Aren't they darling?

I just found the cutest non-insect related thing in my kitchen cabinets.

Coasters. Just plain old coasters.



What's so cute about coasters?

It's not actually the coasters that are cute. It is my 21 year old bridal delusion that is cute. I actually stood in Crate and Barrel and thought - yes. We will definitely need coasters. Duh.

I dreamed of a life in which coasters would be necessary. A life in which we'd have furniture that needed to be protected from moisture. A life in which my kids aren't as messy and clumsy as I am. Just today I threw a whole cup of water at/on myself in Jack in the Box. Didn't stumble. Just picked it up and away it went - ALL over me and the floor.

Coasters? Really?

Adorable, Jana. Simply adorable.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

And a woman scorned hath no fury like a woman whose house in infested with gnats!





These innocent little pests have taken up residence in my kitchen and bathroom. I even found 3 in my bedroom last night. You wouldn't think they'd be that repulsive. Just a little gnat. Annoying? Sure. But disgusting? probably not. infuriating? riotous? abhorred? vile and wicked and . . . well, I may have developed some rather strong feelings about our little winged invaders.

I've tried everything to expel them from my presence. Ammonia, bleach, Raid, vinegar traps, Raid, ammonia, bleach, Raid and then some more Raid and then . . .well you get the idea. There is no food out. The trash cans are emptied every 12 minutes. No wet towels or clothes. . . and yet still they insist on tormenting me.

Maybe this is an opportunity for spiritual growth. I'm sure that's what it is. So maybe murderous rage and disgust isn't the response I should be embracing? Oops.

But seriously. When one walks into a bathroom in the middle of the night one should not be pelted (in the face. ew.) with startled insects. It seems reasonable to expect that living in a relatively civilized society, in a relatively well kept home, in a relatively quiet neighborhood, one should be safe from such atrocities.

I'm afraid my crazy is starting to show.

I'm really asking for it this time

*** I had written this months ago and refrained from publishing it, figuring I'd calm down and get on with my life. I just came across it as I searched for something to post to end this blog drought. So . . . why not? Here's a little rant from May 13th. Enjoy. ***

Jordan is now a proud D.A.R.E. graduate. (pause for applause and the appropriate awww, how darling remarks). Yes, yes, he's growing up. He is now equipped to say no to those devastating flesh eating drugs.

I told you I was asking for it.

We attended his graduation at the high school on Tuesday evening and frankly, were a bit disturbed by the insistence on the evils of drugs/alcohol. I'll be the first to share with you the dangers of drugs and alcohol. They are the stories I traffick in daily. The over doses, the arrests, the addictions, the jail time, the 10 years without a driver's license, the heart ache, the self loathing, the despair. We are all too familiar with the dangers and consequences of drugs and alcohol.

Sadly, though, we are also all too familiar with the fact that peer pressure isn't the only reason that people ever drink a beer or light a joint. They do it because it can be and sometimes is a heck of a lot of fun. They do it because they can't stand the noise inside their own heads. They do it for a hundred different reasons each time - only a fraction of a percentage of which they can be aware of at any given time.

So why don't we talk to kids about reality?
Why don't we prepare them for the fact that the the meth head they saw in their slide show didn't scratch the skin off their bones and lose all their teeth the first time they smoked a joint or cooked up some meth?

Because what they created in that classroom, it seems, is a horror show version of what drug/alcohol use looks like. So what happens when Johnny gets high and doesn't actually die or go to prison? Was it all a lie? How easy is it to throw out the sound medical/scientific/legal consequences along with the realization that people don't lose their teeth and hair and future right away?

I'm concerned by this apparent disregard for reality. Are there really kids in the hallways and at the bus stops pushing drugs? Not where I went to school. Sure the drug were all too available - so was the alcohol, but no one said "You'll be cool if you smoke this". I may have told myself that, but what could it hurt? They all looked like they were having fun. No one was suffering the kinds of consequences that our DARE officer said were sure to come if you didn't just say no.

So I did it. Not because of external peer pressure, but because I decided that I wanted to. Simple as that. Whatever cost/benefit analysis I conducted came back saying that having as much fun as everyone else far outweighed the outlandish and almost sensationalized ideas of Juvie and overdoses and wasted lives.

But what we fail to equip our kids with is the practical understanding that those serious and devastating consequences don't always happen, don't always happen right away, and don't always look the way they did in the slide show. Can't we help them make informed, rational decisions based on reality? Can't we have an impact on that cost/benefit analysis?

Because here is what I am hearing from the DARE graduates here:
"I won't ever touch a cigarette or drugs or alcohol because my whole life will be ruined. I will never finish school, have a good job or a family if I do drugs."

"If you do drugs like meth you will look like 30 years older than you are and you'll scratch all your skin off - like down to the bones."

"People will try to make me do drugs but I can say no because I want to be an NFL quarterback when I grow up and I can't be a good athlete if I do drugs."


I thought I was over it. I thought I had smiled and encouraged and asked smart questions, created safe space for real conversations. And I thought that the DARE maneuver was just a little rite of passage that we could discuss and then forget.

