Yabba Dabba Doo

The first car I can remember my mom driving was a little orange Honda 600Z Coupe:

This is exactly what 'Z-Car' looked like, right down to the racing stripe!

A friend said it reminded her of Fred Flintstone's car. Our car was so small, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that two or three adult men could have lifted the car and moved it: 

"You could poke your feet through the bottom and run,
just like Fred Flintstone!'

We were a bit of a spectacle. People would frequently stop my mom in a parking lot just to get a look at our car. The most common question people asked her was how many miles to the gallon it got. According to the factory specifications, the car got 40 mpg. However, just by the simple physics of drafting, my mom could get almost 50 mpg out of ours. 

"See? The truck in front of us pushes the air around it, creating a sort of tunnel. Can you feel how we are just pulled along in the draft of this semi?' she'd explain. 

To be honest, I couldn't feel any difference. Although, as an adult with almost 30 years of driving experience and a parent of two kids, seeing her explanation written out like that makes me think of two words: death trap. Regardless, I always felt perfectly safe. But our tiny car wasn't just for the sake of novelty; at $1,500 it was a small fortune for us. Even though we always managed, I was too young to really understand how poor we were. 

For example, our favorite brand of peanut butter was Skippy. I preferred mine creamy, and my mom preferred crunchy. In the 80's, there was a drought that affected the peanut crop and created a shortage of peanut butter. It was a splurge at almost $3 per jar, so my mom couldn't afford to buy more than one jar at a time. There were frequent disputes in the grocery aisle over whose turn it was for 'their' favorite style of peanut butter.   

We spent many summers traveling across the country in our orange car, camping along the way. Not only was it an inexpensive way to travel, it was a lot of fun. My mom could efficiently pack an impressive amount of gear in our little orange car, and we would make our way across the state visiting relatives and staying overnight at various campsites. 

One summer, we were halfway through our trip when our tiny orange car broke down. My mom managed to get someone to tow it to a mechanic, but the cost of repairs was more than she could afford. To settle our bill, she agreed to sign the title of our car over to the mechanic. And then she sat down on the curb and cried. It was one of only a handful of times I've ever seen my mom cry.

In hindsight, I have puzzled over this scenario: What kind of person would take advantage of a woman traveling alone with her daughter in this way? I cannot get over how anyone would be so heartless. My only hope is that karma was swift.

After my grandma refused to come get us, my mom called 'Uncle' Lenny, one of her oldest and dearest friends, and asked if he could pick us up. Lenny drove over 300 miles straight to get us, and another 120 miles to take us home. That was the day I learned the real meaning of friendship. 

Oh, we ain't got plenty of money

Maybe we're ragged and funny

But we're rolling along, singing our song

Side by side!

Picture Perfect

For my third installment of featuring bloggers from my blog roll, I'd like to introduce my readers to my friend Emry and her blog, Emry At Home. She writes about homesteading with her husband and her life raising their two young girls, Annalee and Alabama.

But first, can we talk just for a minute about Emry's hair? Seriously. She has the thickest, most gorgeous head of auburn hair that I have ever seen. 

See what I mean? ::swoon::

I stumbled across Emry's blog a few years ago, shortly after she'd been featured on a website called BlogHer which spotlights women writers. I was so impressed by Emry's accomplishment, it inspired to submit an article of my own...but I was so overwhelmed by the sheer number of writers and topics that I haven't gone back to the BlogHer website since. 

Even though we haven't met IRL, Emry has been super sweet about answering my ridiculously embarrassing questions, all of which reveal how little I know about formatting a blog.

Although Emry At Home is not a photography blog, her photos are stunning:

This photo makes me feel wistful without knowing why exactly. 

The aesthetic of canning makes me sigh.
In my post Peachy, I used the term 'historical hard-on' to describe
the appeal of canning, because I'm classy like that.

The beseeching fingers. The cat's expression. Just...LOVE.

As a parent, I have a deep understanding about how two children can be completely different in temperament, despite the fact that they are raised in the same household. This premise is one of the themes that I find so relatable about Emry's blog.

Best. Photo. Ever.

