Watch out for the baby. Sneaky and willing to ride on your glory

Last year, I got my hair cut Halle Berry short, and it goes without saying that short hair is the perfect canvas for accessories. I told the younger Hicks of my plan to "make headbands my thing". I am we'll aware of how risky it is to take on a "thing ", but it turns out that's child's play compared to the threat you face when Lauren hears a good idea. Within days, she was emerging from her room with all sorts of headbands - some were replicas of my own.
This should have taught me the lesson, but instead I walked right into it with this blog idea last summer. She used to be polite and refer to it as "our blog", but we have moved past it . Yesterday she said, "Oh I have to write about that on my blog". And,yes , she was wearing a headband

Are You Ever Really Asking For That?

Is there a certain age when sexual harassment is no longer a thing?

I'm on the elliptical and an 80 year old man comes up and motions for me to take my headphones off. He then proceeds to point at a kid half way across the gym and say 'see that guy? He's from Wisconsin!' This was followed by intense giggling. Thinking he's anti Wisconsin I say 'ohhhh no the worst.' Confused, but thinking I said just what he needed I put my headphones back in.

2 minutes later....

He reapproaches, this time from the rear. Taking only one earbud out I lean down to the comment, 'you like Wisconsin too (more giggling) at least according to your billboard!' Now if this guy weren't in his Sunday's best and receiving Social Security benefits I may have reacted differently, but I commended him on being a spitfire so early in the morning. 'Well you were advertising' as he points/taps at my shorts.

I found myself wondering if his interaction was inappropriate or if he was right that I was bringing it on myself? This old man has just thrown me into a Lifetime movie. Ladies, don't follow my example. Politeness perpetuates the problem. I fear next time he'll take the visible part of my sports bra and give me a nasty 'turtle snap.'

Alice in Wonderland Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

I taught my 4th graders fairy tales this week.  Right about now, you're probably thinking, "wow, she's basically an expert on this topic then." And how right you'd be. I went down to Mankato to pick up my new RAV 4 Limited and left feeling like Lauren in Heintz Toyota might be a better sell than Alice in Wonderland.  The only thing she may have on me is the fact Wonderland gave her a cake that said "eat me" on it.  Then again, probably a good move on the dealership's part not to give me that.  Not only did they save me the calories, but either the WWF or 90210 have stripped the term of its innocence  Those two words are now considered fighting words.  Regardless, I think the elements of a fairy tale I experienced would make Oprah's book club list, and if turned into a movie would give the Star Wars dynasty a run for their money:  

A Kind/Good Character:

-I think it's obvious who we're talking about here...

-Usually this character has some princess like quality.  She's either beautiful or has the body measurements Sir Mix A Lot made popular back in the 90s.  It wasn't until this car that I could claim, I've got a hot butt.  Not because it looks good in a skirt, but because I now have seat warmers.  My butt is literally hot whenever I decide. There's my "hot girl factor." Boom.

Magic/Enchantments:

-The corner of my rear-view mirror turns into a camera when I back up.  I'm as shocked and impressed as all of you.  I have my own personal Snow White mirror.  

-When I have my keys on me (even if they're in my purse or pocket), and I touch the door it opens.  I'm above magic words like "abracadabra or open sesame."  Not even the Wizard of Oz could stop this.

Guardians (fairy godmothers, mentors, magical helpers, guides, etc.)

-Max (Sales Consultant) and Natalie (Financial Services Manager) played these parts beautifully.  Max didn't have a wand, but he did wave around a key-less FOB.  He did not fly like Tinkerbell, but did offer up a little jig. When I said I had hoped Natalie had something like a tiny dance prepared for the finance portion of the day, he caught my hint.  His jazz hands and toe tapping put Michael Flatley to shame.  When it was Natalie's turn she didn't disappoint.  She didn't need to coach me on how to walk in heels or behave around royalty like the fairy godmother in Cinderella.  What she did need to help me with was remembering how to write $2,500 on my check.  I don't throw down cash that freely or often so I had a little self doubt.  She was very helpful with the organization of numbers.  I was battling some pretty tricky 3rd grade math, and she really pulled through for me.

Evil Characters:

-Usually these characters are very ugly and easy to spot.  In my story these two are just the opposite.  Wrapped in a pretty package, my boyfriend and sister pooped on my parade.  As I drove back to Minneapolis, I called Matt to wow him with all the fun features.  Realizing I had recently consumed inappropriate amounts of caffeine and was on buyer's high I told him I'd let him go.  Usually this offer provokes the response "oh, no I love talking with you."  This time he said "oooooook."  Poop on my parade.  So, I call my sister, Stephanie to let her know I'm heading back home.  After a couple minutes I threw her the same bait I had given Matt and told her I can tell she's done with the conversation so I'll let her go.  She bluntly says "well, all you have to talk about is your car and that doesn't interest me."  Poop on my parade.  They're like that poisonous apple in Snow White.  Pretty until you hit below the surface.

