This new little game is exasperating. How much fun to boost up the action of eXanga by rating people's sites ex so that we have to have this mad dash of rating our friends sites and stuff.  And if you really want to help, you have to fill out a paper and send it snail mail to prove that you are legally old enough to look at a site that shouldn't be ex rated in the first place.  Tell me that Xanga doesn't know our birthdays anyhow.  I'm pretty freaking sure I had to give my birthday when I opened the account.  Yes, people can lie.  But I guarantee, my birthdate is out there in cyberspace somewhere.  You don't need a copy of a document (which is probably also out there someplace) to prove anything. 

And once I send in the form (what the heck will they do with that piece of tree anyhow and who has time to update these files and so on and so on), then I'd have to go to every blight on the universe- sorry, every person who's been tagged by the sad ex-cuse for a blogger who is having this fun to rate them not ex but A.  Hooray.  Because there is nothing more useful than a rating system which actually means NOTHING.

Also I'm torn.  Because apparently, I'm well on my way to being a blight on the universe.  Indeed I did write a raunchy poem or two.  Here one is, can't find the others: dirty poem read only if you want to read a dirty poem Certainly my warning label at the top is ambiguous.  You may not know that it's raunchy just by reading the warning.  If you want to, read my raunchy, be offended, rate it an ex and life will be grand.  On the other hand, you could read the warning and move on,your sensibilities intact.  However, if you feel inclined to rate one of my little powder puff posts ex.  Wow. Good for you. 

Anyhow. Like I said, I'm torn.  Do I ask people to fix my rating?  I don't know if I even want to go there.  I just want to write my drivel and get on with my life.  Sure I'd miss a lot of you.  But I have enough bullshit in my life. 

This rating system is dumb.  Shutting people down because you feel like it is petty. Also if we're going to be ridiculous, a premium membership should pay for ex protection.

It is quite simple, really.

You choose the glass that seems most palatable.  It can be a dirty window pane- the only thing between you and another cold, winter day. A patterned jelly jar emptied of all its sweetness.  A thick Coke bottle from a special date long ago.  The protection over your favorite photo, no longer doing its job.  A mirror that shows what you feel instead of what others may see. 

Then you throw that glass onto the ground.  Throw it hard, otherwise it may not break.  It also helps to say certain words that aid in the breaking of many things.  Loudly.  Once the glass is in manageable pieces, you are then able to stomp and crush it with your shoes.  Do not be delicate.  This is not a job for delicacy.  This is a job of crunching, mashing, scratching, pulverizing.  The smallest bits are the most delicious.

Once you are satisfied that your glass is of the perfect consistency, carefully sweep it up.  You don’t want to damage your meal.  Place the glass on a beautiful plate and garnish as you choose.  I prefer a sprig of annoyance, a clove of anger, a spray of venom.  A dash of “how could you do this to me” to add flavor.

Spoon it in.  Dinner is served.

#winsh 8. Write a story entitled "How to Eat Glass."

It says "cranky".  LLO reminded me last night at 10:30 that she had to make cookies for Spanish class.  Miffed, I was.  But the cookie dough was pretty easy to do and put in the fridge for morning baking.  She decided that she would set an alarm to get up at 6 to finish the job.  I was mildly stunned that she was going to set an alarm.  I woke up this morning as the world's smallest ferret was trying to chew my finger while I waited for some pokey kid to clean an aquarium.  And that was annoying.  Then I see all the lights on in the house.  This seemed an odd thing.  So I went looking.  Sort of.  Wasn't wearing my glasses and I'm pretty darn blind and not real lucid in the first place.  Found the culprit.  LLO in full 'tude, who greeted her beloved mother with "I've been waiting a long time for you to wake up."  Cookie slicing, baking, sprinkling with powdered sugar ensued.  LLO seems to be trained in using the timer, which was helpful.  Since I'm not and I'm notorious for burning cookies as I find exciting things to do in between batches.  Then I had to do the driving duty.  LLO managed to miss the bus and Spawn always wants a ride.  And the schools are not close to each other and the timing is just the way it needs to be to maximize driving duty.  I didn't get my usual slow wakey wakey with two cups of joe and social networking.  So when it was time to make my necklace of mood for the day, it was obvious.  Cranky all the way.

In fact, it was cranky all the way. I was short-tempered with the kids.  One of my friends at work, who doesn't like my necklace project and I really couldn't tell you why, was disdainful of today's.  I was quite tempted to say "bite me."  The things that happen all the time were unacceptable today.  The words I repeat ad nauseum were just too much effort today.  Children spilling milk was a capital offense.  Or capitol. Whichever.  And when I got triple cherry yogurt instead of banana strawberry with my lunch, I was done.

When I got home from work, I ripped that thing off.  Because it appears that focusing on a mood that is negative is bound to perpetuate that negativity.  Imagine that.  The next question is, if I make a sign for the mood I want, will I get it.

Albatross.  You know.

#winsh 4. Write a poem entitled "Sea Water."