This brilliance is Alabama's handiwork.

My kids are much older than Emry's girls...but there is something so satisfying about knowing that I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE THIS SHIT HAPPENS TO. 

Threshold

Lately, Pinterest has been my go-to source for finding recipes, in addition to a small obsession I may have with all things Star Wars. And Kello Kitty. And Hello Kitty Star Wars:

Hello Leia

Anyway. I prefer Pinterest over most food blogs because they're tedious and often difficult for my addled mind to manage. 

However, one of the blogs I follow looks like a food blog - it boasts delicious recipes, after all - but it's author, Dianne Swift Adams, is so irreverent and hilarious that I'm completely hooked. In addition to a handful of recipes, it is also the site where one can purchase gorgeous handmade blankets, better known as a Boga Babe.

I *almost* met Dianne once for coffee a few months ago. She was a terrific sport about being contacted with about an hour's notice on Facebook, along with a handful of other friends in the Los Angeles area, while I was getting my car serviced. I'm hopeful we will eventually meet.

Her children, Emerson and Annabel, frequently appear in her blog. Emerson is more often than not wearing only boxer briefs while assisting as sous chef. In her recipe for heirloom tomato sandwich, she addresses this very issue:

'Some people come home, kick off their shoes, and make themselves a drink. My son walks into the house, takes off his shoes, pushes his pants down to his ankles and elaborately kicks them off so they sail into a far corner. If he could he would be completely naked at home but my threshold of scrotum on every surface is lower these days than it used to be. Get your sad skin satchel off my couch and barstools, son. So our deal is at least wear your underwear."

See what I mean? The phrase 'threshold of scrotum' only endears her to me more. As a matter of fact, I'm going to find a way to work that expression into my conversations. Seeing photos of Emerson cooking, regardless of the fact that he's not wearing any pants, I can see Dianne is on to something; get your kids cooking, and cooking young. 

It makes me realize my own failings as a parent because when my kids go off to college, I'm fairly certain they will starve. Girldoll can cook, and easily mastered getting a frozen pizza into a preheated oven - but if given a choice, she prefers to be waited on. Boydoll can handily prepare himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, both BOTH kids will go all afternoon without eating rather than prepare food for themselves. 

I have no one to blame but myself. In an effort to keep a tidy kitchen, I avoided their requests to help prepare dinner. I regret it deeply now, because I believe there is a window of having fun helping in the kitchen...and that window closed for my kids about 5 years ago. 

I don't know. Maybe it's not too late?

Day 18

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

There was a girl named Serena that lived in the same complex as us, but a few units over. Her mom was also a single parent. Serena’s house was fun because she would make us sugar and butter sandwiches. 

She also had a new baby sister. One of our favorite games involved playing with her sister's tiny socks; when a pair was folded together, the ends looked just like bunny ears. We played for hours, pretending the socks were baby bunnies. 

Her mom started dating a guy that Serena didn't like. We had gotten a hold of a Playgirl magazine and decided to send him a message - so we taped a photo of man with an enormous penis to the seat of his motorcycle. 

I’m not sure what exactly what our message was supposed to mean, but Serena’s mom's boyfriend didn't seem to like it. He tore it off his bike and rode away – and we high-fived.

Day 17

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

Another thing I remember is that we always rode bikes, walked or took the bus places. We were never chaperoned or driven anywhere. One of my friends named Beth had a pony that she boarded about 5 miles away. We'd pack lunch, and ride our bikes out to the stables and spent the whole day on horseback until it was time to ride our bikes home. 

Beth was a great friend to have – despite the fact that my mom was having an affair with her dad. She lived in a house on the street behind ours, and she had tons of animals. There always seemed to be a constant litter of kittens at her house. Beth also had a dog named Hilda that, despite never having pups of her own, had a crazy maternal streak.  She would catch one of the kittens and carry it around gently in her mouth. Hilda would gently pin the kitten down and grooming it using her small front teeth, which we called her ‘flea teeth’ until the kitten managed to wiggle away from her. It would run off meowing with wet, cow-licked fur. 

