Where are my kids...Just Let the Phone Ring

It never fails. I can go all morning without ever seeing my six year old. Sometimes I think I might not even have a child. She is so immersed in her life that I am just a mere second to the fantasy world of webkins, Bratz, Disney TV and the mysteries of her bedroom. A thousand times I can call her name with no response. After searching frantically for her, I get the usual, "I didn't hear you" after which any other "Mom attention" is quickly diverted to the task at which she is currently working.

Sometimes, I wonder if the floor just opened up and swallowed me before her eyes if she would even take the time to wave good-bye. Alas, I have found the magic wand to cure what could have been years of being ignored by my children. Just let that phone ring. Whatever was the latest pressing engagement for my six year old can now take the back seat. Mommy has a phone call. How dare she not be thinking of me every second! Who could possibly be more important than me? Of course, I am immediately inundated with demands, screaming and crying and what seems like World War III happening in my office. Where was my sweet, innocent six-year old when I wanted to have some Mommy time with her?

The incessant whining picks up pace as the phone call lingers. The tugging at my arm almost pulls me off my seat. What could be so important I wonder. I try to ignore the desperate sobbing that I now hear coming from underneath a blanket parked beside my chair. The relentless kicking which vibrates the floor begins to get on my last nerve. As I desperately try to talk to the person on the other end of the line, I realize that this might just be a real emergency. What if this were the one time I didn't pay attention and the house burnt down. After all, I have to be mindful of the time my daughter tried to tell me the microwave was on fire while I was on the phone. I dismissed this as an attention grabbing tactic. Needless to say, the entire kitchen was full of smoke from two buttermilk biscuits that were burnt to a crisp. With this picture fresh in my mind, I decide to end my phone call.

As I rush out of the office screaming my daughters name, I see her calmly sitting in front of the television enthralled in the latest episode of Hannah Montana. I ask her what is causing her to break down in hysterics and she answers, "Nothing mommy, I am trying to watch TV." Did I just imagine that tirade of pathetic proportions aimed at getting me off the phone? I think not. What's a Mom to do? ring...ring...ring... Gotta go.

Tables are Open

It's the weekend. The most perplexing two questions become, "Where and what will we eat?" Living in a small town makes the choices all that more difficult. There are some good restaurants, but there are few that really specialize in anything unique. However, I can always count on my top ten favorites when all else fails. Sometimes this requires a trip across the bridge into Philly.

1. The Franklinville Inn
2. The Centerton Inn
3. Bruno's Restaurant and Pizzeria
4. Dante and Luigi - my all time personal favorite in Philly
5. The Barnsboro Inn
6. Scotland Run Country Club
7. Don's Bagels
8. The Hollywood Diner
9. The Library
10. The Maplewood

Just the mere mention of Dante and Luigi's makes my mouth water. I envision the tiny side street in Philly that is home to a plethora of Italian delicacies that I have been enjoying since my college days. Set back among row homes in the South Philly section of Philadelphia this neighborhood gem never disappoints. We park in what seems like the warehouse section and walk up the side street to the restaurant's entrance. There are usually a few valets hanging out waiting to park the occasional car that pulls up. Once inside we are transported to the smells and sounds of Italy. The old bar room on the right reminds me of many Italian kitchens I have seen growing up. However, my favorite room is on the left. With fewer than twenty tables, this room is like eating in your grandma's kitchen.

The menu is always impressive. However, I have to stick with my standards. The roasted peppers, Italian cheeses and anchovies could be a meal within itself. The fresh bread and olive oil compliment the dish and often make me wonder why I order a diner. But, my linguine and clams arrives and then I remember why. What a perfect meal. This place never disappoints. And, while they do not take charge cards, you can always write a personal check.

A lot...it's two words not one!!

Sometimes I want to stand in front of the classroom and scream. It seems the simplest spelling words often pose the most perplexing problems for my students. I try to tackle this early in the school year with a list of the most common misspelled words. For most students, that list just seems to get shuffled somewhere into the realm of the unknown. We have week after week of spelling tests, but all my effort always appears to be in vain.

