ShoeShe Visits the Huckablogs
Hey You will not be posting tonight as she is busy entertaining ME!!!
It brings back memories of college days…sitting around in pajamas and just being. Wow. Not much has changed in the almost nine-ish years we’ve been friends…except for Hey You has added a husband and the most adorable 2-ish-year-old son (he really is the most adorable and polite child of that age I’ve ever seen, but that of course doesn’t include me).
Though miles may separate us now, I’m always made to feel at home when I’m in Hey You’s presence. Seriously. She didn’t even clean for me (really…you should see the place). But, perhaps that’s because the night we really became friends my freshman year in college was a night not too different from tonight. We were getting ready to leave on a Model UN trip to St. Louis. I had quite possibly the messiest dorm room ever. I had gone through two crazy-ass roommates, and had a private room that I had let go to hell. Seriously. I really don’t remember it even having a path to walk through. You had to walk over clothes and such to get from the door to my bed. So, Hey You came in to help me pack, which was quite an endeavor. What wound up happening is this: Hey You and I were in pajamas talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. She used permanent markers to decorate my classic irreplaceable rare soccer ball (did I mention I loved soccer?) while I tried to find enough clean clothes to pack for our trip. That night sealed the deal.
As I look around trying to find something I could add my personal touch to in the Huckablog house, I am reminded of how long ago that really was. And, the older I get, the more it just seems like “yesterday.” Oh, there’s a nice plate on the wall and a cup of crayons on the desk. I’d better get to work. I’m leaving tomorrow.
By the way, Hey You will have a Read it or Rant, a Watch it or Whine and a Huckablubber update soon!
Filed under Friends-All three of them | Comments (4)To Whom it May Concern: Getting it off my chest.
This is one of those “therapy” posts. It may just sit in my drafts box indefinitely. Maybe not. Feel free to skip it and move along.
To Whom it May Concern:
You have hurt me. Even worse? You have hurt US. We all embraced you with open arms, we loved you, we gave to you all that we had. You took and took and took and We kept on giving.
When I found out about you, I was thrilled. I was on your side. I pushed others into accepting and loving you. I thought we could be more. I thought you could fill a hole I thought we had. I gave in every way, and defended you….to others and to myself. When I caught on to your game of take, take, take, and I stopped giving so freely, you cut me out. You tried to make me the bad guy. You tried to separate US. Luckily we are stronger than you.
Now you are alone, separate by your own choice. That would be fine, good even, if you were not trying to take one of US with you. I am terrified of the hole that will be left if you succeed. Physical distance we can handle, but cutting all ties would leave a gaping wound that no amount of replacing or substituting could heal.
You have gotten so much from US. You can make it on your own, and we have nothing left to give you, you rejected our love and respect, and it will not be re-offered. At least not any time soon. I guess time matures everyone, you….and I included. Will you stay long enough to find out if there is nothing in it for you?
I am responsible for the emotional well being of someone who all of US love. I will not let the acid, the bile, the miles, hurt him. Have you not noticed he was even missing from your life? I can assure you that is a loss, a monumental void.
I would tell you to get lost already, to leave US all alone, but I think that some of US are kinder than I am. And I care about hurting them. So I will keep my mouth shut, go through the motions, and hope pray for a change.
Sincerely,
Hey You E. Disappointed-Huckablog
Filed under To Whom it May Concern, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (7)The Pregnancy Pact.
As summer vacation begins, 17 girls at Gloucester High School are expecting babies—more than four times the number of pregnancies the 1,200-student school had last year. Some adults dismissed the statistic as a blip. Others blamed hit movies like Juno and Knocked Up for glamorizing young unwed mothers. But principal Joseph Sullivan knows at least part of the reason there’s been such a spike in teen pregnancies in this Massachusetts fishing town. School officials started looking into the matter as early as October after an unusual number of girls began filing into the school clinic to find out if they were pregnant. By May, several students had returned multiple times to get pregnancy tests, and on hearing the results, “some girls seemed more upset when they weren’t pregnant than when they were,” Sullivan says. All it took was a few simple questions before nearly half the expecting students, none older than 16, confessed to making a pact to get pregnant and raise their babies together. Then the story got worse. “We found out one of the fathers is a 24-year-old homeless guy,” the principal says, shaking his head.
