Shaquito Gato

There is a lot on my plate right now, and a lot on my mind. What’s not on my plate (physically or otherwise) but IS on my mind currently, is cats. I think it’s because my keyboard is still covered in the fur of the gato that lives at my friend’s (the one that writes poetry) neighbor’s house, but likes to eat and snuggle in their’s from time to time. That sentence is a mouthful. Kinda like the mouthful of cat hair I have right now. Oh well, I’m too lazy to change it. Deal with it. Anyways, I still got a bit of the sniffles, but my heart is filled with joy. That coupled with facestalking my own profile pics to see if I’m cool, and thereby stumbling upon a picture of my belated shaquito gato, Myra, and also reading the good book, which made me think about the ‘lol cat bible,’ brought it all together. Geez, another mouthful! Sorry guys. The ‘lol cat bible‘ is a great read if you want to giggle a bit, and be awe-inspired by the dedication these people must have to translate that bad boy.

All this reminded me of a girl I knew in first grade. Maryanne Rigsby. It’s amazing what a childhood mind will remember. This girl was tall like a giraffe and loved french bread covered in butter. One day she showed up to class crying profusely over the death of her cat. I’m not going to make fun of lil Maryanne, because I too cried when my precious meow meow died. Even as that was a few months ago. Adults cry too, okay? Don’t judge. Believe it or not, that was my first encounter with death. First grade, giraffe girl’s cat. I don’t need to explain to you folks the difference between the comfort of friends and the comfort of family, right? We all get it: family is stuck with you, friends choose to stay with you. And it’s nice to have a pat on the back from people that can run when things get hairy. Man, SO MUCH HAIR! K, go look up some of those cat pictures and videos, and maybe get some greater meaning out of them. Oh, and homeschooling. That too. Don’t do it. My work here is done. Peace motha lickas!

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you kinda suck, little girl

One of things I’ve discovered as a new blogger is that you don’t always feel like writing. Sometimes I simply want to listen to Radiohead and cry myself to sleep instead of be all peppy or cleverly cynical. I am certainly not a one emotion girl: I have all sorts of shades of crazy.

Not wanting to write in the blog world can be equated to not wanting to shower or do your hair and makeup in the feminine hygiene world.  You think to yourself: oh there’s that one girl that has the messy bun thing going and looks disheveled but wonderful all the time! I can just be her today. But then you look in the mirror after class or work or whatever it may be, and the glimmering idealistic halo you once bore in the cool hours of morning, has now burned off in the truthful glare of the afternoon sun; or for a shout out to everyone that does not live in California, the harsh grey of the continual dark. Anyways, when you hear that apathetic voice telling you to curl up in a ball and just take a day off, you need a good dose of todays lesson: competition. It is something that is lacking in the homeschooling world, and something that you NEED to function everyday as a better human being. I have this psycho drive for it. So do all my friends and family members. Somehow that commonality allows us not to tear each other to pieces…don’t ask me how. Going back to the blog thing, I want to be the effing BEST blogger in the world! No one needs to tell me to rip the other guys head off, I just want to. Not in an angry way. I don’t want to step on anyone on my way to the top, as the saying goes, I just want to be better than everyone and soar my way up there! Now my christian good good side has a soft spot for the verse, ‘the last shall be first and the first shall be last’ basically saying don’t esteem yourself as the best, because you’ll probably be humiliated, but if you’re humble and awesome, you’ll be praised by everyone for being so nice. Totally true! But at the same time, I find myself killing everyone off in Mafia and screwing over the people I love in Monopoly. It’s second nature. Hell it’s freaking first nature!

I think it is a misconception to think competition requires a lack of humility. In fact, I think the two have no correlation what-so-ever. It’s what you do after everything is said and done that matters. If you are the loser in whatever competitive situation it may be, take it, improve, and move on. You can be upset, you can be disappointed, but you accept that you are not the best, and never will be, but you will always try your hardest to be so. Why? Why not do the best with what’s given to you? Now I had a friend who was homeschooled most of his life, and let me tell you, kid has one of the fattest heads I know out there. I love him, but he thinks he is the greatest thing since red wine (I would say sliced cheese because it’s just lovely, but this glass is really hitting the spot). Ask any of his friends that knew him as a younger man/boy, and they will tell you it’s because his mother worships the ground he walks on. The kid is an idol in his own house. A healthy helping of, ‘you kinda suck,’ is in order for these children. Kids are great. they are precious bundles of joy. But they need a reason to comb their hair, and wear their retainers and deodorant. Socially, homeschooling fails at this. And although middle school and even some of high school don’t necessarily have heavy competition intellectually, college certainly does. Those of us who went to school with other kids can handle it! We have dealt with it since we were wee ones. And we can congratulate each other and learn to take the backseat when necessary.

