Today I Did Not Win $350,000

Cheap wine in a Mickey Mouse mug. Torn flannel pajama pants. Heavy heart. Check, check, checkity-check!

It is time to review a few of my life's disappointments thus far.

1. The moment I realized that my first love had a second date waiting in the wings on his senior prom night. (May 1997)

2. The moment I realized that my date wasn't ever going to pick me up on my senior prom night. (May 1999)

3. Losing the eighth grade student council election. I made an Acrostic poem with the letters of my name and everything. I'm still baffled by the loss. (October 1994)

4. Realizing that I would have to return to work, leaving my son in the care of someone other than myself. That one really hurt. (August 2010)

5. The day I found myself on a local television talk show as one of thirteen finalists in a contest to pay off your mortgage up to 350k. The man sitting next to me won. I sat in his residual confetti and wept silently with a television camera in my face. That was today. Today I did not win a contest to pay off my mortgage. Today I did not find a way to magically eradicate my debt, fix my oven, fence, or hole above window that lets in the rain. Today I did not receive the miraculous gift of financial freedom, thereby allowing me to spend more time doing the thing I love the most--being baby JAR's mom. Today I did not get to sit on the couch and describe my feelings to the television viewers of our region. I did however win tickets to a "lusty ghost tour." (October 10, 2011)

So... let's review.

I was never meant to partake in the joys of high school prom. Politics are clearly not my thing (though Acrostic poems definitely are). Leaving my child in the care of someone else will never be easy for me. I should only spend one evening drinking and mourning the loss of a yellow pages sweepstakes. And of course, I'm pretty damn lucky to have such a short list.

A Calling Beyond Money

Hello computer. Long time no type. What have I been up to? Oh, you know... this and that...

(cue music...)

Keeping my nose to the grindstone, shaping precious young minds, working my fingers to the bone, burning the candle at both ends, believing that the children are our future, firing on all cylinders, working against the clock, imparting a lifelong love of learning in our future generations, and quite often, working hard for the money.

Just kidding. It's not about the money. I am intrinsically motivated by a calling that transcends paychecks and health benefits. See below.

Me: Howdy! I was just calling to ask about this red collections notice I got for a past due electric bill?

Local energy company:  Yes ma'am. You haven't paid your electric bill in three months. If you do not pay it within 7 days we will be forced to shut off your power.

Me: (Chuckling with relief.) Well now, I knew it had to be some sort of misunderstanding! You see, I pay for my electricity with my daily investments in the future members of our society. You know, the children?

Local energy company: (Pause.) Ma'am. We require an actual monetary payment.

Me: Okay, but that's what I mean. I'm a teacher, so it's not about the monetary payments. Let me try again. You know that light in a child's eyes when she unlocks the magic of the written word through reading? That's how I would like to pay my bill! With the light from a child's eyes!!!

Local energy company: (Complete silence.)

Me: I want to pay you with the smiles of 24 small children when they earn an ice-cream party for their hard work and perseverance at following recess rules!! I want to pay you with the feeling of small sticky fingers reaching up for yours while walking in the hallway!!! I want to pay you with the smell of 40 freshly sharpened pencils!!!! I want to pay you with the unsullied inquisitiveness and curiosity of a young learner!!!!! (Begins to quietly sob.)

Local energy company: (Dial tone.)

So as you can see, mine is a profession beyond money.

My next project is to harvest the energy from manual pencil sharpeners and use it as an alternative power source in my home. The power company can suck it.

Budgets, Cheese Sculptures, and Assorted Childhood Memories.

I decided to make a budget for the upcoming school year. I opened Excel and got to work. I began this task with a pleasant sense of accomplishment. Look at me. I'm 366 months old and I can organize and plan ahead. I can add and subtract. Who cares that I'm eating Cheerios out of a plastic baby bowl? I'm an ADULT. But somewhere between credit card payment number 1 and credit card payment number 43,678, I realized that there is no freakin' way to make the numbers positive. I seemed to remember some trick about adding/subtracting negative numbers to make a positive number or some other nonsense from middle school. I believe the following poem explains it quite clearly:

Good things happening to good people: a good thing
Good things happening to bad people: a bad thing
Bad things happening to good people: a bad thing
Bad things happening to bad people: a good thing

I am good people. Bad debt things are happening to me. That's a bad thing. Bad is negative. Why are my numbers always negative?! But... wait a minute, bad things happening to bad people is good? Are you saying if I am a bad person, that's a good thing? What the hell kind of sorcery is this new math? What kind of lessons are we teaching our children? (Disregard the fact that I am a teacher and allow me my righteous indignation please.)

So now I'm furiously stuffing Cheerios into my face, crumbs and saliva flying, jabbing at keys with concentrated rage, cursing at my computer... -2,459.00 - 312.01 -112.14 - 77.63 = Doooooom!

Deep breaths. Put down the Cheerios. There is only one thing that can make me feel better.

My husband? Exercise? Meditation? A financial planner? Slot machines?

No silly...

Cheese sculptures.

Allow me to blow your mind.

Hello beautiful seahorse. You are a loyal species, making music, and sweet, monogamous seahorse love only during a full moon.You could be in a Nicholas Spark's novel if only you were real. But you're not. You're made of Wisconsin cheddar. Sad.