This was supposed to be an octelle. Interesting in that it's a made-up poetry form (which I suppose they all are) and that I actually misinterpreted my notes.  Darn it.  Anyhow.  It's an aabbccaa rhyming pattern, with 88777788 syllable count, with personification and metaphor and junk.  The first two and last two are supposed to be identical. Obviously I thought it was first and last only.  So sue me.

The sign project: Confused

What I've noticed:

I don't appear to want to reveal my mood.  The back of that cardboard is white, I'm deliberately using the brown side.  I hid my word in amongst all that curly color.  What is the point of wearing a sign if it's not immediately clear what it says.  I find that curious.

People are cool with my signs.  I had two people tell me today that they wished they had my "really sleepy" sign.  I had another person tell me that she is thinking of doing signs too.  I did have someone ask if I had the same mood all day.  Luckily today and yesterday, my signs have quite adequately represented me.  I'm hopeful that I'll be more moody later this week. (Really I'm saying I hope I'm less tired and confused.)  Also, kids are very cool with them.  I had some wish out loud that they could have them or wonder if this was a project we'd be doing later.  Good idea, I must say.  I will have to ponder that.

Still got hugs.

Didn't feel so silly wearing it and I was out and about far longer today than yesterday.

So @C_L_O_G and I had this wondering about what would happen if people wore signs that actually showing their feelings.  Would we treat people differently if we could tell what they were thinking or going through or such.  Today's necklace.  Isn't it pretty?

I was really well-labeled today.  I slept on the wrong side of the bed Saturday night. And then had some sort of who-knows-what going on last night.  So.  Really Sleepy. Of course I left my coffee on the kitchen table. Again.  So the whole day without any artificial intelligence.

I said "boo clubes" about 5 times in a row.  (If you don't speak 1st grade math, it was supposed to be "blue cubes".)  I think I told someone to white on the board. I do not think I caused any permanent harm. I figured out how we could make parachuting men, so that's pretty good.  I've expanded my smiley face repertoire to include aliens and clowns. 

Anyhow. Sign results.

People didn't notice that I was any sleepier than usual.  Which might be an indication that I can fake it pretty well.  Or that I'm always barely functioning.  I felt a little silly wearing my sign.  Most of the time I am pretty silly, so I suppose it's ok.

Kids thought it was great.  I got lots of hugs.  Who needs adequate sleep when you can get hugs.

Here's hoping that tomorrow is an actual feeling rather than a state of being.

Not good.  No alarm set this morning.  Which I didn't know.  Also it's not usually a problem. I'm an early riser.  At least the clock was set to the right time, so that I knew when it said 8:00 that it was actually 8:00.  And not 9:00.  Or is it the other way?  I still get it confused.  Anyhow. 

8:00 was bad.  Because the things I didn't do for this morning last night still had to be done and Spawn needed to be there at 8:30 and I needed to be there at 8:45.  Panic ensued.  And other scary things.  Because panic required "mechanical" laughter.  That's what I called it.  And I nearly brushed my teeth with hand soap.  Lavender.  Yummy.  And then I told Spouseman that he should raze his face.  Seriously. Why do you shave with a razor. 

It wasn't just me.  'Cause when Spouseman dropped me off (10 minutes late), he forgot to wait for me to get completely out of the car before starting to drive off.  Naturally that made me laugh too.   Mechanically.

When I got home finally a long time later, I took a big honking nap.  Awoke in time to not look stoned when the cops knocked on the door. (big naps make me stupid)  But that's another story.

I feel like I lost a lot more than an hour this weekend.

That's not a deep statement.  Just that I don't know where the weekend went.

Yesterday was beautiful.  Or maybe this was Friday afternoon.

If you could reinvent my name,
well if you could redirect my day.

I have different names.  The name matters. 

At school, I am Mrs. Sunshine. In many ways, kids treat me as such because it is expected.  Of course they treat me a certain way because I'm still Promise, no matter what title I'm given.  Ha. You may thrust proper-ness upon me, but that doesn't mean I will be it.  And I get hugs.  Which is why I work.    Just kidding.  I have altruistic and financial reasons for working too.

At the art studio gig, I am Promise (or sometimes Miss Promise or Mrs. Promise or the kids who know me from school call me Mrs. Sunshine through habit.)  And I like that.  I'm not stuffy.  At art camp, we're all there to have fun.  The kids listen to what I have to say, eventually but not necessarily as an authority (snort), but because I'm the key to knowing what's happening. 

As for my friends' kids, I let the other adults make the call on names.  Secretly though, when the kids call me Mrs. Sunshine I think "what nice manners" but when they call me Promise it makes my heart happy. 

Best name though?  The one my own kids call me.  LLO was away for a couple days at her grandparents.  I wasn't about to leave her alone for 7 hours while I did art camp and it's easier- much- not to have her with me.  In any case, she was gone too long.  We held hands all Tuesday night and I just kept staring at her.  She's still my LLO but she is growing up so much.  I'm glad that I'm "Mommy".  That name is packed with history.  I hope they call me Mommy when they are all grown up.

