Writer’s Workshop: I Am An Idiot

lions den

2.) Hi, my name is ______ and I am an _______.

Hi, my name is Kat and I am an IDIOT!

These days we worry about how easily our kids are lured by faux online friendships and strangers with puppies at parks. I like to consider myself proof, that no matter how hard parents instill rules and fear…you can still fall prey and be a complete idiot.

One of the dumbest things I ever did was decide to take my mom and step-dad’s truck joy riding while they were on vacation.

The call of the open road with friends was too much to resist at the ripe, unlicensed age of 16.

I wasn’t licensed, but I should have been because my friend had been teaching me to drive for months and I did take drivers ed. I failed that class because I couldn’t pass the written tests, but I deserved to pass because I was such a great driver.

That wasn’t the dumbest thing I ever did though.

The dumbest thing I ever did happened after the truck I took broke down on the side of the freeway. My friends and I ran around the shoulder of the road like little lost ducklings.

When an old man pulled over to help, he took a look at the engine and said it was shot. (I had been ignoring a ‘service engine soon’ sign. also dumb.). He offered to take us home.

We all got in his jeep and directed him to my house.

He said he could tow my broken truck back to the house with his son who had a truck of his own, but he could only fit one of us with him.

I climbed back into his jeep by myself.

lions den2

He took me to his son’s house and the two of us went inside. It was dark, an old version of Godzilla was playing on the tv and his son, with his long scruffy orange beard, was eating his dinner. I sat at the kitchen table and watched him finish eating so that we could go get the truck. There was no small talk. Just me shifting quietly in my seat. Him slurping baked beans and hot dogs.

It crossed my mind that this could have been a bad idea, but I was too concerned about getting caught joyriding to think of anything else. I didn’t look for an escape. I didn’t have a plan of action should one of these men decide to attack me. I felt nervous, but was not at all prepared to fight for my life if need be. I was really just kind of hoping they were going to do what they said they were going to do.

But let’s be honest, they had a teenage virgin sitting in their living room who walked through the front door at her own free will. My parents were out of town and not one of my friends knew where I was. Not even my older siblings knew what I had been up to that day. How long would they have waited to alert authorities if I did not come back? Did any of us bother to write down his license plate number?

The truth is, I WASN’T a dumb girl…not typically. But the fear of getting caught joyriding in my parents car without a license overrode any sort of working brain cell I might have had. I walked right into the lion’s den to AVOID GETTING GROUNDED.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!

The three of us climbed back into the truck after the awkward dinner and I sat between the two strange men as we made our way to the freeway. Orange beard driving, his hands brushed my bare legs every time he shifted gears.

They took me to my truck. Roped it up. And drove us back to my house.

I thanked them and paid them with the money my Mom had left behind for pizza.

My friends and I were all relieved that I had not been killed in what very well could have been a Dateline mystery.

And My Mother nearly collapses to the floor in gratitude every time she hears this story. And then she slaps me upside the head as any good mother would. Of course, she didn’t catch wind of the story until years later.

But you know, at least now I have a life experience to impart to my own kids about how there’s nothing they could do that would make me so angry they should willingly go walking into a lion’s den.

Thank God those men weren’t lions.

lions den3

Now it’s your turn!

Mama's Losin' It

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back to add your name to the link list below. Be sure to sign up with the actual post URL and not just your basic blog URL (click on the title of your post for that URL). For good comment karma try to comment on the three blogs above your name!!

The Prompts:

1.) Create something inspired by Pinterest, was it a win or a fail?
2.) Hi, my name is ______ and I am a _______.
3.) The last time someone called you a name.
4.) Write a blog post inspired by the word: rusty.
5.) List 5 ways you are different as a parent than your parents were.

Link up!:



Writer’s Workshop: STOLEN During Recess

praying for your sins

 5.) It happened during recess….

Two Jesus inspired posts in one week…you guys are LUCKY! Or blessed. Or both.

The Catholic school I attended in 1st and 2nd grade shut down before 3rd grade and my mother reluctantly enrolled us in a public school. Since Dad died, there was a bit of financial pressure involved there and sending all of us to a public school was a heck of a lot cheaper then enrolling us in another private school.

