Calling ALL BLOGGERS!!!

In lieu of the lack of responses to my previous request for help with my paper on Social Class in America, I've chosen a different subject... one that many of you may have personal experience with.

So again, I beg for help... and keep in mind, I could make you famous with my research paper and oral presentation (where I have to be all crafty and give handouts and use visual aids and stuff) for this class. I mean FAMOUS. Not bloggyland "Oh I mentioned your name" kind of stuff. We are talking royalties beyond our wildest dreams and book publications and public speaking opportunities and traveling and everything. Ok - that's all a lie, but I sure could use some personal experience stories to include in my paper.

This is the RMCH (Ronald McDonald Charity House) where we stayed in Ft. Worth. Yep - we were there for two weeks and let me tell you, there is nothing more amazing and awe-strikingly beautiful that I've experienced in my life. Since my stay at RMCH I've urged people if there is any charity in the world worth giving to, it would be there. An amazing experience.

Set aside the fact that my daughter, only 12 at the time who had dealt with a seizure disorder all her life, was in Cook Children's Hospital in Ft. Worth undergoing brain surgery. Set aside the fact that her TWO scheduled brain surgeries turned into THREE. Set aside the fact that by brain surgery, I mean cutting out a chunk of deformed brain cells in multiple spots and we wouldn't know if she was going to have neurological deficits like loss of speech, loss of motor skills, etc., until it was all over. Set aside the fact that Ft. Worth is the closest place (4 hours from my home in Oklahoma) that had a pediatric epileptologist and pediatric neurosurgeon available. Set aside the fact that we didn't know anyone in Ft. Worth where we could stay and 2 weeks at a hotel wasn't in the budget, plus meals and transportation and every other minor detail that you run across while out of town. And set aside all the anxiety, tears, worry, more tears, surgery after surgery after surgery, test after test after test, and everything else you might imagine would be involved in sending your child "under the knife".

Why set that aside? Because after staying at RCMH I realized I was one of the few mothers who would be allowed to take her child home in just a couple short weeks. I was the minority.

The families at this place were amazing. The staff was amazing. They have a full kitchen loaded down with food that is all FREE. They have a game room, a quiet room, a library, laundry facilities, WiFi and a computer with printer available for use in the lobby, a patio with picnic tables and a playground area for kids... and half the nights there was a local business catering supper. All FREE. Each family has their own bedroom, kind of like a hotel, only no maid. We had a TV, bathroom, dresser, two full size beds and a walk-in closet. All they ask in return is a donation -- whatever you can afford. The lady told me that some people pay $25 a night, some pay $10 a night, and some aren't able to make a donation at all.

I'm not a people person, and during the time I wasn't in the hospital room with Nisha, I walked over to RMCH to shower, change, clear my head and get some work done. I brought the laptop with me so I could work. While sitting on the patio pounding away on the laptop I overheard several of the conversations. One lady was there from another state with her son who had leukemia. She comes in once every couple of months and stays for a few weeks while he gets treatment, but this time his prognosis wasn't so good and she didn't think he was going to make it. Another lady, from some rural town in Texas, had her husband and another child at the RMCH while her terminally ill daughter was never going to make it out of the cancer ward. They were there to watch their daughter die. Another mother was there with her small, previously healthy toddler who suffered a traumatic brain injury and she would be wheeling her child out, never to walk or talk again. These stories just poured out of these ladies. They had all become family, a support system for each other. I stood back in awe.

I felt guilty. I didn't want to share my story with these ladies, even though they were looking at me, eyes wide with curiosity, to see if I was in their boat. I couldn't even say anything. I silently prayed for them and their children and left the table. How could I be so naive? How could I just walk around that place depressed and angry, like my world was crashing down around me, when I would get to take my baby girl home???

So -- here's my question for the peeps of the world:

Have you ever had the opportunity to stay at a RMCH or volunteer there?

Please share your story with me by email or on this post.

School Again, School Again, Jiggity Jig

I'm totally soliciting opinions here for my class, and for my own mental health to see if I'm really living in some kind of Reality TV bubble and can't tell my ass from a hole in the ground.

First, keep in mind that I'm going to school for my counseling degree... (in my best Miss America voice) "in the end I hope to save the world, one person at a time" by walking them through whatever it is that lead them to my office, punching them in the throat and telling them to exercise SOME form of common sense. Kind of like Dr. Phil but with much more profanity and finger-pointing. Believe me when I say, I will vote for myself for the Best Counselor in America award. You can take that to the bank!