The question of what to do next has divided this fiercely Catholic enclave. Even with national data showing a 3% rise in teen pregnancies in 2006—the first increase in 15 years—Gloucester isn’t sure it wants to provide easier access to birth control. In any case, many residents worry that the problem goes much deeper. The past decade has been difficult for this mostly white, mostly blue-collar city (pop. 30,000). In Gloucester, perched on scenic Cape Ann, the economy has always depended on a strong fishing industry. But in recent years, such jobs have all but disappeared overseas, and with them much of the community’s wherewithal. “Families are broken,” says school superintendent Christopher Farmer. “Many of our young people are growing up directionless.”
The girls who made the pregnancy pact—some of whom, according to Sullivan, reacted to the news that they were expecting with high fives and plans for baby showers—declined to be interviewed. So did their parents. But Amanda Ireland, who graduated from Gloucester High on June 8, thinks she knows why these girls wanted to get pregnant. Ireland, 18, gave birth her freshman year and says some of her now pregnant schoolmates regularly approached her in the hall, remarking how lucky she was to have a baby. “They’re so excited to finally have someone to love them unconditionally,” Ireland says. “I try to explain it’s hard to feel loved when an infant is screaming to be fed at 3 a.m.”
The high school has done perhaps too good a job of embracing young mothers. Sex-ed classes end freshman year at Gloucester, where teen parents are encouraged to take their children to a free on-site day-care center. Strollers mingle seamlessly in school hallways among cheerleaders and junior ROTC. “We’re proud to help the mothers stay in school,” says Sue Todd, CEO of Pathways for Children, which runs the day-care center.
But by May, after nurse practitioner Kim Daly had administered some 150 pregnancy tests at Gloucester High’s student clinic, she and the clinic’s medical director, Dr. Brian Orr, a local pediatrician, began to advocate prescribing contraceptives regardless of parental consent, a practice at about 15 public high schools in Massachusetts. Currently Gloucester teens must travel about 20 miles (30 km) to reach the nearest women’s health clinic; younger girls have to get a ride or take the train and walk. But the notion of a school handing out birth control pills has met with hostility. Says Mayor Carolyn Kirk: “Dr. Orr and Ms. Daly have no right to decide this for our children.” The pair resigned in protest on May 30.
Gloucester’s elected school committee plans to vote later this summer on whether to provide contraceptives. But that won’t do much to solve the issue of teens wanting to get pregnant. Says rising junior Kacia Lowe, who is a classmate of the pactmakers’: “No one’s offered them a better option.” And better options may be a tall order in a city so uncertain of its future. —with reporting by Kimberley McLeod/New York
I am a conservative, Christian, Republican, and I STILL say “HOLY CRAP, GIVE THESE GIRLS SOME CONDOMS!” A Pact to get Pregnant? Will the pact be to get AIDS next? It is past time to be teaching these girls self-esteem as well as how not to get pregnant. By all means teach abstinence, just be aware that only 30 percent of high school girls are virgins when they graduate, according to the CDC. The Question for today is, Is it the School’s responsibility to teach this? What do you think?
I think no, it is their parent’s job, but since they are obviously not, someone should step in. This is what is causing the ever rising feminization of poverty. Something tells me that homeless guy will not be stepping up with child support.
In other news, Jamie Lynn Spears has her baby.
Filed under Soap box | Comments (5)Just who is getting trained here?
Alternate Title: This Blog may be getting a little boring.
Did you know that I used to talk to grown-ups all day, every day? I used words like tax structure, and wireless capabilities, and grace periods. I wore heels that matched my bag. I worried about things like rush hour, and 401Ks.