I read journals with the all too familiar witch instead of which would make one wonder how these children ever get ready for Halloween. I have seen all kinds of spelling. However, the funniest to date would have to be a student in my sixth grade class who spelled contradict as he thought it sounded...countrydick. As I graded that paper, I could not help but laugh out loud. Thirty-six little eyeballs turned toward the laughter and eighteen mouths asked simultaneously, "What's so funny?". With the answer on the tip of my tongue, but unsure how to tell sixth grade students that someone just wrote "country dick" as the correct spelling for #20, I had to come up with a quick lie. Lucky for me the bell rang.

This joke was just to good to pass up as I shared it with the teacher next to me. She in turn shared it with another teacher. A good laugh like that is hard to come by. It's what makes the top ten list on the late shows. Too bad I hadn't thought of that before I handed the test back.

TGIF......or not

Friday...the day of the week everyone looks forward to. My favorite part of the day was always happy hour at our local hang out. We couldn't wait to see who could race out of school the fastest to get there. Being a teacher, a good drink is exactly what you need after a long day at school. But, time has a way of changing things as do children.

My Friday afternoon drinking rituals have long become a thing of the past. Corona with a lime and a few shots, Jimmy Buffet playing in the background, friends all jocking for position at the bar, the weekly gossip flowing and the ease of knowing you have no where to be. Now, I have to rush out of school to pick up my daughter from school. Gymnastic lessons start at 5pm. This would have been the best time at Happy Hour. All your co-workers would be pretty buzzed around this time...considering we would have been drinking since 3pm. Stupid comments, things said and done that might be regretted later, the best laughs of the night...all happen at this magical hour.

Alas, my life has changed. I will be sitting in the bleachers with my sister watching our kids tumble, romp, flip and occasionally smile as they become the next Olympic gymnast hopefuls. Meanwhile, we will be making the earth shattering decision of where to take four kids and three grown-ups to dinner. This by far is a much better happy hour.

I Know he's there...if only everyone else could see him

Suburbia. Everyone should be so lucky to live in a quaint community lined with perfect gingerbread cut houses, immaculately groomed lawns that take the patience of a saint to care for and neighbors who actually interact with one another. However, our little slice of suburbia holds a secret so horrific that no one ever dares mention it. I haven’t notified the newspapers or the police, as I am afraid that without proof they would label me nothing more than one of those suburbia soccer moms with too much time on her hands and a more than vividly overactive imagination. If only I could convince one other person of the hideous atrocities our community has kept hidden, the burden of fear would be lifted from my shoulders forever.

This is why I needed to blog. I am hoping that someone had spotted this psycho killer that lives in developments as I think he often stalks my house. Even though I lock my house up like a fortress and put every light on at the mere hint of darkness (because we all know that the more lights you have on the less likely the killer will be to choose your house), I still think that he lurks at my windows at night. The living room seems to be his primary target. As such, I make sure that the blinds are tightly shut so as not to expose my activities and make me more vulnerable to attack. Because we all know that if the killer can’t see you, he can’t hurt you. There is also the issue of entry through the basement, but I have that covered. I simply refuse to go in the basement after dark. By not opening the basement door, I have managed to keep these crazy stalkers confined to the basement during the night hours. They must silently creep out of my house before I awake in the morning. I have yet to figure out how they are able to enter and exit without even breaking a window. I guess some things just are better left unsaid. I know they are just waiting for curiosity to get the best of me one night, as I am sure that they have a secret torture chamber built into one of the hidden walls in the basement where they will lock me forever without anyone being the wiser.

Of course, there is also the issue of the garage. I think one or two of these crazy killers has set up temporary residence in there. I always make sure that I deadbolt the garage door at any given time of the day. One never knows when this could become a stalkers easiest entry into your home. Of course there are other things to consider as well. These might include being forced into my car and driven to some remote location to be unimaginably tortured and raped before being left for dead. The killers might also want to suffocate me, lock me in the refrigerator, or force me to ingest some poisonous substance, which they have concocted in my garage.