Imagine my dismay when I got to this new public school and realized there was NO PRAYER.

No prayer??

That’s right.

No.

Prayer.

I don’t know how those heathens expected me to study in a room without Jesus, so I brought Jesus to school with me. I had received a gorgeous, shiny, glistening rosary from my mother for my First Communion. I brought my expensive looking satin box to school with me and placed it at the corner of my desk,

I smiled at my friends as my beautiful beads sparkled.

Yes friends. Unlike you, I am a child of God. Do you see my rosary? I am a chosen one.

My friends liked my rosary so much that when I came back from recess after just one day on display, it was gone. STOLEN during recess.

I was crushed. I had not expected this kind of violation even at a public school.

After some silent prayer asking Jesus what the hell I was supposed to do now that my expensive/special item was stolen (not to mention the ultimate of punishments from my mother should she find out)….I heard his voice loud and clear, “My Child, Go forth and confront the guiltiest looking person in your class”.

So the next morning I did.

It was Lonnie.

She had asked me about my rosary and I mistook her inquiry as a desire to get right with the Lord. Instead I sold her on the idea of having a rosary of her own, so she took mine.

Before class began I nestled in next to her at her desk and I was all, “sigh…today is such a terrible no good very bad day…”

And she was all, “oh really why?”

And I was all, “Welllll…my beautiful rosary has been taken. It meant so much to me because, Jesus. And also because my Dad gave it to me before he died and it’s one of the last things I had to remember him by”.

(I said a quick Hail Mary for my lie, but it was a desperate time. I felt sure God would understand.)

Lonnie shifted and I leaned in a little closer and quietly whispered, “you know Lonnie? If you thought my rosary was pretty and wanted to bring it home to show your mom, I wouldn’t even be mad at you. I would just want you to bring it back.”

And Lonnie was all, “Really?”

And my brain was all “Oh hail no girl, I KNEW it was you, PLEASE BRING IT BACK!!!” but my mouth said, “Mmhmm…promise.”

Lonnie brought the rosary back the next morning without the satin case and I was so pleased to have those sparkling beads back in my clutches that I didn’t even care about the missing satin case.

Well I did care a little bit because my rosary fit so perfectly into it’s expensive looking case, but I had my rosary! I brought it straight home and never brought Jesus to the classroom again.

Now it’s your turn!

Mama's Losin' It

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back to add your name to the link list below. Be sure to sign up with the actual post URL and not just your basic blog URL (click on the title of your post for that URL). For good comment karma try to comment on the three blogs above your name!!

The Prompts:

1.) Describe what you thought living on your own would be like after you graduated high school.
2.) Write a blog post inspired by the word: adventure
3.) Show us a before and after.
4.) 10 things you’ve learned from reality tv.
5.) It happened during recess….

Add Your Link:




Writer’s Workshop: A Woman In My Dashboard

4.) Write a blog post inspired by the word: late

Remember back in the day when we used maps to help us get from point A to point B?

Me either.

I never used maps because getting me from point A to point B is what my mother was for.

I happen to be extremely bad with directions. To this day my mother will laugh about the various times I’ve called her completely out of my mind, on the brink of tears lost and with the most vague description of my whereabouts.

“Well I have a volleyball tournament in Everett and I think I’m in Everett, there’s a McDonald’s across the street with a gas station right next to it…my first game starts in 30 minutes HELP!”

One time she gave me careful instructions to my Uncles house for a babysitting job and had told me I would know when to get off the freeway because I would see blue Hospital signs and I wanted the hospital exit. I’m sure she gave me a number, but since I like to work with vague clues, I honed in for hospital signs. When I didn’t see one I did what any normal human would do…I kept driving. I drove for an additional 30 minutes outside of the actual city my uncle lived in and didn’t pull over until I was fairly certain I was leaving the state.

When I called my Mom she was all, “Wait you’re WHERE??? How is that even possible?” And I was all, “Wellll you said there would be a hospital sign!!”