Wow. I rambled with this vin rouge! And not even a picture. Here’s a great video. Talk about trying hard to be the best. Thank you Barry Gibbs for Hercules. Thank you JT for being funny.

and does anyone else think this ancient statue at the Louve looks like Justin?


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I struck gold!

I wasn’t expecting to hit this vein of amazing content. It was as if a kind leprechaun led me down a shimmering rainbow to find a pot brimming with pure unadulterated homeschooling goodness. Per a conversation with my good friend, I decided to add some more legitified content up in here. And for the record, I know that isn’t a word. Normally I wouldn’t say anything but I am about to make fun of people for their lack of writing skill about, you guessed it, the negatives of homeschooling. This is homeschooling for dummies at it’s finest people.

So I googled “negatives of homeschooling” hoping for some scholarly documents, when I found this thread:

I’m seriously wondering at this point if it isn’t a trap. The more I read, the more I thought such was the case:

Recap: fishes and bread boy (or girl) wants to be HSed, which in context and based on the title of his/her post, means homeschooled. He (just going to stick with that mmk?) wants strong arguments in the negative to show his open-mindedness. RUN IT’S A STING! But no, Midnight Cry mama complete ignores the “legitimate” negatives thing and goes ahead and gives her advice. Then asks if his husband is in agreeance with him?

Enough said. Let’s move on, shall we!?

Kid is still misunderstood and ignored. And I just love the bottom italics! Oh, and the butterfly flaps its wings on real internets. This continues for sometime: OnTheHorizon mom says the public schools get upset that homeschooled kids don’t have enough (she used quotations) “busy work.” HSmomof4 says she can’t think of anything AT ALL. A few more HURAH’s to no downsides, one lady with a giggling dumbo as her avatar. I’m not making this stuff up. Someone gives the academic answer of “naysayers.”  One lady uses all of the following faces in a single post:Pages down of this nonsense, someone finally says it all. And I quote,

“The school wanted to retain her in 1st grade never mind her math skills was out of this world. I admit she was a very slow learning to read but there was issues that wasn’t being address by the school. Only by us and her doctors. Self confidence and esteem has rose. There are sooo many activities out there for hs, I’m just amazed.”

I wonder who taught that little girl grammar?

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Mr. Jingles, saltines, and little too much serious for my liking

Day two of complete delirium and eighties movies (which often times are one and the same). On my way to CVS to fill another prescription, I overheard this talk show discussing parents dealing with adopted children who had experienced trauma. Real uplifter. It was actually extremely interesting and I am all about ready to go Angelina Jolie on urybodys asses and get me some children! There was this part where they said how you need to cocoon these kids, as it were, in warmth and security and orange smells because that calms people down. And music. And back rubbing. Now these are all things that I love. People close to me actually tell me to chill out because I’m always wanting to dance and have snuggle parties and smell oranges. I may be a highly anxious person. Or I am better than everyone else at dealing with it. Anyways, this made me think (warning) You gotta have the trauma to know the good good. So go abuse your kids!! No don’t do that. But for reals, when I was a wee lil tadpole I wanted to touch the bright shiny warm thing that mom always paid attention to. She slapped my hand and said ‘no.’ I touched it anyway, and found out that fire hurts. Fast forward a few years, and I want to run across the street. Mom says ‘no.’ I want to regardless, but then I see Mr. Jingles had the same urge and lost the game versus the bright shiny metal thing. All this to say, sometimes you got to know the pain to play the game. I’m not saying let everyone run wild experiencing their way through life, traumatizing themselves and their peers as they go along. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t enjoy these saltines and orange juice so much right now if Mama Myers hadn’t nursed me back to health with them as a young’n. If you have your kids with you ALL THE TIME how are they going to know the difference between sick and healthy, flat or alive, hot or cold? The comfort of home cannot exist without a little pressure from the outside world.