Violin. I played the violin for 8 years. Our orchestra teacher desperately wanted to steal a bit of glory from the marching band. He was the mastermind behind "Strolling Strings." A group of sullen adolescent string players, roaming the hallways of our high school, playing zippy favorites like Ode to Joy and Ashokan Farewell. I was very seriously ill during every scheduled performance, so I could not tell you much more about it.

Abe. Good guy. Nice beard. No painful adolescent memories here.

My mom listened to the oldies station throughout my childhood. I liked most of the jams (excluding Classical Gas, which is garbage), but I really took a liking to a religious ballad they sometimes played. It went a little something like this: "One toke over the line, sweet Jesus, one toke over the line. Sitting downtown in a railway station, one toke over the line." Cheesus makes me think of that song. 

This cheese sculpture is a genuine piece of art. I think the artist really captured the rage and helplessness that one might possibly feel while creating a budget. Brilliant.

This cheese sculpture is supposed to be the former CEO of Apple. I think it looks a bit like my dad.

Brilliant.

Facial Hair Friday (Yes, I Realize it's Saturday): King Triton

King Triton is clearly a fictional character. Some would be callous enough to call him a mere cartoon. I call him sexy.

Ariel can keep her Prince Eric and his large cleft chin. I prefer my man's chin to be covered with a long white beard and his abs to be chiseled and bare.

We won't discuss the mermaid tail. Or the fact that I'm probably losing my mind.

'Twas a Few Days Post Steam Clean

My freshly cleaned carpets looked fantastic. A lovely man named Jeff with sad eyes removed 90% of the stains. I very seriously considered thanking him with the open mouth kiss, but I gave him a Dr. Pepper instead. Just as refreshing.

It's home maintenance time in general, because I am also painting our guest room. A tasteful shade of blue that Big JAR and I argued about for a ridiculous amount of time--see below.

So while Baby JAR was napping and the carpets were drying, I finished painting the room. Lemonhead (our attention-starved cat) watched with a critical eye from the windowsill until he became disgusted with my amateurish technique and stalked away.

Now I'm sure you can predict the end of this equation: cat + wet paint + newly cleaned carpets = blue pawprints all over the hallway.

The next morning I went to let the dogs out of the kennel.

Of course there was watery feces everywhere (inside and outside of the kennel). At some point in the night, one of the Labradors (Mabel, it's always Mabel), turned into a living, breathing, poop sprinkler. The distance achieved left me awestruck and momentarily speechless (until I started cursing).

By now I'm sure you have assumed that the kennel was on the carpet. Because it was.

'Twas the Night Before My Steam Clean

It feels a bit like Christmas Eve in my heart tonight. Why? Well, because tomorrow morning a crew of strong and capable men are coming through my chimney (or the front door perhaps) to steam clean my carpets. They will wave their magic wands and annihilate the coffee dribbles, puppy urine, Crayola marker, and mysterious black splotches with 210 degrees of hot, steamy... steam.

If they can make my carpet look even half as good as new, I will kiss every member of that carpet cleaning crew. On the mouth. Possibly with tongue.

I would post "before" pictures of my carpet, but frankly, it's just too embarrassing. My carpet is that bad.

So tonight, the night before my steam clean, I will nestle all snug in my bed, with visions of stain removal dancing in my head...

Clean carpets to all and to all a good night!

Woman. Whoa Man. Or How to Make Homemade Stock.

There are a few things in this world that make me feel like a real, grown-up woman. These are:

1. wearing lipstick
2. owning and actually wearing matching bras and panties
3. carrying a real handbag (preferably made from an innocent animal)
4. ordering cocktails in a bar without giggling or stuttering
5. making homemade stock

Now, if I examine the above list objectively, I must admit that:

1. I look like a clown in lipstick.
2. I purchase my underwear from Costco and a discount outlet store. And if I'm completely forthright, I only wear a bra if I am forced to wander farther than my mailbox.
3. I schlep around a giant canvas tote filled with partially eaten bananas, Elmo board books, and Chapstick (see #1).
4. I don't like bars anymore. I'd rather drink a mug of cheap wine, braless (see #2) and in sweatpants, snuggled up on the couch.
5. I really do love to make homemade stock!

A simmering pot of stock on the stove makes me feel like a mature and capable woman. The kind of woman who polishes her toenails inside the lines and balances her checkbook. And unless I completely forget about it and leave it on the stove all night (why does that always happen to me?), it is simple, delicious, and safe for human consumption.

My "Recipe"

Save the bones from whatever meat you've just enjoyed and throw them in a large stockpot. Cover the bones with water.

Throw in a bunch of other stuff. It depends on my mood and the contents of my refrigerator, but I generally use chicken bones and add herbs (sage, rosemary, oregano, thyme, etc.), onion, garlic, celery, carrots, a couple of bay leaves, and salt and pepper. The lovely thing about it is there is no need to peel or chop any of the veggies, since you only keep the liquid.

Bring everything to a boil, drop the heat to low, and simmer for a while. I think the stock is most flavorful if you simmer it for an hour or so. This gives you time to engage in other, womanly activities such as taking off your bra and drinking wine from a smiley face mug. Tres chic.

Let the stock cool a bit, discard the bones and bits, strain it, and pour it into a jar. I always keep a few jars in my freezer. That way, I can whip up elegant dishes at a moment's notice. While wearing lipstick and a matching La Perla lingerie set, of course. Whoa man.