now.   

As my mind stewed during my post-nastygram-weed-pulling stint, I decided that "these people" have nothing better to do than to go cruising around my 'hood with their little rulers and magnifying glasses in tow measuring how tall everyone's grass is.  It must be their way of justifying how much our neighborhood HOA pays them to torture us all. 

You innocently go to your mailbox, only to reach in and realize that "these people" have been SPYING on you.  When?  When did they make their way past my front lawn, screech to a halt, and subjectively determine that my lawn was unsatisfactory?? 

No, we are not one of "those" homeowners with the manicured lawn and perfectly edged curb.  You know the ones.  The ones who live for each Saturday morning, when they can rise with the birds, pull out their shiny "precious" (a la Smeagol/Golum) and sculpt their yard into some kind of Edward Scissorhands-type perfection. All the while ruining a perfectly good Saturday morning sleep-in for the rest of us.  On the other hand, we aren't the Beverly Hillbillies either...though that could be up for debate, I imagine.  Just ask the Property Management eggheads. 

They send these arbitrary nastygrams and underneath the seemingly pleasant guise of "this is for the good of your neighborhood" lies the not so pleasant statement "pull your freaking weeds or we'll lay a big fat fine on you".  A lovely sentiment, really.  Makes me feel all warm and tingly inside.

SIGH

Oh, to have known about the neighborhood nazis a year ago before we purchased this home.  I'm thinking I would not be living in this 'hood.   If we hadn't just unloaded our other house, I'd almost be willing to move.  Almost.

"I am having an out of money experience."  ~Author Unknown

"That money talks
I'll not deny,
I heard it once:
It said, "Goodbye.""
~Richard Armour

-----------

On my hiatus, it seems like there were so many things I thought I'd blog about once I got back online, but for the life of me, now I can't think of what they were. 

Be that as it may, every day life is never without blog fodder.  If you are looking for it.  It has a certain way of presenting itself. 

Case in point:

I knew I spoke too soon when I mentioned the other day that Big Red was still hanging in there.  Big mistake.  SIGH.  And I KNOW y'all are sick of hearing about my car, BUT...

Yesterday, right when I needed to be taking Emma to her horseback riding lesson, I went to fire her up, except there was no fire.  Oh she would make like she was going to fire up, but she was just teasin'.

SIGH.

But here's the kicker.  When Clyn got home from work, he got in there and CRANKED HER right up. 

Go figure.  So we decided to get her up to the car doctor ASAP, while she was cranked up.

So, she's gone to see Dr. Gene.  Sounds like he'll be able to fix her up...for a small fee.

But I ask you, when do you throw in the towel and say...okay, we're done.  Put her out of her misery.  When, I ask you, is it humane to euthanize your car?  Yes, I said CAR not CAT.  She doesn't appear to be in any pain, but she is surely causing me some--mental and financial.  Do you let your car tell you when enough is enough?  When do you decide to bite the bullet and buy a another car?  Is it at the point where what it will cost to fix the old one exceeds what a down payment on a new one would be?  Where, where, do you draw the line??  I just don't know.

Bear in mind that this occurred exactly TWO DAYS after we purchased our computer.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Alrighty then.  Let's move on, shall we?  On to happier things.

Guinea pigs make us happy don't they?  Yes, they absolutely do.  This is Zippy.  He's got this sorta mohawk thing going on and so I wanted to name him Mo.  He he.  Or Mr. T, which I thought was cool but my kids didn't appreciate.  Then I suggested Skunk.  No.  Shot down.  Then the white stripe reminded me of a zipper down the middle of his head and I said that to Emma and she said, "That's it!  I'll call him Zippy."   And Viola! 

He's been a lot of fun to have around.  Only now I've got to arrange pet care for yet another of our growing menagerie of critters whenever we go out of town.  Oh well.  The joys of parenthood.

That's all I have to say about that.

"Now I know, a refuge never grows
from a chin in the hand and a thoughtful pose
Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose." ~Lyrics from "Hammer and a Nail" by the Indigo Girls

Here are a few words which come to mind at the moment:

Bronchitis (Jacob).

Nasty antibiotics.

Pneumonia (Hubby).

Dishes.

Lingering Christmas decor.

Laundry.

Stinking dog.

Tight clothes.

Unmotivated.

Yeah.  That's right.

SIGH.  Now I suppose I'm gonna get up off this here computer and try to go do something about the stuff I can do something about.  Chin up and get down to business and all that, right?!  Right.

Here I go.

Yep.  I'm going.

Right........now.

For real this time.

Really.

Aaaand I'm gone.

"Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children, and no theories."  ~John Wilmot

First, Vanessa Hudgens, of High School Musical fame, has nudie pictures of herself floating around the internet.  Now this.

SIGH.

Jamie Lynn Spears, the 16-year-old sister of the trainwreck also known as Britney Spears, has announced that she is 3 months pregnant.  Just what the Spears family needs...more tabloid fodder.

When she isn't accomanying her sister on some shopping trip and telling the paparazzi to "____ off", Jamie Lynn stars in the Nickelodeon (kids' network) show (which my daughter watches) called "Zoey 101" about a group of high school kids.

Now I'm not passing judgment on the kid, I'm just wondering, how do I explain this one to my 9-year-old daughter?  I wasn't quite ready to have the sex talk just yet.  I mean, we have only in the last 2 months had peripheral discussions about "Aunt Flow"...OY VEY.

I'm thinking that pretending Emma doesn't know or won't find out about this is the wrong way to go. 

Welcome to the wonderful world of parenting tweens.

Caffeine isn't a drug, it's a vitamin!  ~Author Unknown

-----------

I'm a little hyped up on my coffee right now, so this should be interesting.  I'm typing like a zillion words a minute, but am having to backspace a lot because my fingers are so spazy due to my caffeine consumption. *twitch twitch*  Can anyone else relate?  Okay, slow down brain. 

I'm sitting here waiting for the powerwasher guys to arrive.  Got a nastygram last week from our homeowner's association (aka "neighborhood nazis") stating that we needed to "please power wash our home".  What?  *raised eyebrow* It doesn't look too bad to me.  We just moved in here in August.  I've barely had time to read the novel dissertation packet that is the "DECLARATION OF COVENANTS, CONDITIONS, RESTRICTIONS AND EASEMENTS" of our subdivision.  But I have now looked it over, post-nastygram, and have yet to find anything about power washing, home maintenance, or the like.  I composed an email to the nazis property managers and very kindly expressed our "desire to be in compliance with the covenants".  I also asked them to waive the $25 fine as we were showing "good faith in working very diligently to resolve this issue".  Reply came. Fee waived.  Darn, I'm good.  I'm such a little ray of sunshine.

But now, I'm just looking around wondering, "who, on my street, is the powerwash police?"  It could make you kinda paranoid.    We did make an attempt to do it ourselves, hoping to save some money. CHA-CHING.  But, our roof is so pitchy and steep.  It was really nervewracking watching my hubby climbing on the roof, trying to manage a 24 foot extention ladder.  Let's just say the ladder was a bit "wonky" and when he stepped on it to get to the second story on the side of the house, had I not been standing there, there was a back injury just waiting to happen. Envision said "wonky" ladder ever-so-slowly sliding sideways down the vinyl siding, hubby going down with it.  Me running slo-mo toward him, arms extended, "noooooo!!"  I hollered at him...Get down from there!  Are you trying to break your skull??  Oh we tried to reposition the ladder and really gave it the college try, but it just wasn't happening.  Time to call in the professionals.  SO, I made some phone calls and here we are.  Putting out the cash for the neighborhood nazis.  Just makes you want to build a hot pink storage shed right on the front lawn, ya know?

But that would be wrong.  Wouldn't it??

"Do not take life too seriously.  You will never get out of it alive."  ~Elbert Hubbard

-----------

Lucky ME.  The third time's the charm apparently.

I am now legally licensed to drive in the magical state of South Carolina.

Life is now complete.  Thank you.  Thank you very much.

It ain't no sin if you crack a few laws now and then, just so long as you don't break any.  ~Mae West

-------------

So y'all took the brunt of my moaning about the SC DMV and their wacky ways.  Well, here's what I get for all my whining and complaining.  A ticket.

Yes, I know all y'all thought I was perfect in every way.  I really hate to ruin the illusion, but I can't let it go on. The truth always comes out.

It was about to be THE perfect day.  I had scheduled a massage and a facial...an early anniversary present to myself.  (18 years, thank you very much!)  Thanks, Sweetie! 

I haven't had a massage in over a year and can't remember when I'd had a facial, so I took the liberty of scheduling them.  I was going to enjoy them, then run a couple of errands and then go have a bite of lunch while reading my current installment of the Outlander series (The Fiery Cross...it's really good!) and just relax.  I guess I relaxed too much.

After my FABULOUS spa moment, and I do mean fabulous.  I was like a wet noodle, y'all!  I went by the post office to mail my nephew a belated birthday gift and then was making a quick trip to Target (properly pronounced Tar-zhay...aka the French department store, also kin to Jay Say Pen-yay.)  The area around Tar-zhay is crazy busy and the stop light in front of it, where you must make a left, takes FOREVER.  My light was green.  I was edging closer to the light and it turned yellow.  I did not want to sit at said intersection for 15 more minutes.  I can make it, I thought, as it turns a slight shade of orange.  WHEW!  Made it.