I was late for another babysitting gig in college when I hopped on the freeway after a birthday party at my cousins house and after 45 minutes of driving and not recognizing ANYTHING I realized I was heading east toward the mountains instead of west towards everything else in my life. I wasn’t exactly sure which direction I was going when I got on the freeway in the first place, but figured I had about a 50% chance of getting it right.

I was late. To everything.

You can imagine the delight I feel with today’s technology. I’m not late anymore unless my kids hate me and I use GPS to get me to all the places. My kids think listening to a woman in my dashboard giving directions to the local library is normal, they do think it’s a little weird that I call her Mom though.

I just find her extremely comforting.

Now it’s your turn!

Mama's Losin' It

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back to add your name to the link list below. Be sure to sign up with the actual post URL and not just your basic blog URL (click on the title of your post for that URL). For good comment karma try to comment on the three blogs above your name!!

The Prompts:

1.) A time you wish you had spoken up.
2.) Easter recap!
3.) 10 things you love about Spring.
4.) Write a blog post inspired by the word: late
5.) The most exciting thing you purchased this month.



I Can’t Fly

I prayed everyday for the power to fly.

I was such a devout little Catholic girl. I knew if I prayed furiously, on my knees, rosary in hand…my prayers would be rewarded because that’s what I was taught.

My prayer was to fly, responsibly of course. I needed wings to get heaven. There was no other way.

I promised to avoid airplanes. I promised I wouldn’t let anyone see me fly so as to avoid causing the evil sin of jealousy to creep inside their hearts.

I cried my prayers into my pillow each night. Surely He could bring me to heaven even for just one visit!

I wrote a letter and tossed it off the side of the deck. It would fly to heaven on the wings of angels and God would see there was a little girl down here that needed to fly.

Time passed and still no wings.

Were they invisible? Perhaps my prayer had been granted in secret.

I climbed onto the patio chair and faced the sky.

I jumped!

Again…and again…and again…for nothing.

I had prayed for my Dad to be cured and I was not rewarded. And now I would not be granted visitation rights. I clenched my teeth at this hard new reality.

My husband brought me to church last Sunday and he watched me bristle when the pastor asked us to bow our heads and spoke about rewards for those who pray.

“What’s your problem?” he drilled me on the ride back home. “Why don’t you believe in prayer?”

I don’t tell him it’s because I can’t fly.

“They teach prayer wrong.” I say and I swallow that girl back down.

The Daria To My Sister’s Quinn

I grew up being the Daria to my sister’s Quinn. If you somehow missed out on MTV’s Daria series in the late 90’s than let me review by saying that they were sisters, Daria was a pessimistic smarty pants and Quinn was the happy cheerleader.

Now I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a “smarty pants” but if there was any way to knock someone a couple pegs off their “happy” I was pleased to be the one to do it.

The other night when Pat was a little late getting home from work, I said something like, “Gosh where is your father??” and Maile responded with, “Maybe he got in a car crash and died.” Completely monotone.

For some parents this might be alarming, but it just made me brim with happiness. She’s just like me!! Because it’s exactly what I was thinking and would never say out loud to my children. All this time I thought my dark humor was a coping method I had adopted to deal with my Dad’s death, but here I have a tragedy free daughter with the same Daria voice. It’s that dry, sometimes dark humor that just makes me giggle. I don’t know why and it’s probably entirely inappropriate. That’s probably why.

sisters

And just as Quinn was my sister, so is Quinn also Maile’s sister. I can see Maile’s tendency to knock her sister down a couple pegs every now and again. I know this is something siblings just do to one another. They spend SO much time in each others faces, sometimes they can’t help but be like, “OMG just shut up with that smile, you’re obnoxious!” but I know my role is to foster both of their little personalities. I get a little protective when my Daria wants to knock my Quinn down and I step in when I need to.

The other day the girls were working on those luminary jack-o-lanterns and Laina chose to make hers with green tissue paper instead of orange.

“Green? Are you making a zombie? Cause you know that’s what zombies look like right?”

And then I was all, “Are you sure you want green Laina?”

And she was all, “Yes I want to make a green one.”

And Maile was all, “*cough*zombie*cough*”

Just when I was going to chime in about creativity and how we all create differently, Laina looked happily at her handiwork and said, “Mrs. A says everything doesn’t have to be perfect.”