Tonight is the beginning of my first class since my wonderful month and a half break. My semesters are totally different than traditional college students in that I'm in an adult studies program and we go to school constantly. There wasn't an available class in May that I wanted to take, so I got to skip 6 weeks and enroll in my next five classes starting in July. God willing, this whole going-back-to-school-in-my-30s-idea will be worth it and I'll graduate with my BS (lol I love that term) in 2 more years. Then I'm back at it for the MS... I suppose after that I'll get a real job and join the real world lol.

So anyway, last night I'm doing my required reading in Class Matters (interesting read actually) for my Social Class in America class and I sparked up a little debate with Andy. I asked him to rank his family members (because they are all close knit but seem to be vastly different) in whatever social "class" he felt which they belonged. He went down the line of his brothers and nephews, 5 families total, and put them all in a social class. (For their sake and Andy's, I will not say who was placed where. I don't want to piss any of them off; I'm not actually married-in yet and they might try to beat me up.)

It appeared to me there was no method to his madness in classifying peeps. People who weren't homeowners but have steady jobs were put in middle class, and people who owned their homes, but weren't concerned about having extra money were put in low class. I didn't get it. So I asked him the reasoning he used. Apparently, Andy thinks of social class as the availability of money and little to do with possessions or appearance. He explained further; the people in middle class have the means to take care of a financial issue if it comes up (car needs a new engine, have to call an electrician or other service technician, etc.), and the people in lower class blow their wads, have nothing to show for it, and never have any money in their bank accounts.

Social class can be broken down into a million pieces; available health care, financial stability, homeownership, area of residence, community involvement, possessions, education, etc. I think the social classifications are totally subjective, because while some of these things mean something to me, they may not mean that much to anyone else. In addition, the geographic location tends to play a big part. In Oklahoma, we don't buy condos. It seems stupid to "buy" a residence where you share walls. But in a metro of California, it's common to buy a condo. And if you are able to purchase in Cali, you are doing pretty okay -- hence the assumption of a higher social class.

To me there is much more to climbing the ladder of social class. I don't need a personal chef to be upper-middle class because I like to cook and I don't like fancy shit. I don't need a BMW sedan to be upper-middle class either, because that isn't feasible with four children. I don't do $700 blouses and if I paid $400 for a pair of Jimmy Choo's, Andy would slit my wrists for me. What I need is home ownership in a rural area within a low crime area and excellent school district, financial stability, college funds for the kids, an investment portfolio, funds available to make a moderate sized purchase without thinking I'd have to sell my soul to the devil to get, and a six figure income. There's much more but you get the point. That's how I would classify being in upper-middle class. I'm no where near there. We live comfortably, but we aren't even close to my definition of upper-middle class.

For my research paper in this class, along with the dreaded oral presentation I propose some questions:

In which social class would you put your household and why?

Would you self-describe your social class as the same, higher or lower than that of your parents while you were growing up?

Disclaimer: For your consideration and privacy, I promise not to use your real name in my research paper, however if I make it big and some fancy magazine wants to publish my work -- all proceeds go directly to me and my non-existent social status. Thank you for your time.

Here's What's for Supper Ya'll!!!

So I'm not a planner. I love to make plans and lists, but life gets in the way and things get altered and I get pissy and it's never a good thing. Rarely do things happen the way they are planned.

But... I've been reading all these blogs where these perfectly organized mommies plan everything, down to every meal for.... get this....

A WEEK AT A TIME!

Can you imagine? A 7-day plan of meals. I give you all well-prepared mommies a big ole virtual high five because stuff just don't go down like that around here. In light of that (and because of my competitive nature), I'm going out on a limb here and I've planned the weekend meals. Baby steps. If this goes right, I might, just might, consider doing an actual 7-day meal plan. Probably not though because plans change on a dime here and I never know what's really going on until I'm in the middle of it.

So here's the meal plan:

Tonight's meal will be BBQ Beef Filled Baskets, Andy's (Martha Stewart is what we fondly like to call him) famous fresh green beans sauteed in fresh garlic and onion, and some ranch mashed taters. Super YUM!

I didn't come up with this one myself. I snagged this one on another blog *gasp* and I regretfully can't remember whose or I'd give her some "props". She got it from Kraft and you can find the recipe here. Looks like something the kids and I can all get together and do, so I'm really excited about it. She did say there are some amazing recipes on there. When I stop stalking the blogs so much, perhaps I'll take a gander.

Saturday evening I will be serving chicken enchiladas, Martha's Andy's famous Spanish rice, refried beans n cheese... and some chips n salsa. My whole idea behind this one simple. My mama sent me a recipe for salsa and I want to try it out. So I planned an entire meal around it... as an excuse lol.

