In Memoriam

I've seen this before, in various iterations. I so wish I could take credit for its creation, but I can't. It has been credited to many authors, including The London Times and comedian George Carlin. It's a classic and bears repeating, particularly in this day and age of political correctness. It reminds me a lot of my favorite Saturday Night Live skit with Seth Meyers and Amy Poehler, Weekend Update: Really?!

"Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

'Knowing when to come in out of the rain', 'Why the early bird gets the worm', 'Life isn't always fair', and 'Maybe it was my fault'.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies; don't spend more than you can earn, and reliable strategies; adults, not children, are in charge. His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place.

Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the religious organizations became businesses and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault. Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his spouse Discretion, by his daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason. Common Sense is survived by his 4 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I'm A Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone."

Common Sense: Dona Eis Requiem (Grant Him Rest)...

Would you like a little cheese with that whine?

I'm not generally a whiner. If anything, I tend to be a bit too Pollyanna-ish for my own good. I figure, I don't really want to hear your whining, why would you want to hear mine?

One of my biggest pet peeves about some of the "younger generation" (boy, does that make me sound OLD) is their strange sense of entitlement. I don't remember where I first heard it, but a favorite quote says "The world doesn't owe you a living. The world owes you nothing. The world was here first."

So if you were a fly on the wall of my office this morning, you'd have heard a loud clatter as my jaw fell to the floor as I read this headline in an online journal I receive periodically:

"New grad can't find job--so sues college"

Are you KIDDING me?!

From Higher Ed Morning.com

"A recent graduate of a New York college is having trouble landing a job. But is it the college’s fault? She thinks so — and that’s why she’s suing.

Recent Monroe College grad Trina Thompson completed her course of studies in April and graduated with a bachelor of business administration degree in information technology. But Thompson is still searching for a job, and she says the school hasn’t done enough to help her.

Thompson claims the school’s office of career advancement dropped the ball by failing to give her enough career counseling assistance. She says it’s the school’s fault that her phone’s not ringing with calls from potential employers. “They have not tried hard enough to help,” she claims.

Thompson’s suit has asked that the college be forced to return the tuition she paid – all $70,000 of it. For good measure, she wants another $2,000 to compensate her “for the stress I have been going through looking for a full time job on my own.”

The school says on its Web site that its Office of Career Advancement offers a variety of services to all current students, including workshops and individual career counseling services. It insists the suit is meritless."

Now, I'm a champion letter writer. I could go off on this girl like there's no tomorrow. But my brain, my Master's degree educated brain, my "I've had three full-time jobs in my lifetime and found every one of them on my own" brain, my slightly-addled yet still thinking somewhat clearly Mommy brain?

Simply cannot wrap itself around this insanity.

Does she REALLY think that paying $70,000 in tuition should GUARANTEE her a job? And please don't even get me started on the tuition. Even if she didn't receive a single penny (which I seriously doubt, since Monroe is a private school), it's highly likely that she received loans to cover that tuition.

Hmm...so she likely had someone else covering her school tuition while she was IN school, and now she thinks the College has an obligation to find her a job to make money now that she's OUT of school.

Right.

Yeah, I know the economy's tough. Joshua Persky, an MIT grad, was laid-off from his job and was out of work for a YEAR. He didn't sue MIT or his former employers. Instead, he distributed his resume through the streets of Manhattan while wearing a sandwich board that said "Experienced MIT Grad for Hire" and listed his phone number.

He's now employed.

Maybe she should meet Liz Murray.

But a lawsuit? Seriously, sweetie? You'll be lucky if Monroe doesn't rescind your degree.

Where's Aesop when we need him?

It's no secret in our family that Sweet Son #1 could win an academy award for his performances is a bit dramatic at times. True to his boyishness, he likes to wrestle with Diva Husband and The Manimal. Unfortunately, he's usually the one screaming for mercy as The Manimal does his best John Cena impression.

He's never actually been HURT, as in blood, guts, broken bones or anything like that, but from some of his protestations, you'd assume that he'd just been body-slammed in the MMA fight of the century.

We've had multiple chats with him about "The Boy Who Cried Wolf". For those of you who aren't familiar with the little guy, he was a shepherd boy who, in his boredom of watching the sheep graze, kept crying "Wolf!", whereupon the villagers would come running to his aid, causing some excitement in his otherwise dull day. He did this multiple times, until the villagers, getting wise to his ploy, quit coming.