Rags to Riches:

-My parent's dog, Murphy, will eat anything and everything.  Last time I was home he ate the insides of my shoes.  I'm cheap, so I rolled with it, and instead of throwing them have chanced Plantar Fasciitis.  Cinderella had a glass slipper, but I'm an athlete and not willing to spend more than $20 on shoes.  So, I splurged slightly at Old Navy and bought my version of glass slippers for $24.95.  I'm a high roller now.

     

There's Gangam Style & There's Church Style

Discipline and what we deem singing appropriate shifts when we enter a church...


The Discipline:
-Church is a naughty kid's playground.  No matter what a kid pulls a parent cannot yell, spank, or threaten. Some parents have created an art form out of disciplining in church.  After a "professional" get's kicked or sassed they usually like to smile as though they've enjoyed the disrespect.  They maintain that smile as they whisper sweet nothings (or threats) into the kid's ear.  Today, I even saw a mom add a kiss on the forehead as she pulled away. Sure it's all fun and games until father says "let's go in peace to love and serve the lord."

Sound Discretion:
-Since American Idol people have more opinions on what constitutes a good voice.  Simon Cowell has invited us to be direct and critical with a person's lack of talent, and Randy Jackson would be the first to tell "a dog" they were "pitchy."  Yet, we push those urges aside as we enter a church and adopt the Paula Abdul approach.  For some reason those who, to be blunt, suck at singing tend to be the loudest.  They're also the most apt to start clapping along to a song opposite of the appropriate beat.  God bless them they're feeling it, and even if no one else is I am loving it, so please continue.

'Tis The Season....

My first student Christmas gift

My students were as excited as me this morning when one of my kids handed me a present.  Every year, without fail, the kids see a peer gifting and get competitive.  This year proved to be no different.  One of the kids yelled out "you'll be receiving my gift on Tuesday, Ms. Hicks."  Another decided to tell me the exact gifts I was getting, the day in which they planned on gifting it, and even threw in a wink almost in an attempt to reassure me I had made her "nice list."   It's the cutest thing, and I so love spending time with them.  When this happens, I always remind them "your presence is my gift.  You make my life more fun!  I do not need a thing."  One little girl yelled back "ha!  you've earned it for putting up with us." As soon as I unveiled this rug from it's box, the room fell silent and some jaws dropped.  This delightful present rests in the entry way of "Hicks' Hub" (A fancy name for the space behind my desk.)  I could have brought this little gem home to share with Stephanie, but instead I kept it at school for a few reasons:

1. Cultural diversity.  It says "happy holidays" therefore it clearly signals to my students I like holidays.  The celebrations and the gas stations.
2. A welcome mat in general really makes a statement.  When pointed outward it allows those visiting your area to realize you're pretty important and that you're accepting guests while wishing them happy times.  Yet, notice the orientation of my mat in the picture.  This was taken at 4pm.  This means that I've heard Ms. Hicks one too many times and I'm currently the only one welcome.  
3. At one point I took a small group to read around the rug.  I made it seem extra special by reassuring them the reindeer and snowmen were interested so they should speak up while reading.  Half weren't listening, and the other half looked annoyed that I'd suggest such a thing.  I don't know about them, but one thing I do know: I read more fluently with this added pressure.

Although I really don't want/need any gifts, if by chance I do get another one I'm really crossing my fingers it's a door knocker.  I'd love to hang that on the corner of my desk and really settle into the place.

The Rhetorical Jeopardy Game

My students know that I routinely chastise the rhetorical question as an introduction technique.  It's right up there with the quote you spent 2 hours googling because it says "just what I meant".  Stop. Don't use quotes.  Stop starting essays with questions like, "Have you ever felt like you lost total faith in humanity?"  One, that' personal.  Two, that's a ridiculous question. Of course I have.  I just read your rhetorical question.

And don't get me started on what I'm now calling the "rhetorical question of presentations".  Here's the thing- if you are a master's or a doctoral student, the Jeopardy game as presentation is off limits.  It's a cheap thrill that loses my interest after the first daily double.  Yes, teachers probably praised you for being super fun and creative when you've used it in the past, but guess what?  That was sixth grade, and the students weren't paying several hundred dollars an hour to sit and listen to it.

