idontbelieveingrammar

In middle school, just as I was starting to do my bangs, go to country club dances, shave my legs and shower daily, my parents got a new hobby. They could not just play golf or redecorate like some of the other parents I knew. Instead, they bought a boat. A really big boat. The kind that slept six, had a full kitchen, bathroom and even a decent sized shower. Most tweens would probably be thrilled that for all practical purposes their family owned a yacht, but unless it came with it’s own personal hot tub I was not impressed.   This is also a good time to mention that my parents knew almost nothing about sailing and that I really did not like the weekend jaunts down to Kemah that kept me away from my very own phone line that boys were so not calling me on…(but a girl could dream). Almost every weekend as long as the weather was nice and there was decent wind we would head south.   I’d go down below while my parents checked lines and sails and located the winch. ...

I am an Olympic junkie. Every two years I catch myself watching hours of sporting events I could care less about (curling, is just really cold bowling and you would never catch me watching that on TV) and cheering on athletes I have never heard of. Sometimes they aren’t even from my own country. For example, my favorite this year is the 44 year old brick layer from Nepal that took off 4 months to train in cross country skiing. The guy predicts he will come in last place.  The guy doesn't even care because he is there. He makes me want to pull a Tonya Harding and take out all the other cross country skiers without day jobs so he can at least come in 16th or something.  Regardless, I will be right there on my couch cheering for him.   The Olympics with their heartache and story pull me in. And I just can’t help but watch….even ice dancing. Before last night I didn’t even know that “twizzle” was a thing.   Now I’m pretty sure I’ll be dropping that word ...

No less than a dozen times a day I have to utter these words in my classroom, "Stop taking selfies and do your work." or occasionally I'll just photobomb them.  #bestteacherever or I've even considered bringing in one of those duck billed whistles for the next girl that insists on taking a dozen pictures with her best ducky face. I love my Instagram, but I can make it through several days with out adding any pictures. And the selfies are rare.  Part of me just doesn't get how these kids can't make it through a 45 minute class period without documenting their face. I thought maybe it was teenage vanity. Or that sense of just wanting someone to like them. Like literally. They brag about their number of likes and followers and I am oh so glad that all I had to worry about in my day was a silly spiral slam book that might get passed around in secret.  These kids are documenting their every second and getting immediate feedback for it. I am even more thank...

Recently I've been taking a lot of pills. Prescribed ones, in the right amounts, before you decide to stage an intervention for me. They are for some unusual symptoms. About 2 months ago I started getting shocks on my face.As in really painful electrical feeling shocks, when I bit down on something hard, dried my face off with a towel, rubbed in my makeup and even when I kissed my daughter on the top of her head. Some days they just happened once or twice. Others a dozen times. At first they were so painful and caught me so off guard that I would panic every time they happened. One poor waitress almost ended up wearing the contents of my entire wine glass. Eventually I got used to these taser-esque shocks to the face that I could tolerate them without throwing things or swearing. Which was really good for my day job. They persisted so I called my doctor and the nurse suggested that I had a sinus infection and maybe that my swollen sinuses were pushing on my cranial n...

The story of Hosea has always intrigued me. When I don't know what to read but feel like I should try dusting off my bible for a change, I often end up here. Probably because it isn't exactly the kind of story that would ever come up in a children's Sunday school and even enough to make most adult ones uncomfortable. If you aren't familiar let me summarize. God tells Hosea to go out and marry a known prostitute.You might think, especially if you watched Pretty Woman, that if a man knows all your dirty secrets and choses to marry you anyways.....that maybe you'd change your line of work. Not Gomer. They have 3 kids. God tells Hosea to name them horrible things them divorce her and charge her for being a whore. And if this sounds more like Jerry Springer episode than the Bible to you,  I assure you it is in there. Just read the first two chapters of Hosea. What comes next gets even crazier. He tells Hosea To go find his promiscuous wife and to buy her back. ...

College Station is the land of tradition. I’m not Aggie….but I like to make up my own. In the middle of town there is a big giant big open Christmas tree made out of lights. Most people just drive through the park. But I always like to get out and go stand under it. Right in the middle. And spin. I probably started this self imposed tradition with a good buzz as a teenager and didn’t need to spin to make the lights all run together. And I have to admit it kind of feels like flying. Spinning, swirling, lights blurring, like one of those speedy action shots in a big city. I didn’t know this was unusual until I asked some friends to spin right in the middle of the Garylord Texan and they stared at me like I was crazy. One reluctantly put her arms out, the other I am pretty sure prayed that no one would see us. I didn’t care who was watching, I wanted to feel like that. Like flying. Like I was somehow right in the middle of all that light. Maybe even a little bit like I was...

Santa brought Owen a go-kart. Santa was reluctant, despite Mrs. Claus’s pleadings that it is what he asked for and that this might be the last year he believes in him. And doesn't he have any Christmas spirit. Even a little bit. Santa was caught up in details, like who was going to put it together, how safe it was, how were we going to get it under the tree and the hefty pricetag. Mrs. Claus only thought of her son excited on Christmas morning or driving little circles around our cul-de-sac and sent him text after text that they were on sale. And to hurry up before they were all gone. We did Christmas morning a day early at our house. Due to Santa’s demaning travel schedule and things like how impossible it would be a to sneak an entire person sized gokart into my car before heading over the river and through the woods. He was not as excited as Mrs. Claus had hoped. His sleepy eyes took it for a few spins around the living room and then we all piled into our real car ...