And it was like…well then. If Mrs. A. says it’s so then it is so!

I am thrilled to have that confidence booster reinforced at school. I love Daria, but we need Quinns in this world too! Thank you Mrs. A.!

laina

Writer’s Workshop: Tissue And New Shoes

3.) Write a 16-line poem about a moment from your childhood that changed your life for the better.

This is a story about how tissue and new shoes changed my life for the better…

Shiny and white and new, for little feet that grew
Excited to wear them, I shoved my feet in,
And skipped to church in my shoes.

I smiled and tapped and whirled, the prettiest of girls!
But something felt tight, my feet weren’t right,
And I stopped with so many twirls.

I sat in the pew and I prayed, for an angel to send first aid.
It seemed my feet were still growing, the pain was mind blowing,
But the angel never came.

On our way home I blew a fuse. I whimpered about abuse.
My feet were throbbing, I was hobbling,
I hated those stupid new shoes!

My Dad inspected them real slow, He seemed to want to know
Why my new shoes were aching, and while I was still shaking,
He found the tissue still bunched in the toe.

He laughed out loud, but I know now, not to wear shoes before taking it out.

Now it’s your turn!

Mama's Losin' It

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back to add your name to the link list below. Be sure to sign up with the actual post URL and not just your basic blog URL (click on the title of your post for that URL). For good comment karma try to comment on the three blogs above your name!!

The Prompts:

1.) Something you were wrong about.
2.) A funny text change.
3.) Write a 16-line poem about a moment from your childhood that changed your life for the better.
4.) List 8 best reasons you love living in your state.
5.) Listen. Write about what you hear, right now.



Writer’s Workshop: Helium In Those Balloons

3.) Write a post that incorporates the word: balloon

My whole family is very tall, but my little brother is very very tall. At 6’9″ he will be the first to tell us the top of our refrigerators are dirty and he often krinks his neck to fit through doorways or into cars…and I don’t ever want to see that guy on an airplane.

The kids think he’s a giant. This guy just walks in and plucks toys from light fixtures that have been stuck there for months and suddenly he’s everyone’s hero.

When we were young I took a lot of pride in my ability to pin him to the ground and threaten to spit on him when we weren’t getting along. I was older, so it made sense that I would be stronger and exert my power over him. Oh you don’t want to pass me the remote? THAT’S IT!!!

He would actually run away from me. In fear. Now THAT is power my friends!

Until he grew 20 feet and started putting me in headlocks. We’re in our 30’s now and he’s still putting me in headlocks. I can only assume it’s from all those years I spent tackling him when we were younger.

I watch my own daughters push around their little brother and I’m like, enjoy it while you can girls. Kainoa is already about to pass Laina up. Before they know it he’ll be putting them in headlocks too.

I get revenge on my brother now in other ways. For example, when I’m feeling crummy sometimes I think about a time we were at a bar celebrating his birthday. Mr. Big Tall Show Off reached up and plucked a balloon from the ceiling, loosened the knot, and inhaled all the air in it.

I watched the whole thing and was all, “Aren’t those taped to the ceiling?? I don’t think there’s actually helium in them…”

And then my brother started talking in his regular voice and realized indeed…there was no helium in those balloons at all.

“You just inhaled someone else’s BREATH!”

To this day when I want a good laugh I just think about some complete stranger blowing up those balloons and securing them to the ceiling…only to have my brother turn around and inhale the whole thing.

And the look on his face…

Maybe you had to be there, but it’s just so wonderful.

Next week we’ll touch on his deep fear of cats…my favorite indoor pet.

 

Now it’s your turn!

Mama's Losin' It

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back to add your name to the link list below. Be sure to sign up with the actual post URL and not just your basic blog URL (click on the title of your post for that URL). For good comment karma try to comment on the three blogs above your name!!

The Prompts:

1.) Somebody you’d like to hug.
2.) What did not get accomplished this summer that you wish you had time for?
3.) Write a post that incorporates the word: balloon
4.) Something your grandfather told you.
5.) List 7 qualities your mother has that you wish you had too.