October 29, 2014

I have an exam today which is why I've been ignoring you and thinking about REALLY IMPORTANT THINGS instead

Like so:

Hooray! Exams! I get to (completely) fill in little circles! I get to line up my calculator and pencils! Somebody's going to grade me!

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Oh shit. Somebody's going to grade me. On something I've been doing in a professional capacity for almost a decade. What if - as I suspect - I'm just a giant fraud who knows nothing, and my results come back and everyone finds out and it turns out they knew it all along?

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I should probably wear a girdle.

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And blow dry my hair.

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I know most of this stuff. I use at least seventy percent of it on a weekly basis. Focus on the stuff I  know and the rest will sort itself out.

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WHICH IS WHY I'M GOING TO FAIL AND IT WILL BE IRONIC.

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Do I have time to buy a new shirt?

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Speaking of time, the exam time is listed in 24-hour time. I HAVE PREVIOUSLY DEMONSTRATED MY INABILITY TO GET 12-HOUR TIME RIGHT. This seems unfair.

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Smarten up, chump. My body looks like this, therefore this is what my body should look like, remember? Girdles don't make me smarter.

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But they make me feel smarter.

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I wish we could have coffee in the exam, then I could look all confident and trendy holding my really tall coffee cup, and everyone will know how smart and cool I am.

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Are tall coffee cups even cool anymore? Were they ever?

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I get to miss the After-School, Before Dinner Hour of Horror, and write an exam today! EVERYTHING'S COMING UP SANDI!

October 20, 2014

Pictures of Me and Rene Descartes in a Bathroom Mirror

Over on the Facebook some time ago (about seven months in dog years, according to my calculations, because veterinary math), I wrote this:




It was sincere. I really did have a photo shoot - new professional portraity type things of myself are needed because:

A) I'm a professional now, apparently, and

B) This picture is very uncomfortable to look at. I think it's the teeth. And the soul-burning stare. And the teeth.

Look away or I will burn you.
Blergh.

So, dutifully feminine, I angst-ed over it. In the mirror.


See? Angst. I'm rounder than I used to be, therefore girdle:


See how excited I am by girdles? Also, what's behind me in the mirror? A Chinese dragon puppet? A haunted muppet? I honestly have no idea. And there's water on my shirt. Probably sweat from putting on the damned girdle.

After this, I Did Stuff to my hair and changed my clothes, like so:

My theory on selfies is that if I look sheepish, they're not vain.
I see no appreciable difference beyond "hey, wasn't she wearing a grey shirt before?"

Which is why I've adopted a brand new Body Philosphy. I cribbed it from my pal René Descartes: My body looks like this, therefore this is what my body should look like.

I'm all done with the irritating idea that bodies are supposed to look only one way - smooth in all the right places, or - failing that - at least sucked in if anyone can see me. It's stupid. I've honestly caught myself thinking that people will think I'm a bad mother if my stomach leaks over the top of my pants and bulges when I pick up my kids from school.

The horror.

Now, you and I both know that I'm still going to carry around an image of the perfect me in my treacherous brain, but I have a cunning plan: I'm going to catch myself. Every time I mentally photoshop the girl in the mirror, every time I tug my shirt down, every time I'm self-conscious about the way my pants fit or what my hair looks like, I'm just going to stop, possibly after a stern (inner) lecture complete with an (outer) over-the-glasses-glare.

I'm still going to keep wearing makeup (most days) and plucking my eyebrows, because this isn't Bastille Day, so settle down. I'm not uncomfortable with the opposing ideas of dressing my body up while loving it just the way it is.

Should I be?

I'm going to practice un-sucking-in my stomach while I wait for your insight.

(Also, I made myself a mug. And a compact mirror. And possibly a button.)


October 16, 2014

This Post Annoys Me So Much I Can't Even Think of a Title

These are the books my little reader is checking out of her school library: Princess Barbie Does Something With Other Princesses, Barbie Does Something Else But This Time She's a Merrmaid, Some Unicorn Becomes Friends with Barbie, and the perennial classic: The Book In Which Nothing Happens While Barbie Wears a Princess Dress.

I understand, I really do. If you're worried about getting kids interested in reading, of course the idea of using characters they're familiar with from toys and television to lure them into the world of books. Makes some kind of sense.

But then, it also makes sense that "instilling a love of reading" is only worthwhile if the reading in question is actually worth reading.

Unlike this pile of tepid, vacuous, vapid, and let's-not-forget-pandering tripe (no offense to the tripe):


It's nonsensical, but not in the charming or whimsical way that - oh, I dunno -  ANY OTHER BOOK EVER WRITTEN is.

This book, and each of the thousands of nearly-identical books for boys*and girls just plain Doesn't Make Sense.

I understand the school library's quandary: they get these books at ridiculously low prices. Real books cost real money. These books - as far as I know - only cost brain cells.

So rather than teaching a love of reading, what book publishers - and the Scholastic program in particular - are really doing is generously subsidizing the cost of library books by sending money to Mattel for licensing in order to interest kids in the incredibly worthwhile activity of Reading Random Words That Loosely Relate to Pictures of Products Sold by Mattel.

Sounds legit to me.

*I'm looking at you, Ninjago

--UPDATE: Dawn forced me to create a postcard to send to Scholastic. Blame her.--
Reading Commercials
Reading Commercials by TheMrsStuff
Get Postcard designs on zazzle.ca

October 13, 2014

Confessions of a Particular Size

Seth offered to let me sleep in today, which, in Mrs Parlance, means "I'll get up with the kids as quietly as possible and you stay in bed until whenever the spirit moves you to get up". I was all set to get up at five, so this threw me.

Not so much that I didn't stay in bed until 7:30, though. It's a hard knock life around here.

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I saw Megan at our library the other day, and she is cheerfully blackmailing me to issue a retraction of my too-many-Danielle-Steel-novels comment from this post by threatening to publicize how many romance novels I've checked out. (Answer: all of them)

Part of that story is true. Well, part of part of it, anyway. Megan owes me some book recommendations.

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I got me a cover for my I'm-going-to-be-blind-soon-so-I-might-as-well-buy-one Kindle. It is the best thing that's ever existed and gives me deeper joy than a material object legitimately should.

Behold:


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I put a Goodreads badge over there (please imagine a picture of an arrow pointed to your right, because I am too pooped/generally lazy to insert one)*

Tell me what you're reading, please, and how good it is, and if I should also read it.

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The kids and I were on Manitoulin Island again this past weekend. We got home yesterday afternoon and now my father-in-law is here for the week and then we (that's Seth and I, which I sincerely hope is a completely unnecessary clarification) are headed to Stratford for Saturday and Sunday. We will be gloriously child-free, and have mapped out our itinerary strictly by how many steps we'll need to take between restaurants.

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There's a new addition to the very exclusive Pictures Of Herself She Loves club. I predict it will be very popular with the one (1) other member.


That's all I got, lovies. Have I told you lately that I love you? I do. Most sincerely.

*The irony of using 112 characters to explain has not escaped me, nor (I imagine) has it escaped you, dearly loved and very astute reader.**

**And also probably stunningly gorgeous.

October 6, 2014

Let There Be Drywall Dust

This week is crazy full, and every little thing will be covered in a dainty, delicate film of drywall dust.


Everyone, say it with me (that makes it true, you know): Dainty, Delicate, Drywall Dust.

I will be thankful for the dust, because it means we're that much closer to having a kitchen and an entranceway, a husband who doesn't have to renovate every weekend, and a clean(ish) house. 

I will be thankful, dammit.

That's all I got.