 Errrr, maybe not.  DANG.  I was busted.  Me and my Iowa driver's license and my Iowa license plates. 

I was hanging my head and those blue lights were just a-going.  I slowed to a stop and began to fumble shakily in my purse for the license and the glove box for registration and insurance.  "Sergeant P" (SP) greets me (ME) at my window.

SP:  Ma'am, I stopped you because you failed to stop at the red light.

ME: Yes sir.

SP: Is there a reason for that?

ME: Not a good one, no.

SP: (slightly smirks) May I see your license, registration and proof of insurance please?

I hand it all over.

SP: Ma'am, is this your current address?

ME: No sir, we just moved here recently. (I give him current address)

SP: How recently?

ME: Um, August--mid-August.

SP:  Is there any reason you haven't gotten a South Carolina driver's licence yet?

ME: (HUGE mental sigh here) Yes sir, there is.  (Kinda whiney) They make it so hard here.  I've had to send off for my birth certificate.

SP: I understand that ma'am.  When do you expect to receive that?

ME: Well, I actually got it yesterday and I haven't had the chance to go over there yet. (because I had my SPA day today! DUH!)

SP: I'll be right back.

SP goes to his car and proceeds to stay there for oh, about 15 minutes...the 15 minutes I SHOULD have spent waiting patiently at the stop light. SIGH.  I'm sitting there feeling terrible and thinking, how long does it take to write a stinking ticket??  I mean, SP was nice and all, but he wasn't letting me off the hook.  I just had a feeling.  I'm sitting there thinking, THIS is what I get for moaning and complaining about the SC DMV.

15 minutes later...

SP:  Ma'am I didn't write you a ticket for failing to stop at a red light, which would be 4 points (against my insurance which is SKY high in SC).  I wrote it instead for "Inattentive operation" which is 0 points. (SILVER LINING)

ME: WOW! Thank you so much. I really appreciate that. 

SP:  I could have also ticketed you for not having a South Carolina license, but I understand that it isn't as easy as it used to be.  But I suggest you go ahead and get that taken care of.

ME:  I want you to know that I DID try to get my license.  Twice.  I really did try.  But let me ask you this, why is it so hard here?  I've been licensed in other states and it's never been this much of a problem to get an updated license.

SP: Well, it's not just here.  It's pretty much everywhere now.  Homeland security...blah blah blah...since 9/11...blah blah blah...illegal immigrants...blah blah blah...

(I'm knowing I got my license in Iowa an entire year after 9/11, with NO problems, but I'm keeping my mouth shut...looking a gift horse in the mouth and all...)

ME: I understand. (not really, but...)

SP: (presenting me with my present) Your court date...blah blah blah...if you fail to appear...blah blah blah...pay at municipal...blah blah blah...Drive carefully and have a nice day, ma'am.

ME: Thank you.

So much for my happy relaxing day.  That's what you get for being whiney and complainey and moaney about something over which you have ZERO control.  Payback.  Literally.

CHA CHING.  That'll be $155.00, please.  On TOP of that $56.95 I just spent on that fancy new birth certificate.

It could have been worse.

I love my new town.

"Anger is one letter short of danger."  ~Author Unknown

----------

Does anybody know the going rate for a certified birth certificate from the District of Columbia??  I do.  $56.95.  CHA-CHING

I am flabbergasted at how difficult these people here in SC make it to get a driver's licence.  They want 14 pieces of documentation and the blood of your first born child.  I'm not joking.  I'm no idiot--I'd "heard" how they operated here, so I gathered up all the prescribed paperwork before I went over there the first time.  But no.  Once isn't enough to visit the SC DMV.  And I am usually the kind of person who takes into consideration the fact that the person I am dealing with is just the messenger.  Just doing their job.  Usually I can remain calm and collected and give the benefit of the doubt. But not this time.

Twice.  Twice I've been to that DMV office.  That DMV office which is 35 minutes away from my house.  Twice, they don't like the birth certificate I present them--two different ones.  They say they aren't good enough.  Hello!  Nevermind I have 13 other pieces of documentation that confirm who I am.  My marriage license.  My social security card.  My closing documents from the purchase of our home.  My electric bill.  My water bill.  My bank statement.  Oh yeah, and my OLD driver's licence.

I am just completely blown away.  What do they want from me?!  Are they trying to make my head explode?!  It is so enraging because there is nothing I can do about it.  I am held hostage by these DMV people and it makes me angry.