10 VS Fashion Show Observations

My Victoria Secret Fashion Show Observations

1. I like how the models walk out and have a look of surprise on their face.  It's as though someone whispered Victoria's secret moments before walking on stage.  That or they are caught off guard that they're in their underwear in public.
2. Rihanna's pearl sunglasses confused me until I realized she was probably just using them to shield her eyes from the bright diamonds in the sky.  Her bedazzlement is worth the risk of clam endangerment.
3. Most of these women have accents.  Even though I'm confident most are faking them to sound fancy, I appreciate it.  It gives me reason to believe they're like unicorns from a made up land.  
4. Every so often, when one really wants to let her wings be seen, she'll pause and stare into the camera.  As she's doing this she gets a very intense look on her face.  It's the same look one gets when they step in gum or dog poop.  Or perhaps she's trying to break me and get me to spill the beans through stare down intimidation tactics.
5. Why do I feel more inappropriate looking at Justin Bieber in his white God like ensemble then the models?
6. Bruno Mars always wears a hat for one of two reasons.  Either he's shielding us from the male patterned baldness or he's creatively adding a few inches to his 5'6 frame.  
7. Have we ever considered how these women get such good bodies? I'm convinced it's because their feathers fly off their wings and blow right in their food.  Just like a hair nobody wants to finish eating after that.
8. I've heard many people make snide remarks about athletes being mouth breathers.  However, I haven't seen one mouth closed for longer than a swallow break.
9. What are the chances a female takes this fashion show too literally.  I fear a girl somewhere might try to recreate this magic by strapping on an over-sized pair of wings or flower petal shoulder pads.  Can you imagine the reaction she'd get...well if she could pivot her way through the door.
10. My biggest fear is all these spry young women will need premature knee and hip replacements with the aggressive sashaying I've witnessed tonight.

Two things on a Monday

1. Who is this "Tight Wade" Lauren is trying to emulate?

2. Once in awhile someone arrogant lets their shield slip a bit, and you get a little material to make fun of them.  Tonight, during a group meeting, Mr. Arrogant in my group said that in development work, it's important to respect the culture so they don't become extincted.  That wasn't a typo.  Extincted.  This, my friends, was small, but just enough to make me feel satisfied and smug.

Post Office Insecurity

Dating Matt has allowed me the opportunity to become more intimate with the US Postal Service.  Before him I may have assumed APO was just the more hip and progressive way to say UFO. When he's not deployed I'm less attentive and nurturing to my relationship with the US mail system.  However, I like to keep it on the line, so I dip in every so often for stamps.  Tonight I thought I'd launch a surprise visit and pick up a flat rate box so that I could mail some Christmas presents to Matt. Sadly, I only saw medium and small sized ones in the lobby, which forced me to stand in line among heavy sighing and box bumping.  Although the box bumping didn't appear as intentional as the sighing, as an athlete, I was able to recognize these silver foxes real intent.  They were using their packages as a positioning mechanism to instigate line superiority.  I simply widened my stance and held my ground.  No budging prevailed, and they waited their turn.  When it was finally my turn, I looked to my newest friend "Shelly" for some assistance.  I asked her for a large flat rate box, and was blindsided by how much self doubt this question slapped me with.  First, she asked if I was sure I checked the lobby.  It felt like when mom would ask me if I was sure I had picked up the dog poop after taking it out.  The one eyed squint and head tilt clearly showed they lack confidence in your abilities.  The only difference was this time I wasn't lying when I said yes.  Still I felt nervous I hadn't tried hard enough.  Then, she handed me this:

As I thanked her and walked away I noticed it was already addressed to a Mickie Keck in Germany.  I asked Shelly if I could have a new one which produced various reactions and worries:

By tiptoeing (literally, I thought it would appear more apologetic to those in line, and frankly I felt a little fancy after my 24oz. coffee) I somehow further enraged the crowd.  The sighing was now accompanied by eye rolling and pursed lips by one broad.  Yes.  I said broad.  Her reaction didn't warrant the title of lady. 

Then, as I walked away my heart dropped.  By returning this already addressed box, did I look like the Grinch?  Was this Mickie from Germany running her own adult version of "Toys for Tots?"  Perhaps she was cutting out the middle man and directly asking strangers for gift donations.  Now I'm the tight wade who called her out in front of all these strangers. If this was the case, all I could think was Santa karma.  Another year without that trampoline and Barbie battery powered Jeep I keep asking for :(

Finally, what if this Mickie's identity gets stolen at some point?  People clearly saw her name and address in my hands.  A handful may have seen me snap a picture, and my hair no longer matches my driver's license.  The recent dye job, and whole Catholic teacher claim just looks like a clever rouse.   

So, if these presents don't jingle Matt's bell, then I plan on taking them back and sending them to Mickie.  Mainly to eliminate the appearance of identity theft, but also to spread a little Christmas cheer.

Patience Is A Virtue

pa·tience

  [pey-shuh ns]

noun

1.

the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation,annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

2.

an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner.

3.

quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence: to work with patience.

I may not be able to ribbon dance, do a cartwheel, or bedazzle a pair of jeans, but I can show patience.  When people are blocking me in the bread aisle at Target, I don't see it as a battle zone.  I simply wait as they make a crucial life decision: white or wheat.  When I ask my students if there are any questions and one of them raises their hand with a story I chose to listen because chances are I'm going to need him or her to erase my board at some point.  No body wants a disgruntled board eraser.  They leave streaks.  However today, I found myself feeling insecure about my personality's pride and joy: patience.  

