Supposed to

OK Matt, I'm SUPPOSED TO be writing in this blog at least on a regular basis.  I'd hoped to be doing it DAILY however...

Did you know that SUPPOSED TO is a made-up phrase? (What isn't?)  In this exercise I'm supposed to (LOL) use that phrase in four sentences: one about pit bulls, one about politicians, one about protractors, and one about pears.  SUPPOSEDLY this will burn into my brain the fact that I shouldn't use SUPPOSED TO.

Pit bulls are SUPPOSED TO be a vicious breed; I, however, have several friends who own them who say they are pussy cats.

We elect politicians; we choose the candidates and they are SUPPOSED TO represent us as best they can.

No one can remember what protractors are SUPPOSED TO measure.

We are SUPPOSED TO eat five daily servings of fruits each day; my favorite fruit is the pear.

That was dumb.  I will probably still use that made-up phrase.  I think all phrases must be made-up, aren't they?

Day One: Part Deux

It didn't start out well. Why did I think things would turn around? The pants I thought I'd wear seemed to have shrunk.  I put my nylons on and got that twisted feeling right in the middle of my thigh. Felt like I was walking with a slight inward pull every time I put my left leg forward. Mapquest gave me seriously wrong directions to the school. Thinking to check my makeup just one last, quick, time I pulled down the visor to look in the mirror and was showered by a dozen CDs I had stashed up there. One gave me a paper-cut type slash right down the middle of my nose. I was buzzed into the office where the two gals barely gave me a glance. "stand here, look forward," the blond said as she snapped a Polaroid for my school ID. Wearing that lanyard with the big word SUBSTITUTE on it was like wearing the scarlet letter.

I slipped the noose around my neck and was looking at the picture as I walked directly into the opening office door. Reeling from that, I had a nagging feeling that my picture somehow looked funny. 'Must be the cut on the nose,' I told myself, blowing it off. A bell rang and I realized that was the last bell before the kids were required to be in class. I bumbled around for a few minutes looking for room 322.  I got a multitude of weird looks -- substitute looks, I thought.   I got to the room and half the class was there, no one seated. Another bell rang and I told everyone that I was the substitute. "Duh," said the smartest-looking kid in the class. That's trouble. If the Rhodes scholar of the class is a smart-ass, its gonna be a long day. I told them my name, then said to open their books to Chapter Six. No one moved. "Is there a problem?" I asked. "Is there a problem?" tweetered four of the five rowdies at the back of the class. I took a few steps forward and said "Did you have a question?" and tried to give them my toughest look. "Sure," said Malibu Barbie, as she put away her compact. "Do you always wear makeup on only one eye?"

OK, so not EVERY day

We've been planning the big "13" birthday and prepping for Christmas pictures. So I've taken a little leave. Its been said that I should stick with what works for me -- humor. So I'm going back to Day 1 and try again.

Day Three: Sweltering, not hot

Even the best writers rely on obvious words. Practice mental flexibility by writing a paragraph describing a typical August afternoon without using the words hot, humid, heat, or sun.


The air felt as thick as wool. Sweat trickled, dogs panted, and even the wading pool felt like bathwater. Children languished in the shade, dozing as an escape. Brrring, brrrring! The bell jolted the crowd out of their reverie. The words ICE CREAM MAN! read across their faces like LED leaderboards. Purses were dumped, t-shirts and flip-flops were donned, and children were dangled from the arms of scurrying adults. The cold from the door of the truck formed puffs of smoke as it collided with the oppressive mid-day air. Bomb-pomps, ice cream sandwiches and push-ups melted and ran down the hands of the sweaty consumers. As they retreated back to the shade with their icy treats, once again the sultriness consumed them.

Day Two: Most Embarrassing Moment Ever

Day 2: Write a paragraph (with a topic sentence) “My Most Embarrassing Moment Ever.”

Those who know me know that I get into a lot of hinky, stinky situations; something would have to be collossally horrifying for me to say it is the most embarrassing ever. One day, however, definitely qualifies. I was taking the girls to lunch at the Bloomington Burger King; it was high noon and the place was packed. They were both still in diapers but I, alas, was not. I knew I’d have to use the restroom, which was literally located right inside the dining area. I took them in there with me, and proceeded to get on with it. After finishing up, we walked out into the restaurant. Just as we cleared the doorway of the bathroom, Hannah looked up at me and hollered “Your poopy REALLY STINKS Mom!” Even Casey pulled her nuk out of her mouth and said quite loudly “Yeah, really gross Mom.” It was if someone pushed a mute button – silence fell, heads turned and I swear a spotlight beamed down on me. Guess who didn’t get the Kid’s Meal that day?

Day 1: The Substitute

Day 1: Write a two-paragraph story about a day in the class in the first person from the point of a substitute teacher.


I stood uneasily in front of the group of reluctant-looking kids. Shuffles, whispers and snickers seemed to echo through the room. “Class, I’m your sub today. I’m Miss Smith,” I began falteringly. “Mr. Jones left me a copy of the lesson plan. I see that today he’s planned for us to do a review of Chapter Six. So let’s open those books and get right down to it.”

No one moved. The defiance hung heavily in the air. I took a step forward and reached for the book on the desk of the grunge kid in the first row. He casually swept it onto the floor and looked me right in the eye. A huge burst of laughter erupted and I could feel my face flushing. “Perhaps you haven’t heard of me,” I said with some false bravado. I hoped they wouldn’t sense my fear.

Intro

Everyone I know always says "Just do it. Just write." And I say "yeah yeah" and think "Where would I find the time?"

Yet I write constantly. Blats and burps about my life, my thoughts, my adventures. And I have a book in me -- I want to write about caring for my kids and my childhood, and caring for my mom and dad in their later years and thru Mom's death. I am the Oreo Generation.

So I decided that the best way to get started is just to get started.

And perhaps what I have to say isn't what people want to hear or what they want to read. But I feel if I interject my sense of humor into this subject, I can help others get through what is an awfully challenging and confusing set of events that need to be taken care of.

And I also want to write about the weird and off-the-wall things that happen to me. The things that I don't have to invent. The things that happen to me that cause people to laugh and shake their heads.

So I'm starting here with a SPARK. I bought a book at Barnes and Noble yesterday that hopefully will challenge me to get my hands onto the keyboard every day. And perhaps, when its flowing, I will just start writing what needs to come out.

And please, comments and constructive criticisms are welcomed.