Sunday evening we will be entertaining so we are going to fire up the grill. We decided on pork chops (mostly because we bought an industrial sized pack of chops from the grocery store last night for only $0.98/lb. The package was $16 something. That's right folks... 16+ pounds of chops). For sides I'm making a broccoli cheese casserole, corn on the cob and some spicy cornbread with Ro-tel... mmmm! For horses doovers (hor d'oeuvres) I will be preparing cream cheese stuffed jalapenos wrapped in bacon and grilled. Now THOSE are super, super YUM. I'm only doing those because my perfectly delicious friend Cilla bought me a real live jalapenos pepper corer gadget that she found at Affair of the Heart (an annual craft show/fair) and she thought it was screaming my name. I told you, I love gadgets! And she obviously loves me! Or she just felt sorry for me the last time she was here and I made those and got pepper juice in my eye.

So that's the plan folks. I won't be around this weekend (except maybe to write that one blog about Nisha's dang volcano report that I've been chomping at the bit to vent about). This is our weekend with the kiddos (yanno, the divorce, joint custody thing) and we don't get all four of them under one roof very often. Not to mention I've got an oral presentation on genocide to prepare, Maus to finish reading and write a 5-7 page paper and an oral presentation on that one too, two 1-page movie reviews and two 1-page conversation starters to get done. Monday is the last day of my Holocaust class *wiping sweat from brow* and I've learned SO much, but it's time to move on to the next class... and NOT be some bombarded with homework.

Have a fantastic weekend blogger peeps!

Tuesday's Daily Dilly Dally...and Maalox

First of all, thank you for the "Compose" button clue. Really, I swear I'm not an eeeediot. I created an intranet site for a company I worked for, but that was all raw HTML code and I feel useless if I just have to click the mouse.

• Something I did last night: Managed to somehow get my 100 pages read, two 1-page papers written for class, and even participated in the class discussions on the Holocaust. Wonderful Andy doesn't think I participate in class (because he swears I hate people) but I really did last night. I talked like I knew what I was talking about... nevermind the odd glances in my direction or the "what planet is she from" stares.

• Something I learned today: The kids showed up this morning with less butt issues and I learned a neat trick. Maalox (check out my new use of colors!) cuts the acid in pee-pee, so it makes it less painful to change the diaper of a kid with super-red-butt. However, there are no handy tricks to make sure the Maalox doesn't get all over the couch when you try to pour it on the butt-paste... but I guess I'd rather have a mint flavored couch than a screaming kid and end up elbow deep in butt-paste again.

(check out my use of bullets! YAY, go winda-licker! Ok, I'm over it.)

Something that pissed me off so far today:
I get an email from my boss. Yeah, that's right... I work at home and I have a boss. Apparently, in my bliss of thinking I don't really have a job (outside the home of course) I've been slacking on my actual check-I-get-every-two-weeks job and decided blogging was much more fun. I mean really, how boring is it to type about snotty nosed kids going to the ER b/c their parents don't have a PCP or insurance for that matter. Or typing about every chest pain in the State of Oklahoma that turns out to be the japaleno peppers wrapped in bacon and filled with cream cheese from the BBQ the day before. Or typing about the dummies who saw half of their hands off while reaching for that wire they ran over moments before under the RUNNING lawnmower. And I can't leave out the cat fights at the bar where one broad gets pissed off because her "honey" is buying shots for some tootsie roll in a too tight mini skirt and tank top that's trying to disguise her "muffin top" (yanno, that fat roll the bulges out of the top of jeans... looks like a muffin top dontcha think?)

Anywayyyy... jeeze I can't stay on target for the life of me!

So I get this email telling me I better shape up and do at least my daily requirements or they want their "equipment back"... and by "equipment" I mean the computer that I'm typing on right this second. Pfffffft! I'm not giving up my computer. Nevermind the fact that I have another desktop and a laptop in the house, and my school will be issuing me another laptop (included in my tuition) in the next few months. No way... no how.... am I giving up this PC.

Who does she think she is? Telling me I need to actually "work" in order to claim having a job! I have worked for this company for 15 years and my boss is like a surrogate mom to me. I've worked in the office, I've worked at home. Sometimes I'm a super-producer and bringing in the big bucks, and sometimes I like to take it easy and pretend like I don't have a job. I like the option of not working when I don't want to. Some days the blogs I read can keep me busy (between chasing the two kids around during the day yanno... I don't just ignore them... all of the time) for at most of the day. And if they are particularly funny or hit home for me, I can be knee deep in blogs by 10am. Then there are the blog rolls that I must check out, especially if they have catchy titles! I've got to at least just glance at the blog, only then will I know if I really want to stalk them. Not to mention, I've got to take a peek at my MySpace and see if my brother put anymore pics up and stalk my local friends, friends from high school, bar friends, and check up on my kid's MySpace(it's the right thing to do... snoop on your kids). THEN... I have to check my daily gardening blogs and forums for any new growth, take pictures of my garden-in-the-kitchen-that-has-started-blooming-and-can't-wait-to-be-move-outside so I can post them for the world to see. And FINALLY, I have to check my school website to see if my instructor graded my last paper yet, if my "Discrete Math" grade is posted yet... etc.