• I realized that if I try to cook soup in a pot or in the microwave I never wait long enough for it to get past warm.  Yet, I don't complain about the fact I'm eating cold soup three bites in.  So, in fact, I didn't actually show annoyance or irritation. Frankly, I'm pleased my lip and tongue aren't singed and I'm still able to taste in case a dessert situation presents itself. 
• I blow-dry my hair in segments.  I get bored after a couple minutes, turn it off and do something else.  Usually it takes me about 5 spurts to get my hair 90% dry.  The remaining moisture is sucked out as I straighten it.  How can I be sure?  I hear a sizzle sizzle sizzle.  Although it takes me much longer because I'm not willing to do it in one sitting, I'd like to silver line it and say that I am in fact showing patience here.  I'm showing steady perseverance through the heat and loud noises. 
• I stopped at Target after the gym.  As I was going through the checkout the cashier was a curious cat.  My nail polish purchase sparked a conversation on how it's her "one girly allowance to self."  Although, I wasn't really sure what that meant I told her that I totally understood and I was the same way.  Somehow this lead into a conversation about how I hope I have little girls some day that can play with a barbie and bounce a ball.  I think I was trying to show her I was an athlete and not high maintenance, but it came off more like I was attempting to solicit a new friend.  She confronted me with delay, but instead of presenting her with an attitude, I found myself engaging her in a verbal exchange that felt more like a Dear Abby letter than casual conversation.

Yet, upon closer examination I realize I'm even more patient than I thought.  Talk about peacocking.  I fear my feathers are so ruffled I won't be able to comfortably rest in my bed tonight...

Bret Michaels??? Right Here, Right Now...

An impromptu lunch date with Stephanie turned awkward due to her lack of self awareness in terms of voice levels and facial expressions.  My curiousity got the best of me when she told me to look behind me because "it's worth it."  First off, I should have refused to look because she failed to use her inside voice, but I'm a people pleaser. 

 

This face should have given it all away, Lauren.  Honestly, does that look say "Hey, turn around, you're about to gain something from this." or "Hey, turn around, I'm about to involve you in something socially inappropriate".  Right. That's what I thought.

Once I realized she was overwhelmed by the Bret Michaels version of a Barry Manilow fanilow, I had already made eye contact with the hungry gentleman.  Literally, the ensemble and swagger this man was rockin was Brett Michaels circa 1993.  I feared making this already awkward situation further uncomfortable so I decided to commit to it.  I stared at that door for about 30 seconds with a perplexed look on my face.  I was trying to appear as though I were doing a high level calucation in my head rather than propositioning him with a stare down like I suspect Steph was trying to facilitate.  The combination of church giggles, and Stephanie trying to turn around and take a picture of him painted the wrong picture for my new friend.  Knowing that I'm more discreet and that my sister won't back away from capturing something she finds funny, I told her I'd take a picture.  Trying to be sneaky I turned my sound off so he wouldn't hear the "shuchtsh" sound.  As my flash went off and commanded his attention I realized there was no possible way to make this situation better.  I guess the real Brett Michaels was really on to something with that song.  Eating lunch with my sister was beautiful, but a little prickly..."Every Rose Has It's Thorn...."

But, honestly, who turns to that degree?  What she calls really committing would have spooked anyone.  A simple twist or an "oops, I dropped by napkin" move would have sufficed.   Also, if you take a close look over my should, hiding casually just behind the chips (see below), you'll see that he more than appreciated her longing stare, and he reciprocated nicely.
The only thing I'll apologize for is how obvious I'm being in this last picture because pointing my head was unnecessary, and I'm not sure that pretending to be on my phone was sneaky either.  Regardless,  you can see him in all his glory.  You didn't need me. 

 

 

New Employee at Caribou: His 1st & Last Day?

For most people, the first day of work can be intimidating.  Usually one would any extra flair in conversation and focus on efficiency in front of their new boss.  Yet, there are such rarities in life as 4 leave clovers.   Just moments ago at the Caribou Coffee drive thru, I had the privilege of encountering one of them first hand.  He came in the form of an overly peppy preppy who decided to shun social norms with an unnecessarily lengthy interaction. 

New Guy: "Hi.  Can you hold up for just a sec?"

Me: "Absolutely!" (I chose to ignore the fact that I looked up to see no cars ahead of me in the drive thru)

New Guy: "Ok, hey there, how's it going.  Can I start you off with a breakfast sandwich, oooo I mean what can I get for you?"

Me: "I'm great, how are you? (I'll admit I failed to pause to hear how he was, but I rationalized he was getting paid to ask how I was and probably could care less about my current emotional state) Can I get a small light roast coffee, and a diet coke?

New Guy: "Wow, hmmmm, that's a weird combination.  I wasn't expecting that.  A little hot and cold."

Me: "Oh, haha, I know, I'm fun like that."

New Guy: I guess we don't have light roast right now, I just asked, but luckily we do have a reindeer dark roast blend. 

Me: (I'm pretty sure his microphone never clicked off and I failed to hear him ask, but as a tip of the hat to Rudolph and this "Reindeer Blend" he spoke of I told him that it sounded like the best and that I'd take it.)