Day 16

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

None of my friends played sports – except maybe some of the more athletic boys in my grade. Regardless of what we were playing at school in PE, I would move to avoid contact with the ball. I never understood all the fuss over organized sports. I could never work up enough enthusiasm to chase a ball around. We had been playing baseball and I didn't know the rule of touching home plate when coming in for a home run, so I ran in that general area and then back behind the fence.

One of the boys ran around the fence and tagged me with the ball while he screamed in my face, “YOU DIDN'T TOUCH HOME PLATE!” Seriously? It was so stupid that I just shrugged. 

Day 15

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

I spent a large amount of time unsupervised. Maybe it was more common at that time or that most of my friends also had lived with only one working parent – but it seemed natural to leave for school in the morning, and not come home until after dark. I don’t remember ever having or doing any homework.

I rode my bike around, often stopping at a local ethnic restaurant and begging for falafel ends. These were the ends of the pita bread that had been cut off, and they were ordinarily thrown away. I’d scour the free box for clothes and look for loose change around the post office. Any money I found would be spent at the Rexall Drug store on candy. Everyone knew me; I was like the poor version of the children’s story, Eloise.

Day 13

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

Our small apartment was crowded with friends, food and noise - and I would be lurking on the periphery with my tape recorder, trying to capture every moment. It was a particularly raucous celebration on the nights my mom would bring out her plastic flute, and a holiday sing-a-long would commence.

My mom has a terrific sense of humor. She had several posters and whatnot hanging around the house. My personal favorite was a worn photocopy of a phrase written in beautiful calligraphy, which read: Fuck Housework. 

She also had a framed advertisement, showing the former actor (but not-yet president) Ronald Reagan. He was pictured smoking and endorsing Chesterfield cigarettes. There was a quote, saying “ABC – Always Buy Chesterfields.”

However, it was the needlepoint over the couch that got the most response from visitors. It read, ‘If Jesus died for our sins, let’s not disappoint him by not committing any.‘  Even though it had been repeatedly explained to me, I never really understood the humor. We weren't religious, but I understood enough to know that it might be offensive to people that were. 

One of my mom’s friends was the pastor at a church. When my mom knew he was coming over, she’d take it off the wall and slide it behind the couch. One time he came by and she’d forgotten to take the needlepoint down. There was a tense moment when we all realized it was still hanging on the wall, but he just laughed. It was a huge relief. 

Day 12

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

It was a fun time. There was always lots going on. I got small pox while we were living there and learned from the neighbor kids that Santa wasn't real - and also? Moms don’t poop babies out of their butt. 

I also fell asleep once in my mom’s closet after an argument and my mom couldn't find me anywhere. I’ll never forget her expression when I walked into the kitchen – she was sitting at the table with her head in her hands, ready to call the police.

One night, my mom had called me in for dinner but I wouldn't come. I kept yelling, “Five more minutes!” When it was too dark to play, I finally came home – only to find that all the food had been put away. Dinner time was over. 

I was too shocked to cry and was sent to bed without having anything to eat. I opened my window and pitifully called out, “I’m sooooo hungry! And she won’t give me anything to eeeeeat!” 

Day 10

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

I met a few kids and one of our favorite games was called ‘pet show’.  The housing didn't allow cats or dogs, but smaller animals were okay. One of the girls had a couple of guinea pigs, I had a rat and a cockatiel and another girl had a hamster. We would judge the animals on appearance and whether or not they could do any tricks.

The game was played in the large courtyard that all of the units opened up to, like one large communal backyard. I decided to bring out Bird first. It never occurred to me that he could actually fly. He was standing on the grass with the other contestants when he startled - and in an instant he was gone. 

I remember watching him fly up and around the courtyard...and then he flew out of sight. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Devastated, I made the long walk of shame back home to tell my mom what had happened. 

Day 8

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

The PE teacher called me out during attendance for wearing a dirty sweatshirt. She asked me, "Is that a favorite, honey? You won't let Mom wash it?" The sleeves of my sweatshirt were grey with dirt, but I looked at her like she was crazy. My sweatshirt was dirty because we didn't own a washer or dryer and I couldn't be bothered to wash it.  

