I write with red ink.

Right now, I feel that writing in red ink expresses the importance of the words to follow. Yes, I hand write these first. However, I must inform you this is just a rant. Definitely a jealous parent rant. Is it tasteful? No. These, however, are my temporary feelings. Please allow me to feel validated in my own sick way.

A few months ago I responded to our local papers request for "What Your Child Wants To Be When They Grow Up.". My interest immediately was peaked.
* This is where I sit and ponder as to what to call my two on here. I started to write BJ1, but that's just wrong. I giggle and change it to KB1. (kid badical, she's the oldest) Onward. *
KB1 has a passionate desire to become an artist when she grows up. I pour my loving, motherly heart out in an email to someone I don't even know. I gave this unknown writer pure, word foreplay. I kid you not. I wrote about her journal she carries constantly. How she doodles and 'writes' in it, and trust me, it's all very important. Now she's learning to write, notice the markers int the previous sentence. No, she's not retarded. So, as any good mother would do, I gave it up real good to get my kid some local paper time. It was quite beautiful, I might add. Finally satisfied, I hit SEND.

A few days later, I get a reply. He wanted info on me! Yours truly! I settle in for a healthy reply. I can feel myself wanting to win this so bad and it's not even a contest. My, my, my, how I can impress myself at times. I brought tears to my own eyes as my story poured out. You would have thought he was doing a complete story on me. Once again, mama represented. Another satisfied piece, I hit SEND. Naturally, I check that email account like every day, seven times a day for about a week. Nothing. What Unknown Writer? You don't like me now? You think you're too good for me? Who are you to judge me? I obviously felt slighted and gave up.

I moved on, forgot about it, not really. You know. I end up checking the account a few nights later and he had responded asking for a photo of me and KB1!!!! This is getting better and better. Oh yeah. Then I realized the date, he sent it days ago. Great. Now I have to worry if I can make it on time with a picture. It's two in the morning and I begin to peruse through all the pictures I can find. I can't find one picture that I want in the paper. Plan B- Just wake her up a bit early before school in the morning, take one, hurry up and email it. Next morning comes and we have a 20 minute photo shoot. We finally agree on two. She like one because she looks 'arty' in it and I like the other because she's smiling. I email them immediately and get a same day response. It says the article will run on the cover on a certain section on Monday and he was thankful.

I'm too excited and forget to tell immediate family. On Monday morning, my mother in law calls to tell me her brother read the article. I ask if there's a picture. She says no. I hide my great disappoint and am generally still happy about it. It's my little girl, after all.

Then I get the paper. Who makes the cover photo? Some goofy kid standing by a firetruck, because he wants to be a fireman. In fact, we get about four or five sentences. Really, Unknown Writer? The most unoriginal, overused, little kid dream. Doctor, lawyer, policeman. You get it. You chose this kid? Someone who desires to have a big ego? Because that's who does that line of work. People who need a cheer squad, nice one. Way to blow it, Unknown Writer. Maybe it was all my fault for my late response, but, I'd like to think not. Now, you have me thinking that you have poor taste. Simply put. Let me guess, I bet you have some American flag or an OU bumper sticker on your Ford? You bandwagon rider!! You choose it because everyone loves an American Hero? I bet you have a real festive Fourth of July, too, right?
Ahh, that felt mighty good. I am done.

I do want to say that I truly do appreciate firefighters, doctors, lawyers, policeman and every
childhood dream that is out there. So keep on dreamin', pretty little babies.

Kid Badical

I was going through some of my favorite books the other day and began thinking about my first chapter book. (which there's another blog for that) From there on, this girl could not be stopped when it came to reading. I advanced quickly when it came to books with words. Luckily, I had a mother who loved books also, so they were never low in stock. My mother bought them constantly at garage sales. Many titles I'm sure she didn't even look at. Which opened a dark door for me, I crawled through it at a young age. It's true, I did. I survived and will now grace you with a true tale of a young, sweet and innocent book slut.

I was in third grade, we may have been on Spring Break. I had access to, what I thought at the time, risque material. Now, I'm not talking any skin mags here, people. It was more along the lines of almost Rated R for books. Being the upbringing we had, this was pretty graphic stuff. So any how I was always perusing through books, trying to find something to read. Because if you looked hard enough you would always find a really good one. So, so true with our books. One day, I came across this book that was SO for adults. I remember reading it, then hiding it from my mother when she came into the room. I knew it then, damn it, that that book was no good. It was about a lady being possessed by demons. Terrible, bad ones! Well, are they ever good? They tortured her and you can imagine the detailed 80's cult, scary, punch it had, right? I'm talking demon rape, demon wedding, demon beatings, etc. Well, my little bad self is hooked. I'm reading and re-reading the most violent parts, confused by some the word usage, words I've never seen before...WOW! I finish this sinful book and begin to read it again. Hoping at some point, that a few of these words will make sense. Maybe if I read slower, they will make sense. Doesn't help. I mean, I knew these demons were calling her some bad names, some I knew. But the other ones are what stumped me, the unknown words. Hmmm..... Time to ask a sister.

I find the nearest of four, the most rebellious one. Cammy. She's cozied up to a mirror, slathering on her twelfth coat of foundation, spraying her hair 'til it's totally stiff, and still able to roll her eyes at me as I walk in the room. I can tell she's very annoyed with my presence, I try and make it quick. I stumble over my words as I begin to tell her. Found a book in the book shelf, the words aren't making sense in the sentences sometimes; no, mom doesn't know I'm reading it; it's no big deal, I read her books all the time; I'm just curious.... She asks what is one of the words, but instead grabs the book. I reply, "C*nt.". I should have known when that fat cat smile spread across her face. But I assure you, I was an innocent thing. So when she tossed the book back at me, rolled her eyes again, and said, "I don't know. Go ask Mom.", I honestly thought that it may have been a medical term or something. I mean, I didn't know this word, it had to be official.

I knew where to find mom. In the kitchen. Beans, rice, torillas, beans, rice, tortillas and repeat. She has her back to me as I begin to ask if she'll explain a word to me. What book, what word she asks. I feel guilty even writing this now, my poor mother. "C*unt.", I begin. I'm not sure my mother had even turned her body around, but that book was in her hands with incredible stealth. She still hasn't turned around yet, but I can hear her flipping through the pages. I'm nervous. She finally turns to face me and it's my worst fear. If the Dahmer murders were in the 80's, my mother would have thought I was in pre-Dahmer stage, I'm sure. She begins to quiz me on all the whys to my actions. The book is still in her hands; she's still abusing the pages now. She's tossed it in the trash about a dozen times, only to retrieve it, rough up the pages some more and slam it back in. Finally,after she was done with me, I was let go. She probably called her prayer partners later........and she had every right. Because when she left that kitchen, I dug that book out of that trash and threw it away when I was done with it.

Meet Badical

I think before I introduce myself, I'll let some others say a few words first. I love the way my hair looks so static-y and a hot mess.