As I drove up to the window I saw my super happy helper being shamed by his superior.  The manager was asking him how long the guy behind me was waiting.  The manager also told my new little buddy that he needs to take orders as fast as he can and to do his best not to forget about the guy in the drive thru this time.  I sensed some hositility in the delivery of that gentle reminder.  It was at this moment I had time to notice the new guy's nametag.  I'd love to have you invest in my experience further by sharing with you his name, but I was too distracted by the "day changer or day maker" that he had hand written underneath.  I can't remember which one because the next few moments were so overwhelmingly magical.

New Guy: (completely rebelling against the urgency in his manager's voice) "Hey there!  So.....what's the answer to the trivia? " Go ahead take a peek (pointing to the window.)

TRIVIA: What president had a pet bear while in office?

Me: (My biggest fears are conflict and seeing people in uncomfortable situations.  Even though this guy appeared to be oblivious I still felt I shouldn't get him deeper into trouble by thinking through it, but trivia is trivia and winning is winning.  So I took a minute before responding.  I all of the sudden had a flash of Teddy Roosevelt holding a gun and went with it.)   "Ahhh, Roosevelt?"

New Guy: Bingo Bango!!!!! (He could not have looked more excited for me)

Me: Sweet! I'm a teacher and totally plan on peacocking this at snack tomorrow!

He factored in my trivia answer discount after taking my money, which then required him to give me change back.  He had to open a new roll of coins.  Which added more time to our transaction, which then provoked apologizing on my part for not just giving him my credit card to save time.  He said "you stop it.  Didn't ruin my day." As I prepared to drive off he proudly shouted at me:

 "You go tell your teachers you just rocked it! Woooooo!"

He obviously stopped listening.  I'm going to tell my students I rocked it, new guy,  not my teachers.  At this point correcting him wasn't an option, he had won me over with his Barney-esque approach to life.   All I could do is "wooooo" back at him while doing a mini fist pump. 

Tomorrow I plan to adopt his way of life.  When my kids are doing the potty dance, I will take my time addressing his or her bathroom request.  I'll refuse to band-aid a paper cut in record time.  And when a student shows me he or she has appropriately identified supplementary angles, I'll simply reply "bingo, bango, you just rocked that."

***My choice in color with the text tonight was intentional.  I have a tendency to appreciate the 55+ crowd.  It's a mixture of their good looks and winning personalities transending the years that gets me.  Sometimes I'm more shallow, as in the case of our former president, George Bush.  He had a great jaw, and strong looking hands. No one can deny tha. However, some members of the AARP crowd maintain both good looks and personalities with a swagger.  People such as John Gagliardi.  Hearing he retired from coaching Johnnie football today provoked the same sadness I felt when hearing Marbury was traded from the Timberwolves.  I'll hold my autographed football helmet a little tighter as I fall asleep tonight...

Keep It Competitive, Keep 'Em Around"

I date on Skype/Facetime for about 87% of the time.  Sadly, that's an actual calculated percentage.  Although we aren't dating under normal conditions, we do have some parrallels to typical couples.

• He'll ask me: In our relationship that means he'll call me first.
• If one of needs to use the restroom we still excuse ourselves from the room as the other person patiently waits.   
• I sometimes shower and get ready twice in a day before I talk to him. I've been informed that the iPhone's resolution is "mind blowing" which means any eyeliner smudge or snarl in my hair could be easily detected.
• Matt is really good at complimenting, but unlike most couples he may ask me to move away or come closer to the screen so that he can appropraitely make commentary.  I sense at these moments Siri is rolling her eyes.

Today, was no different.  On this date, I did not wear a little black dress.  We did not go to dinner and a movie.  Instead we continued the tradition of running our relationship in an athetlic way.  The secret to a successful relationship is: "keep it competitive, keep 'em around." 

Matt wanted to walk around the Axman store, which quickly turned in to a competition.  We decided we could buy whatever random mix for the other person, and they were allowed to add 6 items pf their choosing at the end.   Our current goal is to create something out of a bunch of junk, or "functional material" depending on if you're talking to me or Matt.  As we were checking out we explained to the guy our project and it's purpose.  He looked less than impressed, and shamingly asked me if I wanted another bowl because I had grabbed two lids.  I confidently told him that was intentional.  The fact that it became intentional only after he brought this mistake to my attention isn't something I needed to give Matt or Cashier Rob the satisfaction of explaining.  Cashier Rob, suggested we use facebook to declare a winner. We'll post the final products when we finsih them sometime this week.  Before voting begins, if anyone needs a free babysitter, compliment, or maid please let me know. 

 

(Matt with the supplies I bought for him to use)

 

 

(Me with the supplies Matt bought for me to use.  The nervous look on my face is strategy....I'm trying to falesly build his confidence)

She strikes . . . again

It's a dangerous thing to be a teacher.  You have very limited windows to go to the bathroom, and when you do, it is such precious alone time that you'd rather people didn't try to interact with you.  But maybe I'm unreasonable. 

A few weeks ago, I was doing what you are meant to do in a bathroom, trying to race the clock with a three minute window to go and get back to my room to teach.  It was a magical moment when I suddenly heard "Wow, you're fast.  You must be young".  As I exited the stall, my complimenter had gone into hers, and she continued to compliment me on my youth and ability to go potty.  Weird.