I imagined the other kid’s moms standing in their big backyards and pinning the wet sheets to the clothesline - while my mom was likely asleep. The act of collecting enough coins, hauling all our clothes to the laundry mat and losing a whole afternoon at the Wash 'n Fun made the task seem insurmountable. The way I looked at it, I was lucky to wear clean underwear daily. A dirty sweatshirt was the least of my worries.

We were required to run the mile weekly. Generally I was in the middle of the pack of girls, but on one day something just clicked. Coming around the final lap, I had managed to stay with the lead runners. My legs burned and my lungs were on fire - but as I rounded the corner for the final 20 feet, it occurred to me that run would be my personal best. I was thinking that the PE teacher would see my time and realize that underneath my dirty clothes, I someone special. And that’s when I tripped.

I fell hard. I scraped my knees and the palms of my hands and managed to chip my front tooth – but the worst part was that I got one of my infamous bloody noses. There was so much blood that it was hard to tell where it was coming from. I had knocked the wind out of myself, which in itself was excruciating – but nothing was as bad as being the center of attention.  I just wanted to crawl away and hide. One of my friends was the nurse’s aide for that period and she ran behind the school nurse, pushing a wheelchair. The nurse wheeled me back to her office, while my friend Julie trotted alongside and held my hand.

After the nurse cleaned me up, she called my mom and told her what happened. My mom told her she’d be down to pick me up in within a half hour. I waited on one of the cots for my mom to come. When Julie came in to check on me, I tried to thank her for being so nice – but when I opened my mouth to say something, my voice caught and some weird noise came out instead. I started to cry. It was so awkward that she just quietly backed out of the room.

Day 7

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

We lived in a small college town, and my mom always had the best parties. She had a group of misfit friends: professors at the university, a pastor, lonely neighbors, co-workers, parents from her after school childcare. We didn't have much, but she opened her home to everyone. 

My mom would prepare elaborate dinners parties that would last late into the night. My favorite parties were the annual Christmas Eve party she threw. The day before Christmas, trees were discounted to almost nothing. My mom would bring home a tree shortly before the party, and guests would bring an ornament to trim the tree. 

One year a few weeks before the party, my mom made dough to make our own ornaments. We rolled out the dough and used cookie cutters to make holiday shapes. One of my favorite ornaments was an angel that my mom made. She had painstakingly rolled out small, oblong beads that she formed from the dough and then pressed each one onto the wings to make individual feathers. It was beautiful.

After that, it was on; we found that making our own ornaments instead of using a cookie cutter was more creative and looked better. I made a  Christmas tree that was decorated with the most elaborate miniature ornaments. It’s a wonder they didn't burn off when it was baked in the oven.

I decided to try rolling out letters. I was going to make an ornament that said Merry Xmas - but it really bothered my mom on the principal of defiling the English language. She took exception with businesses that changed letters in words for their own evil purposes, such as Krispy Kreme doughnuts. 

So we ended up compromising, and I decided to roll out a phrase instead. I tried to roll out letters to form the phrase, HO HO HO - but it was too long and wouldn't stick together right.  So I shortened it to two letters: H, O.

My mom was in fits over it, but never let on what was so humorous about an ornament that spelled ‘Ho’. I felt very clever about the whole thing. I can’t remember if we baked them in the oven first or before when they were still soft – but I painted it orange, just to be contrary. To this day, it’s one of my mom’s most prized ornaments.

Day 6

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

There was an afternoon where I was having a disagreement in the playground with one of the other girls. I came home to complain about it to my mom (“I’m going to tell my mom on you!”), but my mom wasn't interested in resolving my sandbox problems. She absentmindedly told me to dump sand on the girl’s head.

It was all the confidence I needed. I stomped back out and shoveled sand as fast as I could into a bucket, the girl taunting me all the while, “What are you going to do now, huh? Huh?”  

She was shocked when I poured the entire bucket over her head. There was sand everywhere – in her hair, down her shirt, in her mouth and eyes. This time, she was the one to run home and cry to her mom. 

When she came back, she had a cup of water that she threw at me, literally; but instead of holding onto the cup and letting the water splash me, she'd let go and clocked me in the forehead with it.