*Oh my goodness.  That was just the cutest thing ever.  Spawn has been away all week looking for Jesus in Pittsburgh- I mean on a mission trip with church.  She just called home (yup after 10pm) to talk to her sister.  Luckily I have given up long ago on LLO going to bed at a time appropriate for her age, so she was awake.  It was quite a lovefest.  Everybody crying.  Including me.  But I cry over rainbows and commercials, so that isn't so shocking.  In any case.  So. Freaking. Cute.  This house was too quiet.  I give them 30 minutes before they are fighting tomorrow evening.  But I'm ready for her to be home.

#winsh 37. Take a line from one of the following songs and create a piece using the line as a title or an epigraph. King of Spain ( Tallest Man on Earth)

#winsh 40. Write 12 haiku about food.  It's ridiculously hard to write 12 haiku.  Just saying.

globules of sugar
encrusted in more sugar
I love jelly beans

fluffy crepes stuffed with
creamy homemade ricotta
ohman! icotti

layers and layers
of light pastry dripping sweet
gods brought baklava

my snickerdoodles
tasty bricks could break your teeth
why the heck is that?

tsatziki is hard
to spell but so delicious
a creamy heaven

kale makes my bread green
I don’t know why I want green
bread- but it’s mmm good.

fresh cream in blender
when whipped into a frenzy
splatters everywhere

I adore coffee
that caffeinated liquid
I’m not a camel?

marinated beef
succulent on my palate
that was a good cow

stringy celery
tastes like green soggy cardboard
nope, I won’t eat it

best part of August
is juicy corn on the cob
typewriter chewing

an apple a day
may keep the doctor away
and I like the crunch

LLO treated her parents to dinner at the local greek restaurant, clever called The Greek, last night.  She wanted dessert, but we were as stuffed as the dolmades.  Hence the baklava quest for today.  I'm not so good with the papery pastry, but I'm really good with nuts and syrup.  To celebrate her return from the land of grandparents, we had manicotti tonight- her second favorite food.  We've been well fed in the land of sunshine.  And tomorrow LLO and I have to go back to school.  That kinda bites.  Only two days to the weekend.

#winsh 37. Take a line from one of the following songs and create a piece using the line as a title or an epigraph. ( 4 pts per song) The Boxer ( Simon and Garfunkle)

Deep in my heart I know I seek
A life somewhat full of substance
My head and my will do not speak
I have squandered my resistance

My deeds from purpose do erase
Inaction leads from sustenance
My view of character debase
I have squandered my resistance

Each morn brings battle with the self
Through which cause I fight existence
Negative thoughts upon the shelf
I have squandered my resistance.

For some reason I thought rhyming and counting were a good idea this evening. Ha.  This is a kyrielle.  Quatrains of rhyming lines of 8 syllables with one line (usually the last) repeated. 

#winsh 15. Create a set of artsy magnets for your fridge.   almost magnets. 

truly. i shouldn't say a word this evening.  so i won't.

I was listening in on a small meeting for an individual kid the other day and I was taken aback by something that was said.  Not judgmentally.  Either by me or the person who said it.   It just surprised me and got me thinking.  Someone said that it would be easier for a certain kid if you could tell by looking at him- that he looks like a normal kid and that makes it harder in situations. 

Let me 'splain.  There are three kids in my class who have special needs and special one-on-one helpers in addition to varying degrees of pull-out instruction.  One of them has Down Syndrome.  Pretty obvious.  You know that she's not going to have the same abilities as a "normal" first grader.  What you don't know is that she has a very naughty sense of humor.  One of the kids has Asberger's Syndrome.  Is it obvious when you first meet him?  I don't remember.  I do know he makes me smile when he says "right you are, Mrs. Sunshine".  I know that he can read anything and that he loves to write.  Even though he went through a phase when in his stories he flushed his mother down the toilet.  We've worked through that.  And he's always talking about Becky from "Roseanne" and he's decided his last name is Connor now.  I suppose you notice when you talk to him that something is a little sideways.  Then there's the 3rd kid.  He looks like a regular kid and I think when you talk to him he seems like a regular kid too.  The only word he can write independently is his name (and it has a preschool feel to it.)  There was talk of him being the lowest skilled child that the Autistic Support teacher has ever seen.  That's where the comment came in.  That if it was obvious, we wouldn't have unreasonable expectations for him.  The general public (or whoever) would know how to treat him.  (Which is actually an incredibly unrealistic thought, since the trained professionals in the school haven't figured out how to get the best out of this kid. It seems to take a long time to figure out what's up with a kid- since it's so often a process of elimination.)

But none of us come with care instructions printed on our labels.  No sign that says, "I may look like I understand what you're saying, but I don't."  No sign that says, "I didn't get enough sleep last night, use gentle cycle."  No sign that says, "Don't single me out, it makes me nervous." No sign that says, "I need a hug." "I need a smile." "Please tell me it's going to be ok." 

I really like this video.  I like the idea of a thought bubble that could give everyone a clue.  Life would be so much easier if my daughters had thought bubbles.  Although sometimes it seems like they don't even know what's bothering them. 

But we don't have thought bubbles either.  So I guess we're stuck with paying attention.  Can we figure out every secret just by paying attention?  Probably not.  But surely some of them, some of the time.  And maybe that's good enough.

For something completely different.  My "altar", so to speak.