Yesterday, she took a different tone.  I was still racin' that clock when I heard the bathroom door open, a huge sigh and the demand: "UGH! Hurry up!"  I have NEVER!!!!  So, when I exited the stall, my complimenter was there with the following conversation to which I did not want to participate:

Weird lady: Sorry

Me: What?

WL: Sorry, I just told you to hurry up, but when you're  60, your bladder feels much different than when you are your age.

Me: Hmmm...

WL: But you're young, so you're fast.

Me: (Backing out and calculating how much less I will have to drink during 3rd hour to make sure I can change my bathroom schedule.)

Like A Hair In Your Cookie...

Being a teacher, I'm fully aware kids don't embrace change.  Any shift in routine needs warning and explanation. Knowing this, I should have realized that showing up today with a different hair color would provoke unsolicited opinions from the kids.  I left feeling the same way I do when I'm in the midst of a really tasty cookie and I stumble upon a hair.  You appreciate the cookie, and you think you're on the receiving end of a good situation, but then you get slapped with a slight "screw you."

Allow me to summarize:

Example A: Picking my kids up from music

Mr. Sather: "I've heard Katy Perry comparisons, so congratulations." 
Me: "ooo, that's better than the you look scary I've been getting." 
Mr. Sather: "well a few said witch, but ehhh"

 

Ok....they may be on to something...

 

     

 

 

Situation B: Passing time comments

 

-Ahh, you look like my mom now! 

 *Could be a compliment depending on how old and funky mom is.  I chose to think she was a trophy wife who was a former homecoming queen nominee.  Then again this could have been a classic mom jean comparison....hair in the cookie.

 

-Ohhhh, Ms. Hicks!  This has made you prettier!

*Glad I upped my game.  Now I pass, but before I was difficult to look at??? Hair in the cookie.

 

-Is this an all year type of thing?

*Would have seemed positive until I turned around to see the kid making a poop face.  Hair in the cookie.

 

-Whoa!  What did you do, Ms. Hicks?!?!  You look like a teenager!

*Could be sweet that I look younger, unless he's insinuating I look like the teenager who's in the prime of their awkward stage where showers are rare.  Hair in the cookie.

 

-Ms. Hicks.  (Swirling motions with his hand above his head) what happened here?

*Again, this kid looked like a parent whose kid had missed curfew.  They're trying to allow you the independce to realize you've made a bad choice with body language.  Hair in the cookie.

 

Situation C: Calling mom

 

-I sent my mom a picture to see what she thought.  Her response "I really like it!  Now you'll just have to make sure you always wear makeup.  Otherwise you'll look pale.  You know it makes you kinda look smarter." 

*I fear washing my face before bed now. The worst. What if I freak people in my dreams right out?  Hair in the cookie.  

To those of you who fear my self esteem has taken a knock, no worries, most adults were very loving.  Plus, I've got a plan for shifting the attention from my hair.  I'm taking a cue from Tyson.  You almost forget how gentle his voice is with his sweet tat...

Sometimes Nice Gets Awkward

If you see someone you haven't seen in awhile, or maybe just since last night, and you say "good to see you, my friend" four times in the space of 2 minutes, does it cancel out the good tiding?

An inadvertent participant

I visited a social justice school today, and it was filled with a super great group of kids in grades K-8.  As I was walking through the halls admiring this group of scholars, I passed a small group on their way out to recess.  Just as I was about to croon about how amazing they were, one of the taller ones tapped me quite firmly on the shoulder as he ran by and yelled, "You're it!"
This left me in a quandary.  Run after him?  Tag the principal showing me around and pass on the "tag"?  What to do? What to do?  I just saved the tag until I got home and tapped Lauren.

Baptism by Fire

So, I'm new to Facebook, but I have now seen it all.  I was just defriended for the first time.  By my brother.  (I'll pause for sad applause)

Voting: A Throwback to Elementary School

Do you sit up late at night asking yourself, "what was that Lauren like in elementary school?"  Lose sleep no more.  Unlike Victoria, I'm going to share my secret.  I revert back to my precious little self every 4 years on Election Day (that's straight from the mouth of Mary Hicks.  I was precious.  That's just fact.) 

I woke up this morning in search of that metaphorical "sticker on my chart."  Whatever school you attended there was something you earned that signified your worth.  Your approval.  Your belonging.  Your superiority above others who didn't make the efforts you did.  Growing up in the Catholic school system of Mankato these awards began with stickers, and transitioned into the "O.K. Kid Award," and later "Peacemaker Award."  It was a way to "beat" the others, and show you had showed some effort.  As an adult, on Election Day, this comes in the form of the "I Voted" sticker.  Since I'm a teacher, I can't vote until after work.  The shame, and embarrassment brought on by being stickerless until 4:30pm is close to unbearable.  I had to do a few affirmations in the bathroom mirror at lunch just to make it through. 