I have a LOT to do before I can work ya'll!

So this morning, while I'm preparing for work, I'm thinking of all the other things I need to get done around here and somehow end up on damn blogpost again. How.Does.That.Happen!

In my defense, I do have until the 10th to reply to her email.

And finally, something I'm going to gloat about: I missed class last week because I was totally unprepared for class and lost my book my kid was sick so I emailed my 5-page paper on The Night. I was very anxious about this paper because not only did I write it an hour before it was due, I was submitting to my instructor who is also a published author and screenplay writer. Sooo, for a week I was waiting and waiting, checking my email 2398407234 times a day for a response. Finally, yesterday I checked before I went to class and he responded:

I have graded your paper and I will not be submitting a printed copy with corrections... because there was absolutely nothing wrong with your paper. You are a tallented writer. A+!

Woo hoo! Go Okie girl! (Did you also notice my use of "block quote" feature? Huh? Huh? Did ya? I'm gonna be an expertive blogger before long I tell ya!)

Intro to The Holocaust

So last night was the first session of five for Intro to the Holocaust. Traditionally, I hate history. I have traumatic memories from high school trying to memorize dates and details of historical events that seemed too trivial for my party mindset. Perhaps it was my teachers that didn't engage my mind, perhaps it was me being lazy, knowing exactly what I had to score on a particular assignment to nail a good grade in that class... and that instructor wasn't getting anything more than my minimum.

At SNU, I've been enrolled in "bridge classes". This is an adult study program where I can go to school one night a week (4 hours) and in five weeks, I've finished a class that would have taken me an entire semester. It's wonderful for those who are working and just can't devote 4 to 5 nights a week to class. I take five classes a semester, but I take them one at a time. It works for me! Granted, it's a private university, so the cost is a little high, but it's worth it to me.

Anyway, some of my classes are kinda odd. And truth be known, you really don't get a lot of say-so in what you are enrolled in. The object is to get you to the credit requirement so you can start your degree program requirements. Basically, whatever you need is compared to whatever is available at that time, and that's what will end up on your schedule.

For the Spring semester I ended up with Juvenile Delinquency, Earth's Natural Disasters, Discrete Math, Intro to the Holocaust and Intro to Art. All of them were a piece of cake as far as I could tell, except for the Holocaust class. I already had anxiety about that one, and this was at the beginning of the semester lol. The syllabus even had me more anxious. I glanced over it in January to find that I would be writing two 5-7 page papers, three 1-page video response papers, 10 1-page conversation starters and have a final exam. I about crapped my pants. FIVE WEEKS MAN! This class is only five weeks! Oh... and I had to read "Night" by Elie Wiesel prior to class and have one of the 5-7 page papers done, and then another paper was to be on an assigned book we would get the first night of class. Oh! And there was a Genocide project that was also due by the 5th week consisting of ANOTHER 5-7 page paper and a 1-page oral presentation. WTF!

Not only do I not like history, I don't like reading about history, I don't like history videos, and I certainly don't like writing papers on historical events. I love to write. But I love to write about things I'm comfortable with. Things I know about. This... the Holocaust... was definitely unfamiliar territory and I hadn't the faintest clue how I was to bullshit my way through this class.

So I get to class and thank God I was 4 minutes early. My instructor, a lean, tall man looking to be in his 50s... bald head, pressed jeans, cowboy boots and a gray blazer over a Harley Davidson t-shirt... looked intimidating. I immediately thought of Bull from Night Court when I saw him, but only in a scary kind of way. Then precisely at 6 this man tells us, "Thank you all for being here on time. I start promptly at 6, but tonight I will give 5 more minutes because this classroom is difficult to find."

Then again, promptly at 6:05, he started class. Not only was I scared to death of this class, my face was beet red after climbing three flights of stairs and running through every hall imaginable in this building to find my classroom. I'm fat. Fat girls don't run down halls and willingly climb stairs when there are elevators available.