You can guess the ending, can't you?

Yeah, when he showed up, the wolf had a really tasty lunch.

Anyway, it must be sinking in, that wolf story. SS#1 has toughened up over the past few weeks. He still would rather his little brother not use him as a punching bag or jumping mattress, but the tears flow less often.

Maybe it's because the old fable's been on mind so much lately, but it seems to me that at some point, the NFL and media are going to tire of the pseudo-retirement claims of a certain quarterback for the Green Bay Packers New York Jets Minnesota Vikings.

"There's no believing a liar, even when he speaks the truth."

Six Word Saturday

"No wrinkle" fabric is a scam.

More "Six Word Saturday" postings at Show My Face.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I'm pretty sure this post will fall into the same category as the "when I was your age..." stories, but hey, I'll hit the big 4-0 this year, so I suppose it makes sense! :)

When I was a kid, most of the adults in my life had some sort of title. Mrs. Smith, Mr. Jones, Aunt Jane, Uncle John.

You get the idea.

When I had SS#1, I began referring to adults in the same manner, so he would learn. Then we met SuperNanny.

SuperNanny was the home daycare provider we chose for SS#1. She was incredible. When we first met her, she referred to herself as "Miss Super." As much as I kept trying to call her Mrs. Nanny, she kept correcting me.

Now, understand that SuperNanny hadn't been a "Miss" in more than a few years. Nearly old enough to be my own mother, I felt uncomfortable calling her by her first name, let alone with my child learning to call her "Miss Super".

I got used to it, because it seems to be the trend. Now, I understand that in the South, it's not uncommon for adults to be called by a title and their first names. But this isn't the South, and I didn't grow up in the South. What happened to the simple term of respect where children used titles for adults? My nieces call my by my first name because that's what their mom calls me. SS#1's friends call me by my first name. Their parents let SS#1 call them by their first names.

And it raises my hackles whenever they do. I must really be old if I would PREFER to be called "Mrs. Diva" by an elementary school aged student. For me, it's all about Ms. Franklin and her words...

Dear Sir or Madam

Today is "Open Letter Friday" over at SITS.

We've all done it, haven't we? Written those letters that will never be sent? Here's my offering, and don't forget to check out the rest of the SITStas' letters!

Happy Friday! Let's start with a nice one, shall we?

Dear Fellow Patient at My Doctor's Office:

I just wanted to thank you so very much for giving up your appointment time for me. I know this is the prime cold/flu season and my hopes of "slipping in" to see the doctor (on a Monday of all days) were just plain silly. Allowing me to take your appointment time so I could pick up SS#1 and The Manimal on time was just plain sweet. I hope you're feeling better!

It only goes downhill from here, so don't get too excited!

Dear Fellow Shopper at Wal-Mart:

I was going to apologize for my child throwing an out-and-out fit in your presence, but the look you gave me when I spanked his diaper-padded, blue jean-covered bottom because he was being disobedient made me want to tell you to MYODB*. I chose instead to smile saccharinely and go on my (not so) merry way.

For the record, MYODB is "mind your own darn (not really darn, but this is a family show) business".

Dear Gillette, Schick and Any Other Companies Who Manufacture Razors:

You are evil. I'm pretty sure that you are in cahoots together just trying to dream up new products that will require use of your specific replacement blade. I don't so much mind that Gillette products won't fit Schick and vice versa, but let's get real. If I have a Gilette Venus handle, but the Gillette Mach 3 blades are on sale, I shouldn't have to buy the new handle. I'm just saying.

It's enough to make a girl wanna go fuzzy natural.

Dear Huggies:

I was a faithful Huggies mom with Sweet Son #1. Your diapers protected the world from the sheer volume of liquid that seemed to leak out of his body at any given moment. When you came out with Huggies Overnites, I nearly cried at the possibility of not having to change his crib sheets every.single.night.

Although The Manimal's body seemed better suited to one of your competitor's products, I was still a faithful user of the Overnites. Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, you introduced a Size 6 in the Overnites. Bless You.

Then one day, they were gone. Gone from Wal-Mart. Gone from Target. Gone from KMart. Gone even from my standby bargain location for Huggies, Family Dollar. I went to the Huggies website and noticed that my most-shopped discount stores were GONE from the "Look for Huggies Overnites Here" section.

Gone.