 

(Before voting)

After work, I headed back to one of St. Louis Park's finest elementary schools.  As I walked up to the table, I quickly ran through the alphabet to make sure I was in the right line. It wasn't until my second run through that I felt secure enough with my suspicion that H is in fact between G-K, and not L-M.  This was the same techinique I used back at Holy Rosary Elementary School when they'd ask us to line up alphabetically.  Thanks, Seasame Street.

Some of my former classmates, if asked, may share the opinion I was somewhat of a "brown noser, suck up, or teacher's pet."  I'll proudly own these titles with the clarification: I was a GENUINE brown noser, suck up, or teacher's pet.  Every compliment I gave.  Every paper I passed out.  Every chalkboard eraser I clapped was out of love and respect for that person.  I never did those things to merely manipulate.  Mary and Jerry Hicks raised me better than that.  This is a skill and approach to others I let sneak out every so often.  How did I attempt to suck up to the registration lady?  I proudly handed her my license and the voter registration card that I received in the mail.  In the time it took her to look annoyed and tell me my identification was unnecessary, I snuck in a little conversation: "busy night, aren't you the best volunteering your time."  All these voter ID ads have spooked me into giving her all the proof I could. I was willing to provide my library card, and teacher badge if necessary.  Unlike most, she wasn't having my conversation and simply handed me my ballot.  It was at this moment I was reminded of my test taking days.

Tests in elementary school, more specifically in the younger grades, didn't feel secure unless you were allowed to use your "privacy folders."  If you went to a school where this term wasn't frequently used, then you are probably a criminal.  I'm kidding, but I fear you may be a victim or perpatrator of answer theft.  Privacy folder use is when you prop up two of your sturdiest 2-pocket folders so that your test sheet isn't visible to your classmates.  Election poll booths are classy privacy folders in my opinion.  They help minimize the stealing of answers, but can't completely eliminate the possibility.  No matter how old I get, I fear cheating.  I don't want someone stealing my answers, and I don't like seeing others peek. I felt uneasy as I watched parents allow their children behind their privacy folders, but my heart really started racing when a woman snuck up to an elderly man and said "Hey, dad can you see the questions ok."  I wanted to raise my hand and ask the woman handing out the stickers for a little security enforcement, but I lost all faith in her as I saw her lack of discretion with sticker distribution.  She willingly gave stickers to two children who did not earn them.  Sticker lady was an enabler.  This badge of honor I so yearned had not only been given to mini cheaters who didn't even vote, but she showed no remorse.  As she handed it to the little girls she said, "ooh everyone deserves a sticker."  No! No, they do not sticker woman!  I waited 18 years before my first sticker.  I knew the names of the candidates!  I looked stuff up! Sadly, all this frustration, and disappointment in humanity was forgotten when I was handed my sticker.  It was an immediate symbol of honor and achievement.  I was part of something, and I had a sticker to prove it.

 

Know when

I sitting in a grad class right now where, on three different occasions, this one guy had announced why he is eating Funyuns. Apparently this is a huge treat for him because he thinks he is wowing people.

Also, in a recent (by this I mean 2 minutes ago) discussion of our presidential election policies, Lauren gave me this little piece of gold: "So, I seem to remember this was earlier last year.  Like, didn't they sweared them in before we went to bed".  Um, I don't anyone has ever done that.  Mostly because it's not used correctly.  They may have been sworn in, but even that didn't come until January.  So, no, Lauren, go back to civics class.  Grab a privacy folder, and retake that test.

On being at a coffee shop and taking a break

1. Is there a point when sitting with an empty coke bottle and the crumbs of the breakfast you had three hours ago is staying too long???

2. When your roommate texts to tell you how much she had cleaned but you just saw her passed out on the couch for hours, should you believe it?
And what's more, should you praise her?

New names

I have officially renamed Lauren Siesta Twists which is both funny and apt. she sleep a lot (siesta), but I cannot take all the credit. My auto correct on my cell phone decided to turn Sista Twista into her new nickname. Who am I to resist fate?!

I Came. I Judged. I Feared Karma.

Braylen, my nephew, has recently entered the world of organized sports.  My little David Beckam has decided to give soccer a try. Today I stepped on to the court as a spectator rather than a player.  I quickly realized my inner intensity to this experience was much different than those around me, and perhaps inappropriate for the "just have fun" mentality of most. 

Differences in Spectating:

 

 

Moms: neglectfully socializing as their child takes his or her first steps to a life of letterman jackets, groupies, preferential treatment, and scholarships.  They miss the crucial moments of scoring a goal or blocking a shot.  However, they do it up big every few minutes with a "woot, woot" or an over eager clapping sequence.  Even if their kid isn't in the midst of the action they are validated by mom.

 

 

He's simply hydrating, but even that apparently "wows" mom.  Maybe she was in the right.  He did get the straw in the juice box without spilling.

 

Dads: tend to be more active in their kid's athletic journey.  Males like to encourage through "constructive criticism." Sure they're under 5, but a dad realizes that's an athlete's prime.  Over praise could hinder their motivation to kick harder or push more discretely. 