So he starts rambling on about his own personal history. I could feel my insides twisting and turning, thinking this class couldn't possibly get worse. He tells us he joined the military at 17 and retired after 32 years service. He has also worked for SWAT and other special forces in the Oklahoma City Police Department. He described himself as a "crotchety old bastard" and told us that if his occasional cursing offended us, to report him. He further explained, we wouldn't be the first to report him and he's certain we wouldn't be the last.

Gulp...

After the first 15 minutes or so of class I caught my breath and was able to relax a bit. This professor, even with his background, seemed very personable, joking with us and all that, so I didn't fear him nearly as much as I did 15 minutes prior.

The lecture started and I can honestly say, this man put this whole time in history into perspective for me. I didn't even have to ask any questions because he had already answered them. He put things into terms where even a 5th grader could understand, and if there was something that was unclear, he was pretty good at reading faces and tried to invoke conversation within the students. And to top it all off... not only did I understand what the heck he was saying, I was excited to learn more. It was really refreshing.

Oh! And not only was he able to get through my mental block for history, he cut down our workload as well. He completely wiped out one of the papers we had to write... the one on Genocide. Instead, he told us to find any case of genocide in history and answer these questions: Who? When? Why? What? and of course... How? He said to make an oral presentation of no more than 5 minutes to answer those questions. Easy enough. Then he cut out the final exam. WOO HOO! He said our video response papers are due at the beginning of the last class. We still have to write two 5-7 page papers, but I can certainly deal with that! Oh - and because he cut out the final exam, which was worth 20% of our final grade, he decided to put that 20% toward, punctuality, preparedness for class and participation. Nice!

I am honestly looking forward to next weeks class!

It's been a busy week

...here in Okieland!

First, I've located my brother that I haven't seen in over 20 years! I have two siblings from my dad, an older sister and brother. I was just a kid when I last saw either one of them. I never really looked for either of them b/c I didn't want to get wrapped up in all the mess my dad created. I don't have very many good memories of that man, and it was just too much drama to deal with. I figured they'd turn out just like him and frankly, I didn't want any part of our dad. So the other day, I'm looking at Myspace and decide to look for my brother. After a days search, I found him and he looked good! I mean GOOD! He has my dad's eyes... but he seems normal. And productive. And happy. And away from all the drama and crap our dad instilled in our genes. And the best part is... he's only a few hours away from me! I can't wait to get to know him all over again!

This Wednesday was the last session for my Discrete Math class. I don't think I got an A, but I'm sure it's a high B. I missed a couple of assignments at the beginning of class and I think I got lazy and just didn't turn them in or something. It's totally my fault, but I'm ok with a B. Next class is Holocaust. Ugh. That syllabus is intimidating. I don't do well with oral presentations, and it seems like there is one every damn week in this class, not to mention an inordinate amount of reading. Grrr! On the bright side, it's only one night a week for five weeks. Surely I can make it through.

Andy and I went out Wednesday night after I got out of class. I got smashed lol. Michelle was there (first time she'd been back at this bar since the "incident") and we had a great time. We don't get to the bar much these days and it's a good thing! Man when I think about how much money we spent in the bar when we were throwing darts... it makes me sick. But that was back when I was stalking Andy and Patron was my right-hand-man. Oh... good times. I sure don't miss the hangovers though. Yesterday SUCKED big time.

On top of being hung over, Andy was sick. I guess the kids and I passed on our cold we had last week to him. Poor guy.

Then this morning, Friday the damn 13th, I guess Nisha thought it was "dress like a hood rat day" at school. She comes out of her room with some booty shorts on that are obviously way too little for her big butt and some leggings under them, thinking that if she wore leggings she could get away with it. Ba ha! That's not gonna work sister. Go change into some real clothes. So I guess she thinks she's slick. She comes back out of her room with a pair of jeans on, but I don't think she knew that I knew she still had on her leggings under the jeans. Which leads me to believe she's got those damn booty shorts in her bag. I just laughed and let her run with it. The folks at the school and I are very close, and they don't hesistate to call me if something stupid happens... I anticipate a phone call by 10 this morning lol. Hell, haven't we all done that? Changed our clothes or put on our "real" makeup after we got to school b/c our moms thought we should be little "Outhouse on the Prairie" type kids?

So then Erin calls and says she's going to be late with the girls b/c there is something wrong with her truck. No biggy. That gives me more time to wake up. Andy and Nish leave and I'm sitting here waiting on the babies, when Andy walks back through the door. He's still sick. My poor guy! I sent him back to bed. He sounds miserable, and apparently his boss told him not to bring his contaminated self up to the office to spread that crap around. So he gets a 4 day weekend. Nice! I love having him home anyway. He's a great snuggler.

Ok - time for me to go check on him, dope him up and curl up next to him for a bit. High of 35 today and my toes are freezing!