And there went my non-profit mind. . . . I'd like to see their outcomes. How do they measure the success of this program? What are the deliverables? Completion of coursework? Is there a control group? Any 5th graders around who did not receive this training? Did they say no to drugs at the same rate that those DARE graduates did?

And then I opened the packet that Jordan got after shaking 10 self-important people's hands.

And I am not over it. (clearly)

And I am asking for all kinds of ridicule and disdain with this post. (obviously).

When I picked the envelope up off the table, I thought, well maybe there's something of substance here. Maybe there is something that encourages parents to be real with their kids when it comes to this stuff. Maybe there was something that says "you're a smart kid. Think about your decisions. Consider the cost. Decide what you want. Use your brain. And at the end of the day, I love you and I'm here to talk." Because, you know, we trust that we've equipped our kids to be individuals, to think for themselves, to talk openly about their experiences and concerns. Oh wait.

But there wasn't anything like that in there.

Instead there was half a forest (yes, entire forests now only produce 54 sheets of paper) congratulating the DARE graduate on his/her achievement. Letters from everyone you can imagine. Letter #1 - Joe Biden. all the way down to a councilman I've never heard of. 27 letters of congratulation. Most of them commend the graduate on their commitment to completing the coursework. They recognized the time commitment that the graduate made and how seriously they must have taken the program to have completed it.

I'm sorry. . .did I miss something?
Was this optional?
Was this offered outside of school hours?
Was more than half of Jordan's workbook even filled out?

No. It was not.

Do these politicians know anything about my kid or about the program they so readily endorse?

DARE has never been for the kids. It is apparently for the politicians. It is one way that parents and teachers and politicians can feel like they are doing something without ever really doing anything.

Dammit man.

Oh yeah, one last gem. Jordan informed me later that night that they really focused just on gateway drugs. "You know, like cocaine."

Clearly, he has received quite the education.

"Why do I still smell sushi?"

Sedona wonders in a loud whisper from the back seat as we drive through Dairy Queen after a delightful sushi dinner. I'm pretty proud of the fact that this little girl is the first to try just about anything new. She tried the wasabi, loves the sashimi rolls and can't get enough of those fascinating little slivers of ginger root. She's very sophisticated at a very early age.

I, however, evidently lack both the grace and refinement required for a sophisticated, no, civilized, sushi dinner.

Here are just a few of the reasons I should not be allowed to eat sushi (in public, anyway):

- After we'd placed our order, the kind server came back and asked if we'd like to try the egg rolls. Midway through Jeremy's "No, thank you, I think we're okay" I had some involuntary facial tick that said "Sure! what the hay! Let's try em shall we? Yippee! What an adventure!" and he stuttered and looked confused and then said, "I guess we'd like to try them. Yes. Thank you." I had NO IDEA my face did that. And now in addition to the obscene amount of sushi we had ordered we were going to have to choke down some egg rolls too because of my spazzy face. My face cannot be trusted when ordering or declining food in an Asian restaurant. Obviously.

- The egg rolls came with a plate of foliage. Some lettuces and some sprigs of something that the man called basil, but I assure you, was NOT basil. I think he said that we should roll the egg roll in the lettuce with some of the "basil" and then dip it in a little bowl of pinkish sauce. Jeremy was convinced that the plate of lettuce was a garnish. He approached his carefully. And with silverware. I wound the lettuce around mine and dunked it enthusiastically in the sauce, sending little sprigs of "basil" and pink sauce all over the place. And then I cackled, thinking that was great fun and secretly thanking my spazzy face for insisting on this little adventure.

- I dropped my salmon sashimi in the pretty little bowl filled with soy sauce.

- the dropping of the salmon into the soy sauce caused an unbelievable splash. See the GIANT splotches of soy sauce that now adorn the cover of my journal (that was in my purse on the floor) or ummm, my chest, which is now also covered in soy sauce. Sexy, I know.

- I find the O'Fallon roll just a bit too much for one bite. At least for one civilized, tasteful bite. I tried it. I choked. I spit some of it out. I laughed hysterically at my disgusting behavior. I'm usually accused of having too big a mouth. You know, because I talk too much. Well, this is not the case when it comes to sushi.

- I use the chopsticks to awkwardly deliver the sushi to my mouth and I like to think I'm doing okay on this part but then . . .I bite each piece in half, grabbing the rejected half with my fingers. I do not think that this is the way chopsticks are supposed to be used. Use chopsticks. Or use silverware. Or use your hands. But good grief woman, not a combination of the three!

- I enjoy the flavor, but half way through and just as my pants begin to feel a bit tight around the waist . . . the entire idea of sushi begins to nauseate me. I then develop an involuntary gag/recoil reaction to watching other people eating it, even though I myself, am still eating it. So there I am. . . eating . . . making a terrible face at the people around me. And let me tell you - I have a VERY expressive face. You should see me repulsed or unsure or afraid or happy or confused or excited sometime. Its a real sight.

- I coached my 6 year old daughter to use one of her chopsticks to spear a particularly ornery piece of sweet and sour chicken. Again, with the improper use of utensils.

- I found it amusing when a piece of onion from Sedona's plate found its way into my flip flop. She is definitely my child.

It's probably a good thing we were the only ones in the restaurant.