Now, I do love your diapers, but not the prices, and barring some superior sales, I don't buy diapers at grocery stores or drugstores. And just the THOUGHT of even walking NEAR a Toys R Us or Babies R Us gives me an anxiety attack.

Why, oh why did you part company with my local discount retailers? I'm one sad, sad mommy.

Who now has to do a lot more laundry, thanks to Huggies.

It's a cleansing, freeing experience, writing these letters. Can't wait to read some of the others over at SITS!

Oh, and don't forget to visit me again starting on MONDAY for my fabulous giveaways!

Something Special In the Air?

Apparently not.

My SS#1 is flying as an unaccompanied minor this weekend. He's headed to visit family in the Lone Star State. My very generous brother and sis-in-law offered to pay for his ticket so he could spend a week with his cousins.

American Airlines had the least expensive flight, so she booked it. Most airlines require unaccompanied minors to be booked on an adult ticket (as opposed to taking advantage of a child discount). No biggie.

The biggie is American Airlines' unaccompanied minor policy. Or rather, their fee. In addition to paying regular price for a ticket, unaccompanied minor tickets are subject to a $100 surcharge for each leg of their trip. In our case, that is $200 extra.

Now, don't get me wrong. I understand that u.m.'s require a bit of extra attention. Make sure they get to a seat. Make sure they're delivered to the proper person upon arrival. Yeah, that's worth an extra $200.

Not.

What baffles me is that SS#1 just flew unaccompanied on my favorite airline, Southwest. Now, Southwest could not have been more pleasant and accommodating. No such u.m. surcharge exists. Not only that, but Southwest doesn't charge to check a bag either. American charges $15 EACH WAY for your FIRST bag.

But I digress.

Upon checking, I discovered that not only does American charge this exorbitant fee, but so do United and Delta. Apparently, only Southwest and Continental are happy to have those little monkeys aboard. Perhaps it is just my child who knows how to behave on a plane. Maybe everyone else's child is wreaking enough havoc to warrant a $100 per leg charge.

Probably not, though. Seriously people. Isn't it enough that we can't take advantage of a child's fare with unaccompanied minors? Do you really need to charge us $200 extra just to put our child on a flight to visit family?

I've already professed my "luv" for Southwest. They're already my go-to airline for business and leisure travel alike.

Seems I have one more reason to fly them.

So THAT'S Why They Don't Listen!

When SS#1 was a toddler, I asked the doctor to check his hearing. The doctor asked me to elaborate and I told him that SS#1 just didn't seem to acknowledge me when I spoke to him, even if I raised my voice. The doctor smiled kindly at me and said that he didn't think anything was wrong with my toddler's ears.

His diagnosis? Selective hearing. He assured me that ALL children developed this condition at some point. He was right. The Manimal has developed it as well.

Now, with SS#1 getting older, he seems to have developed brain damage. At least that's Bill Cosby's diagnosis.

Perception vs. Reality

File This Under "Is She For Real?"

Before the children made their appearances in our lives, The Husband and I enjoyed going to movies. We don't do that so much anymore. As a matter of fact, I may have sprained my brain trying to figure out the last movie that I saw in the theatre.

After reading this, I don't think I've missed much.

Mr. Snottyfacepants and the Pig

As I alluded to in a previous post, Sweet Son #1 has been temporarily renamed "Mr. Snottyfacepants".

Why, you ask? Well, if I tell you that he's 7 1/2 years old, those of you who have children who've reached or surpassed that age will completely understand. For those of you who don't have the slightest clue about the situtation, one adage says it all.

"Never try to teach a pig to dance. You just get dirty and it annoys the pig."

Simply put, seven year old boys are always right. They know everything. Moms are never right and they know nothing. They are the ultimate contrarians. If I told him we were going out after dinner to get ice cream, he would whine and say he wanted a milkshake instead.

And oh, the whining! His bedtime is 8:30. I generally start the warnings around 8:00:

8:00--"Bedtime in a half-hour, buddy."

8:15--"You've got about 15 minutes left, big guy."

8:25--"OK, why don't you go upstairs and brush your teeth."

This last one usually gets the first response.

Him: "WHAT?! Why do I have to go brush my teeth?"

Me: "Because you only have five minutes until bed."

Him: "WHAT?! You didn't tell me that!"

Me: "Right. The previous warnings and the fact that 8:30 is ALWAYS your bedtime didn't give you a clue."

Him: "But WHY do I have to go to bed in five minutes."