Christine and I kept her cup and spent the rest of our playground time making an elaborate drink of nasty berries, sand and water. We were convinced we could get her to drink it.

Day 5

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

When my mom moved back to her hometown, she rented a little room on the same property owned by her friends. I loved it there. It was a little bohemian enclave. They had fruit trees and it was there that I learned to love loquats, which are a little fruit similar in flavor to a peach. There was more seed than there was fruit, but that didn't keep me from repeatedly eating so many that I made myself sick. 

Pat went to high school with my mom, and he and his wife, Jenny lived in the main house. I remember Jen was particularly excited because she had just bought a blender. She couldn't seem to stop talking about it, and offered to make us all kinds of delicious beverages and smoothies. 

I decided the only way she’d stop driving us all crazy over the fucking blender was to steal the blade out of it. I buried it in the garden underneath the steps of our bungalow.   

It turned out I was wrong; stealing the only part that made the blender operable only made Jen talk about the blender more. 

Day 1

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

I am participating in the National November Writers Month, and I have a goal to write just under 1,700 words daily. The word goal is to help me write my first novel and the guidelines are to write anything -even if I don’t have an outline or specific idea. Something good is supposed to come out of all this.

And the other thing? I’m not supposed to edit.  Forget the number count; not editing as I write will be the bigger act of discipline.

Several of the people that I know who are participating in NaNoWriMo, as it’s fondly referred to - have a seed of an idea for a book; a general outline or a theme. I got nothin’.

It made me want to qualify somehow – why would I do this? The answer is simple: I’m an only child and I grew up without a television.  So, if I have anything going for me - it’s scads of creativity, patience and determination. I like to spend a lot of time alone, and most importantly… I love to read.  My best friend was also an only child, although she had a TV. She also had a great number of things that I never had: a lava lamp, a four-bedroom house with spiraling staircase and a dachshund.

We spent an enormous amount of our time together reading.  Beginning with the horse books: Billy & Blaze in the various hardcover adventures… I especially loved CW Anderson’s illustrations, Misty of Chincoteague, The Black Stallion series. We loved comics: Richy Rich and Archie were favorites, but we also read Ranger Rick and Mad Magazine. Much of the Mad Magazine humor was lost on me – too many references to stuff I didn’t understand. We moved onto the pre-teen and teen stories: Nancy Drew (we didn’t ready Hardy Boys, however – we saved that strictly for the TV show we watched at my friend’s house, so we could fawn over Shawn Cassidy and Parker Stevenson), Paula Danziger and Judy Blume. We read all of the VC Andrew Flowers in the Attic series, which was just brilliant and pure trash.

If I really wanted to split hairs, I’d say that my mom is partly to blame for any qualifications that I may have to write a book.  She is the most well-read person I know, literally – she is reading constantly always. Her home is filled with books, and her Kindle discovery was like giving the gift of sight to the blind, or in this case – the gift of the bookless a book. She instilled the love of reading in me and it is a tradition that continues with her appreciative and adoring grandchildren. Every visit, she takes them to the local bookstore and they each get to pick two – just two! books. It’s a wonderful tradition and a whole lot like heaven for them.

Russell

In October, I came across a big teddy bear at Costco. Measuring 53", it is one of the largest stuffed animals that I've ever seen. And being Costco, they often have items that appear and then are never ordered again. In anticipation of having one of the best and most stellar Christmas gifts ever and a steal for $28, I purchased it for Girl.
What I didn't consider was where I was going to stash such a giant toy without my kids discovering it for two months. I asked my BFF and her hubby if they'd be willing to keep it for me until the holidays, and they agreed.
On Christmas Eve, I made arrangements to pick up the bear from The Kent, who works in an office building over the mall. Walking through the mall with a stuffed animal the length of my own body was a spectacle. One woman remarked, "Oh my goodness! I bet that bear is bigger than the child receiving it..."
What I didn't know is that after two months, the bear had become a fixture in my friend's home: sharing the bed with guests, making friends and commuting to work. Stories were told of conversations and preferences. He was also named. Internet, meet Russell:
http://www.youtube.com/embed/0HXNzA0zm9o

Pure Poetry

We were at the recycling center and the man next to me was standing in the bed of his truck, pouring glass bottles down into the weighing containers. The sound was deafening.