Then things like this started to happen.
Yes, that is what you think it is. The Son is ready to potty train.
Today I said the words Potty, Pee Pee, and Poop about eleventy billion times. Verbose? Not anymore. I wore jammie pants with pee dribbles on them almost all day. I cleaned poop out of not only a little plastic toilet, and underoos with cars on them, but a laundry basket.
Here at TheHuckablog World Headquarters it is all potty training all the time. We started out the day with a morning constitutional on the possessed singing potty.
Fabulous! The Son actually sits down and goes, no whining! He gets a sticker on the creatively named “Potty Chart”, ten stickers and he gets a matchbox car.
After breakfast we watched a little Elmo. (a note: The Husband and I decided before The Son was born that following the AAP guidelines, we would not let The Son watch any TV until he is two, and then just half an hour a day. Gee, it would be nice if I followed all of my own rules.) According to this brain numbing DVD, Elmo is already potty trained, so we got to watch a bear with a speech impediment learn how to use the facilities. You would think that a bear would go in the woods right? I made The Son aware of this quandary and he said “NO! Shhh Mama!”. Well, fine then. We snacked on Goldfish, and carrots dipped in chocolate frosting while watching Elmo Potty Time twice and playing with his new car, wearing his favorite undies, the ones with cars of course.
We then sat in the bathroom and read books about, you guessed it, going potty, while he made pooping noises with his mouth, yet never really went. After giving up, we broke out the organic playdough and made this.
Can you see the tiny little poop in the tiny little potty? This activity burned about an hour and a half of potty training purgatory. After this, lunch, and nap, I was putting away clean clothes, and heard that same noise as earlier. I turned to tell him to save it for Daddy, and he was naked, pooping in a laundry basket. In his defense, the basket was white and plastic. I did not take a picture of that. You are welcome.
To sum up, he did not get dressed all day. He ate chocolate frosting as a snack. He watched 90 minutes of Elmo. He played with playdough. He made boy noises. And he took a sh—uh, poop, in something I put clean clothes in. Oh, and I gave him stickers for doing all of that. I am thinking the wrong one of us is getting trained.
Filed under Boy is my face red, The Son | Comments (11)The Son’s Wednesday in numbers.
Times peed in the potty - 3
Puddles Mama cleaned up - 6
Times I threw poop at Mama - 1
Underwear changes - 7
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Times jumped off the side of the pool - 23
Times swam through the hoop - 5
Number of little girls in swimsuits flirted with - 3
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Successful bubbles blew - 2
New mosquito bites - 6
Time spent naked in the backyard - twenty minutes (it would have been longer but see above)
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Kisses given to Mama before bed - 3
Filed under The Son | Comments (7)Proper alignment of your whine.
In an effort to do more to win thehuckablubber off than contract various breeds of intestinal parasites, I went to the gym tonight. Right next to the gym daycare there was a classroom marked Pilates, 5:45. Seeing as how it was 5:46, and I was so not feeling the elliptical, I took off my shoes, grabbed a mat, and sat down. Upon glancing around, I got THAT feeling. You know the one, or lucky you, maybe not, but that feeling of knowing you weigh about fifty pounds more than anyone in the room. Yikes. So then I looked up at the front of the room and saw written on the white board: ADVANCED Pilates, Monday 5:45. Oh shi–cough, cough, shoot. I totally said shoot. I actually stood up to leave because I was thinking that my prenatal pilates video I half-heartedly did two years ago did not make me ADVANCED. The instructor asked where I was going, and I explained that I was not ready for ADVANCED, “Oh don’t worry Sugar! You will be just fine! It is mostly just stretching and deep breathing.” I stayed.
It started with some gentle stretching and the expected inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale in tune to Enya. It progressed to some high leg lifts, and pointy toe misery. This is where it started to get really bad. I think this pose was called trussed pig.