Sometimes, I am afraid to get in my car, which is locked in my garage, because he often sleeps in the backseat just waiting for me. I am not sure how he gets in the car as I lock it every night. I often hear him when I first enter the car. A few strange noises that I can never seem to identify, but then for some unknown reason he vanishes before committing the laborious task of dismembering my body with the four-foot long butcher knife he keeps hidden somewhere in my garage. One day I am going to work up the courage to look for it.

In the awful event that I forget to take out the trash before it gets dark, I often hear him in the woods as I walk down to the end of the driveway. I am sure he is just waiting for the opportune time to slash me to pieces in the woods and then bury me alive in a box (but this is a whole other issue). In the cold winter months, he often hides behind the cords of firewood that I have out back. To avoid any contact with him, I try to fill my daughter’s red wagon (Great purchase Mom!) with as much firewood as possible so that I can park it as close to the stairs of my house as possible. I turn on the giant flood lamp we had installed when we had our home built. I figured you can never be too safe from homicidal maniacs and we all know the more light the better. As quick as I possibly can, I will open the back door and grab several pieces of wood and throw them into the house. I never dare venture off the steps. This tactic has prevented my murder thus far.

Also to my dismay, curiosity got the best of me at the video store last night and I read the back of some new horror box. I was shocked to find that these people are now after me. The ones that ring your doorbell at 3 am with masks on and then proceed to torture you and your family. It wasn’t bad enough that I had Freddy to worry about once I fell asleep, the pin headed guy if I go to the bathroom, the candyman if I decide to roam around the house after midnight, the chucky doll, the bleeding walls in my bedroom, the lunatics with the chainsaws, the man with the hickey mask or any number of other killers who are just waiting for me to make one tiny mistake. Good thing I have never actually seen a horror movie. I avoid them like the plague, as my imagination tends to get the best of me at times. Now I have a whole other series of freaks to worry about. These are the latest psycho killers in our development, and I thought I should warn you. I too fear those awful things that could happen to you at home. Take for instance your dryer mysteriously catching on fire, your stove blowing up as the gas leaks out of it or your bathtub falling through three floors of your home while you are taking a shower. There is also the fear of my oven blowing up in my face, the furnace exploding in the basement, the poisonous fumes from carbon monoxide that appear out of the middle of nowhere and the contaminated water system. I think the health inspector should be made aware of these dangers lurking in our development, but once again, I am not sure if they would take me seriously. Therefore, I must keep find a way to solve these issues on my own.

I also fear the freak that sleeps under my bed although I have never been able to catch him. I think he might be invisible. Sometimes he lurks in that hideously large closet that I have in my bedroom. I think they all must hang out there from time to time. I also have a disliking for the man who likes to watch me as I take a shower but suddenly disappears as soon as I open the door. I say be a man and let me see you! The man who secretly moves things in my house to scare me is also big on my list of people to catch. His favorite items seem to be the remote control and my car keys. Sometimes he also likes to hide my shoes, socks and purse. I think he just likes to mess with my head. I also have a strong disliking for the man who hides in my toilet bowl. I am just waiting for him to grab my leg and pull me in. I am sure he would take great personal satisfaction drowning my ass, slicing me up into little pieces and disposing of my body in the septic system. Where do all these freaks come from? There is also the man who wanders through my home making strange noises that I dismiss as the TV. The television is my own personal security system. As long as it is on, nothing can harm me. I make sure it stays on most of the night. I also make sure that the comforter covers all my body parts. Anything left exposed is fair game to any psycho killer that happens to make their way into my bedroom. Good thing for me I have these personal security devices. Anyway, I must be off to my daughter’s school to read for the day. When I get home, I will have to be extra careful because sometimes these psycho killers stalk you during the day also. I just wish I hadn’t read that stupid box at the video store.

Hello World