Me: "Well, now it's really three minutes because you've wasted two minutes arguing."

Him: "But I'm not tired."

Me: "Go brush your teeth."

Him: (sounds of stomping up the stairs, slamming the bathroom door, etc.)

I consider it a victory if he makes it to bed by 8:45.

Unfortunately, as I understand it, this stage of child development can last anywhere from a few months to ten years.

But by gosh, that pig will know how to dance by then.

Buzz...Buzz...Buzz...

Now that you've met my sophomore English teacher, it seems only fitting to meet proper grammar's significant other, correct spelling.

As a student, I can remember being given assignments where the teacher ran the laundry list of what was expected: 500 or more words, complete sentences, complete paragraphs, references appropriately cited and proper grammar. Inevitably, it took all of two seconds for someone to raise the next logical question, "Does spelling count?"

Wearily, the teacher would nod her head and assure us that spelling did indeed count.

While nearly all of my fellow classmates were groaning, I was silently cheering. You see, my fervor for proper grammar is surpassed only by my eagle eye for correct spelling.

Years later, as a teacher, I took some sick pleasure in putting correct spelling at the top of my list of requirements when writing papers.

Where, you might ask, did my love of words like "antidistestablishmentarianism" come from?

Two words: spelling bee.

I was first introduced to the mother of all inter-student competition at age 9. Fourth grade was the earliest one could compete in this event, and I went at it with a vengeance. I was so excited, and studied the official word list for days. Unfortunately, my nerves got the better of me, and I was "dinged" on my first word "maximum", which, to this day I swear I spelled correctly.

The next four years brought two wins, a place, and a show. I'm sure that my love of spelling was cultivated and encouraged through participation in the bee.

Now, for all of you who freely admit that spelling is "not your thing," I don't hold that against you. I do, however, cringe every time I receive an e-mail with spelling errors. I shudder when I read a newspaper article riddled with misspellings. For goodness sake, does "spell check" mean nothing anymore? And what about a good, old-fashioned dictionary?

Any other word-lovers out there?

Cheers!

My Sophomore English Teacher

I keep having all of these great blog ideas zoom through my head, especially after reading a few of my favorite sites. Of course I haven't become adept enough at the whole blogging thing to create drafts of entries, so the great ideas typically zoom right on through and don't plant themselves in my memory for very long.

This is not one of those great blog ideas. This is simply something I enjoy, and, as I've said before, since this is my blog, that's all that matters.

Wow, that was a lot of commas.

A perfect segue to today's topic: Grammar.

I am a self-proclaimed member of the Grammar Police. Now, before all of you fellow grammarians (yes, I make up words, as well) out there jump all over my case, I never said that I have perfect grammar. Rather, one of my biggest pet peeves is when people make GLARING grammatical errors in things that are posted publicly. I fully admit that I sometimes overuse commas, and that I really don't know the correct use of a semicolon. I also will be the first to note that blog-grammar tends more toward the creative writing area than actual American English grammar.

I'm talking about people who write things like "all road's lead to Rome", when what they really mean is "all roads lead to Rome". Or signs that read "Car's for Sale", when what they really mean is "Cars for Sale".

I love to proofread things, and once took our hometown newspaper to task. One day I "edited" (grammar and spelling only) an issue. I sent it back to the editor with all of my red marks (and there were many) accompanied by the appropriate corrections and a letter berating his proofreaders. Looking back, it was, perhaps, not the most tactful way to make my point, but I was in high school. I felt that if I, a lowly sophomore, could catch that many mistakes, then they, as professional journalists, should certainly be able to catch at least a few of them.

One of my favorite books has the amusing title of Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Lynne Truss. Ms. Truss has a brilliant way of putting the grammar-challenged in their places in a wonderfully humorous, yet to-the-point manner. I highly recommend it for those of you who never had a sophomore English teacher like mine.

I blame Miss W. for my love of all things grammatical. She used to keep a fork in her desk, and whenever any of us used the phrase "I'm done," she would take it out and poke us (gently, of course), saying "No, you need a few more minutes." Quickly, we learned that a simple "I'm finished" would avoid the potential puncture wounds.

"Can I use the restroom?" would always be followed by the curt "I don't know, can you?" Body spill accidents were averted by learning "May I use the restroom?" was the more appropriate question.

The world would be a much more civilized place if we all had Miss W. for English.

Stay tuned for Part II: The Spelling Bee.

Cheers!