This is also about the point that my spine started to whimper. I wondered if I could leave without anyone noticing, but my shoes were against the wall right behind the ever malleable instructor. I soldiered on, and prayed that those creaks and groans my back was making were supposed to happen. Then this happened.
Seriously. Every single other person in the room had their friggin toes touching the friggin mat behind their head! AND THEY WERE NOT EVEN SWEATING!! I was apparently supposed to “gently stack my spine as I rolled over in a fluid motion.” Uh. Yeah. I thought they were going to have to get a wheelchair for me, and when I actually (stupidly) tried this position, my gut and boobs smashed into my double chin and then I fell over. Finally we ended with a position I could do.
When it was over, no one could look me in the eye. Or at least I don’t think so, the flashes of light I was seeing from my blinding pain, MAY have kept me from noticing. Next week, I try pilates for the elderly and arthritic instead. Twenty-eight counts as elderly right?
Filed under Boy is my face red, huckablubber | Comments (10)Lessons learned
I was asked on Friday what were the most important lessons that my dad has taught me. I really had to think about that one because there were so many. How to drive? Who to vote for? To always try new things? To keep your car clean? (I learned it, just choose to ignore). To work hard? He definitely taught by example there. To love the out of doors? I would live in a lake if I could, all his doing. I finally boiled it down to two. Make time for your family, and keep God a priority.
My dad worked constantly when I was little, and to be honest my mom was probably our primary care giver because he had to be stuck in an office, or sometimes even out of town for business. While I do have lots of fun daily memories with him (tickles when he got home, eating dinner together, going to the lake after work in the summer) the day to day monotony of child-rearing was done by my mom. All of the baths, the stories, the songs, the doctor’s appointments, field trips, grilled cheese sandwiches, and schlepping us from place to place was done by her. I know that The Son is going to feel the same way because his dad is the same place mine was, work. All the time The Son asks “Where Daddy?”, I try to explain that he has to work so that I can hang out with you, but of course he does not get it. I remember thinking when I was young that my dad was so much more fun, so much cooler, than my mother, and I am sure that hurt her feelings. I feel that way already when I hear The Husband get all of the hugs and kisses and giggles as soon as he walks in the door. Some days I feel all I get are the tears, whines, thrown food, and dirty diapers, but of course that is not true. On the weekends when I am sure that my father was tired, he got all of the chores done quick, and then we always–ALWAYS, did something fun together as a family. We went hiking, swimming, for a drive, to the movies, we did a project together–something that we would remember and enjoy (mostly anyway, I do seem to have not so good memories of being in a canoe as it disintegrated over a rapid). We never felt like he was to busy for us, even though he probably was. Whenever I have a chance to do something I enjoy, I always choose to do with my family first, and that is because of him.
Something else he always made time for was church. I have probably spent years of my life at one church activity or another. ( I met someone who did not know what VBS was earlier this week, can you believe it!?) When I was a teenager my father started being an adult volunteer for our church’s youth group. Basically that means he made sure no one got killed while a youth minister tried to teach us something. He sat in on discussions, that we would then continue on the way home. He went on skiing and camping trips, and always looked like he knew what he was doing. I had kids all the time tell me how cool he was, and I was (am) always proud of him. I think that is probably a pretty rare thing for a teenager to think, much less admit to. He was a volunteer for well over a decade, when JHJ and I were too old, they begged him to stick around because he was so good, and the teens loved him so much. He would pray in front of us daily, and he never suggested skipping church. Even now, if I miss church for some reason, my whole week is just off. The coolest thing is that I have actually seen him continue to grow in his faith. (my mom too, but this is about my father). It is inspiring to see that you can mature so much as a Christian after that initial Aha moment. I see so many women who come to church without their husbands, or fathers, and every Sunday I get to sit on a pew that goes like this: The Husband, Me, Dad with The Son on his lap, Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa. How lucky am I?
This is a picture of him as a kid, I guess I should say that he learned his lessons from his dad well. Happy Father’s Day Dad.