 

 

 

 

I realize that through the years I've developed some high standards for the men I associate with. An example, would be my need for "below the ankle workout socks." These are highly encouraged for family, friends, and other.  Meulemans, Zimmermann, Lazzari, Lori, Cheri, and Lisa, friends from work, have been very therapeutic in allowing me to discuss this need pretty regularly at lunch.  Through the boys' random sock checks, I'm slowly becoming more comfortable with the idea that I cannot conform everyone and that's ok.  This may no longer be a deal breaker in who I decide to let into my circle of trust.  However, today as I watched the dads I found a dealbreaker in regards to who will father my future children.  A man who allows a child to score on him is one of two things.  Either extremely unathletic or withholding which in effect builds a kid's athletic arrogance prematurely.  I blame Stephon Marbury's father for his untimely exit from the NBA.  Let it be known, I would not have a child with this man...

 

 

Judging An Athlete By His Attire:
I was so proud of Braylen because he not only looked the part, but he scored a goal (I puffed up and silently peacocked a little in the bleachers)!  As I scanned the court I found myself picking out what kid I'd be ok claiming as my own based on their outfit choice.

The Jock/Cool Kid (take note of the fact he's sporting shin guards)...

 Then we have the kid whose parents can't let go of the glory days...

I believe tying the shirt with a rubber band or hair tie was the standard when rocking a scrunchii was also seen as the social norm.  This little boy's parents need to stop partying like it's 1999, and let go of the 90s. 

Although I can't help these thoughts, I fear God will try to teach me a lesson someday by having my son be a musical prodigy and my girl be a ballerina.  Don't get me wrong.  I COMPLETELY value, respect, and am impressed by kids that take these avenues rather than sports, but as someone who lacks these talents completely I fear I'd limit my child's opportunities.  I can't find rhythm.  I've been looking for years.  Even worse, I'm completely incapable of teaching the proper tapping sequence on a cowbell.  My kid's talents would peak at 3 with at home support like that.  This is a vicious world, and reflecting on my thoughts today I realize, I'm perpetuating the problem.  Some say Karma's a witch, and that scares me. :(



The Sociology of Trick or Treating

First off, let me say this is a magical night. I’ve suddenly converted into the stereotypical 80 year old woman perched with my candy dish waiting to over compliment the children. Like my friend Pam pointed out, I’m creating a borderline “Hansel and Gretel vibe.”

My sister refuses to get up to hand out the candy, which is fine with me. I like the responsibility and the glory that comes from dropping in the perfect treat. I have a rare ability to identify a child’s candy preference based on their costume and swagger alone. For example, my arrogant superheros like their Snickers for the protein aspect. My dainty princesses that prance to the door like their Dots or Skittles. However, only a few earn 2 treats alongside an “ooooo wowwwwww” reaction. To the little plane and rainbow who so gently tickled my door I threw in the added bonus of a wink to show a little appreciation. Through this glorious experience, I began analyzing the “candy traffic.”

The Moms
These are the ladies who stand within a 2 foot radius of their child. They have a pasted on smile that is far from genuine. They can be split into two categories. First, we have the aggressive soccer mom type who makes the effort to go on their tippy toes to peek at the treat as you wait with bated breath in hopes of approval (usually in the form of a head nod or Happy Halloween shout out.) Secondly, we encounter the Minnesota nice mom who has fought social norms and maintains the implementation of manners. They awkwardly tell their child to knock even though I’ve propped the door halfway open with my hip. Then, they yell in a loud whisper “say thank you.” Most of the time I’ve already shut the door as I hear them shout it back at me, which leaves me yelling back to a closed door “you’re welcome.” Shameful.

The Dads
They stand as far away as legally possible. Honestly, any further I’d either call the police to report a peeping Tom or child neglect.

The Pimps
Countless parents tonight rolled up with a kid who was passed out in their stroller or for sure wasn’t sporting any teeth. I’m pretty sure mom and dad got a hankering and needed a fix. They used their child as a prop to fulfill their cravings.

The Candy Snobs
On the rare occasion I misjudge a candy preference or encounter a member of high society, I’m left feeling embarrassed and peer pressured. These are the kids who watch as you drop in their candy. They also come in the form of the kids who linger a little too long after you’ve made the drop. I tend to overuse the standard lines such as “ooo that’s spooky” or “you are just the prettiest!.” Their lack of appreciation makes me want to take my candy back and yell “I was trying to make you feel good, the kid before you was way scarier or prettier.”

The Has Beens
These are the kids who are eye level, use pillow cases, and no longer feel the need to dress up. Tonight, one slapped went great lengths to slap a name tag on that said “Glitter.” I’m not sure what that even meant, and yet I gave her candy. Why? Because I worried she would call me a name behind my back. There’s also that small fear she may leave a fiery bag of poop on my front step.

No matter who comes to my door, or how the interaction goes down I realize what’s important. My costumes will always be better than theirs...