And now for two words that will make everyone a bit happier: pajama jeans (look it up if that didn’t make you giggle)

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fever brain

I figure I can amuse you people more when I’m on lots of drugs and shivering in feverish delusion. It’s all just blending together like a trippy dream. There’s so many of these thought bubbles floating around up in my swollen brain – The California Department of Education Superintendent guy, Tom Torlakson, who I like to call Tommy, Bottle Rocket (I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an Owens sister), Jake from The Sun Also Rises who has something wrong with his penis (why does Ernest have to create so much tragedy!), there’s Bible reading in Leviticus with all the discharges and UNCLEAN!’s which is making me feel insecure because it’s that time of month AND I am sick…so basically the Hebrews would hate me right now. And then there’s always puppies and the cute little froggy from cut the rope romping around up there as usual. IT’S SO OVERWHELMING. And that is why I fell into a deathly sleep last night without a second thought for posting SHET. Sorry.

Which brings me to my point: how can you stay at home sick if you go to school at home? Wouldn’t you feel trapped? I sure as hell would. Your welcome world. Solving one dilemma after another from my bed at…

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aint gonna pee pee my bed tonight

 

 

 

 

 

Let us further explore the oh so entertaining land of hohm-skoo-ling, or as the Germans call it, hausunterricht, or as the Spanish call it, escolarización en casa. Why, you may ask, are we speaking in dictionary talk, German and Spanish? I would be honored to tell you…because 9 very special homeschooling children do/did. The Kelly Family were home-schooled in the sixties and became a singing sensation in Europe. Why they were so popular I truly cannot understand. Maybe it’s because they had the decency to use the bathroom before they went to bed. Let’s allow the pilgrim outfits, long hair and the fathers uncanny resemblance to The Father tell their own story:

I’m going to admit. They are kinda awesome. I mean the stashes, the hippy doos, snazzy sweaters and giant green bus. But this little guy is singing about peeing in his bed at night. There is something wrong here people!!! Kids just plain aren’t meant to be solely taught by their parents. Yes, sometimes this may produce the flower child version of the Von Trapp Family, but most of the time, you are just creating confused and scary replicas of yourself. Remember childhood parents? Remember skinning your knees racing your neighbor and learning inappropriate words from your friends older sister? That’s how humanity learns! For better or for worse you must allow some leg room here for personal development sans parents breathing down your neck. That’s just life. Don’t be a pansy and run away from it. Trust is the name of the game here. And sure, you may not trust me and people like me who may or may not want to educate your children, but how about trusting your own parenting enough that your kids will be smart enough to make generally positive decisions? It’s just a thought.

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further down the rabbit hole

I’ve been told time and time again that drinking makes writing just plain better. I won’t make any personal judgements, I’ll leave that up to you my dear reader, but if you have liked my blog thus far, you probably agree. And if you’re a mom sitting with her church friends trying to decide whether to put your children into homeschooling, you’re probably deeply offended right now and quickly deciding in the positive for the ole at home route. BUT before you make the easy to come by assumption that I am just a half drunk college nobody getting in your face about something I know little about, let me make this compelling argument.

First, the setting: I am at a richly decorated house in Orange with a fellow blogger, drinking (yup that’s right, just read on, Ok?) Irish Coffee, PURELY because it is part of my heritage. I’m just respecting my elders here like the good book tells me to. Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is blasting on the record player and we are reading poetry for inspiration. Now, tell me, would you normally think the public schooling system could create this wonderful an environment? Well it did. Both in Oahu and California. For further proof that public schooling doesn’t produce dummies, but does quite the opposite by allowing diverse friendships and personalities to mesh in intellectual bliss, here is a poem authored by the lovely Alix Camp (check out her blog while you’re at it):

(this is an eulogy for the rabbit her roommates and her found on the street outside their house…such love)

mr white rabbit

Mr white rabbit, always in a rush,
Off to do important things, no time to tell us what.
It must have been quite scary,
Trust me, I can relate,
To go from hopping along so merry,
To realizing your dire fate.
I didn’t know you Mr Rabbit,
But I believe I can assume,
Death didn’t cross your mind much,
Before you met your doom.
It pains me to think what could have been if you had made it cross the street,
Perhaps you’d have stuck around and we’d have had a chance to meet.
I don’t know who to blame white rabbit,
The human who did this was much like you.
In a big hurry to get somewhere, didn’t see you in plain view.
Let this tragedy remind us, now that you are deceased,
To be mindful in our lives every day,
As you rest in peace.

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