On the drive home, Boy commented that it sounded like 'the glass was screaming.'

Norman Bates vs Metallica

I've heard that Ronnie James Dio, of Black Sabbath fame, made the claim that the 'horns' gesture (index and pinkie fingers extended with thumb tucking middle and ring fingers down) he originated and is so prevalent in the metal world came from his grandmother. My mom confirms that it's called the 'evil eye'.

I find it humorous that a gesture meant to ward off evil spirits found it's way into the metal music community, but there it is. When we were in Hawaii, I confused 'aloha' hands (thumb and pinkie out, remaining digits down and wrist rotated so the back of the hand faces out) with 'metal' hands, so that every photo taken in paradise looks like I'm front row at an AC/CD concert.

On Monday, we took a family trip to Universal Studios. One of the best parts was the tour of the lots where movies and TV shows are filmed. We rode the tram through old western towns (complete with rain and flash floods), Wisteria Lane from the show Desperate Housewives, and a waterfront facade that was used in both Murder She Wrote, starring Angela Lansbury as well as a scene from Jaws.

As the tram pulled around a corner, we came upon a small string of hotel rooms just in time to witness a man coming out of one of the rooms, with a body wrapped in a shower curtain. It was Norman Bates from the Alfred Hitchcock film, Psycho. After he placed the body in the trunk of a waiting car, he 'saw' us and pulled out a knife. Slowly at first, he approached the tram and then moved into a run as we pulled away.

We occupied the last row in the last car, and I can tell you that he was menacing to the very end. We turned in our seats to see Norman Bates, now stopped in the street but still holding his knife, staring intensely right at us. I looked down at Boy to make sure he wasn't totally freaked out, only to see that he was making a small gesture with his hands.

For a horrible parenting moment, I thought he was flipping Norman the bird - which seemed not only rude but unwise. With a small amount of pride, I realized he was gesture was 'metal' hands. Rock on, Norman Bates!

Heavy Metal (Mouth), Part 2

I posted Heavy Metal (Mouth) because Girl Doll had her braces removed last week. To celebrate, we had ribs and corn on the cob that night for dinner.

Over the following weekend, she invited a few friends over to go to the movies. Before we went and gorged on popcorn and caramel apples. It was all of the forbidden foods she had gone without for two years - in one big, gluttonous smorgasbord.

Girl Doll will have to wear retainers, but has already mastered 'flipping' them in and out with her tongue. It's a combination of charming and gross, but she is clearly pleased...and has a gorgeous smile.

Moment of Truth

When I was in first grade, my mom told me that the teacher made me sit in the corner and wear a dunce cap during math. I actually have no memory of this - the only thing I remember about my first grade teacher was that she had black hair. I have heard this story often, and my mom tells me that this is the origin of my 'math fear'.

This is such a cruel and horrible story that part of me simply doesn't believe it. I mean, what kind of person would do that to a child? My mom is also prone to exaggeration; I have stood beside her during conversations, and she will come away with a completely different experience and outcome - sometimes adding parts that didn't occur.

During this last school year, Girl attended a Saturday workshop for a social studies project. The teachers that were there were introduced, and one of them had the same name as my first grade teacher. I thought, "This couldn't be the same teacher, could it?"

I decided to approach her; she was a woman in her late 50's or early 60's with black hair. So I asked her, "I heard your name, and was wondering if you ever taught at _____ Elementary School?"

She replied, "Yes! That was my first year teaching..."

So, here is where I wonder whether this is my moment of truth: Do I lay into this woman for an experience that I don't remember having? Anyone who knows me also knows that I hate conflict or confrontation. I'm all about rainbows and butterflies. I am a total lightweight that would rather move than deal with an uncomfortable situation.

In the end, it occurred to me that it wasn't my moment of truth - it was my mom's. And I can say with confidence that had my mother been there, you would have seen some old ladies brawlin'.