If I were a NEW driver, I might understand.  For Pete's sake, I've been driving for OVER 20 years. I've been licensed in 4 other states.  And NONE OF THEM, I repeat, NOT ONE made it such an incredible pain in the butt that these people have.  Here's how they do it in other states, at least the ones I've lived in...You go to your local DMV. You show them your old license.  You show them something that proves you now live in their state.  You pay them money and surrender your old license. They take your picture and they give you your new license. Oh, and they say "welcome to our state", with a smile.  People, I don't make this stuff up.  TAKE A LESSON, South Carolina!  OR at the very least, give me a reasonable explanation for the ridiculous amount of documentation you require!

I mean, do they think people just sit around all day and think about how they might dupe the SC DMV today? 

Hunched over, wringing their hands together and laughing maniacally??  "MUUAAAAHAHA HA HA HA.  Let me just pretend that this is who I am. Let me bring in this mocked up birth certificate, just to see if they will issue me a SC driver's license.  Haha ha ha ha." Seriously, I don't have that kind of time, people!

Quote from the DMV lady: "All you have to do is order you one from the vital statistics office."  ALL I HAVE TO DO???  All I have to do is leave here, with my blood pressure boiling, drive 35 minutes back to my house, call the vital statistics office in DC, sit on the phone for 20 minutes with them answering questions, give them my credit card which they bill $56.95 for a stupid piece of paper WHICH I ALREADY HAD.  THEN, I will have to wait however many days they decide to take to get said piece of paper to me, take another day and drive 35 minutes back to the stinkin' DMV and see that woman's mug all over again for a THIRD time.  Yeah, that's all I have to do. That and down a stiff drink.

SIGH.

We live by the Golden Rule.  Those who have the gold make the rules.  ~Buzzie Bavasi

----------------------------------------

I usually avoid political topics, because I guess I don't feel like I'm very well-informed about politics and economic issues, but this is really getting to me right now and I just can't seem to let it go.

Number 1 peeve right now...Gas is $3.19 a gallon...today, that is.  And that is the "cheap" gas.  What will it be tomorrow??!  It's a mystery!   And it just keeps going up and up and up.  Are we going to be paying $4.00 a gallon this summer?    I mean, who is in charge of this?

I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time being annoyed by this lately. I'm beginning to think it's a little unhealthy for me. Who decides that gas should be astronomically priced?  And what is the reason behind it?  There's just no rhyme or reason to it.  I mean, if there was an actual reasonable explanation, MAYBE I could try to be less irritated about it, but come on!  They are killing me.  I put 12 gallons of gas in my red van the other day and it cost me $40.00.  I wonder about people who are driving the big SUVs that chug gasoline like an ice cold beer on a hot, dusty summer day. How can they afford to drive anywhere anymore.  And what about the truckers who make a living driving a giganto gas guzzler?  What do they have left to live on after they fill their enormous tanks?  Or the grocery stores who ship their goods across the country, in the giganto gas guzzlers....the cost will be trickling down to us at the local supermarket, I have no doubt.  Is this why we have jobs, simply to put gas in our cars?  That's what it seems like lately. SIGH.

My personal opinion is that there are people who already have a lot of money who think they need to have a lot more money and they want you and me to have a lot less.  Seriously.  I imagine a committee of wealthy oil tycoons sitting around their massive conference table, drinking their Jack and Cokes and laughing maniacally and saying "Let's make gas $4.00 a gallon...BECAUSE WE CAN! MOOHWAHAAAHAHAHA!!!!" 

It's making me pretty crazy.  I think what may make me the craziest is the fact that there is NOTHING I can do about it.  I am at their mercy.  It's kinda like being at the airport and they tell you your flight has been delayed because of "mechanical problems".  You are at their mercy.  I mean, who am I to say, "I don't believe you.  Prove to me you are having a mechanical problem. Or else get me on that airplane and get me out of here!" All you can do is sit around and wait.  Wait and see what happens and try not to be completely shocked at the result.  That is, when they say, "We're terribly sorry, but your flight has been canceled."  Or you go to Arby's fully expecting to still have the regular fries AND the curly fries as options, only to be told, "We're sorry, we no longer serve regular fries."  No longer serve regular fries???!  Are you kidding me?  What kind of fast food restaurant ARE you??!  No one consulted me before this very important decision was made.   

And it's kinda like when they (whoever "they" are) say, "Gas is now $4.50 a gallon.  And we're NOT sorry." Sadly, we are at their mercy too.  KA-CHING!

---------------------------------------

Inflation is taxation without legislation.  ~Milton Friedman