A while ago I came up with a category and called it “Feelin’ Good Wednesday” because I knew things were looking crappy for me personally and going through that rough time helps me remember to STOP for a moment and appreciate things. That’s easily done at times when the sun is shining and no one is upset with me, but let’s face it: I have two teenage sons and a daughter on her cusp of adulthood so there’s no shortage of kid drama. My work also forces me to deal with some unpleasant situations, but there is joy to be had.

When I returned to work this week there was an amazing number of students who stopped by my office and in their infinite wisdom and people skills they demanded, “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

That was their first question. No saluation, nothing. Just WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? which led to to assume they were also thinking DON’T LEAVE US, WOMAN! WE MISSED YOU. DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN.

Ah, to be chastised by 15 year olds. Repeatedly. I can look deep inside them and know they are, ultimately, concerned about me, they just don’t know how to express it.

So, for today’s Feelin’ Good part, I review some important things that have been incredibly prevalent to my own learning as a student advocate. My mother was talking to me about emotional teenagers and I realized that a large part of my time is devoted to counseling students and that I continue to teach over and over correctly identifying emotions when students talk to me.

“I hate her! She makes me sick! I could just HIT HER! Ooooohhh.” I’m eternally amused by this last emphatic Ooooohhh they throw in.

“Why do you not get along with her?”

“I don’t know! She used to be cool with me in junior high.”

“I see. So you’re hurt by her.”

“HURT? ARE YOU CRAZY?” they will say to me. Calming down, but obviously, still upset. “Nawwww. I hate that B” That also amuses me that they don’t SAY the word ‘bitch’ because my ears must be too delicate for that. They just say “B”.

“No, you are hurt. You’re mistaking these two emotions. Anger is just the easiest emotion for you to access. Make no mistake, honey. You are hurt.”

The number of times I’ve had this discussion, be it with boys are girls, is staggering. But it’s one of my proudest moments as an educator and I’ll take a happy emotion from it on any day. Not just a Wednesday.

I am not cut out for Xtreme Sports and Mountain Dew or any kind of vitamin water in which my body shrinks and I dive into the bottle.

Every time I drive by a Red Lobster my brain quietly sings “Rock Lobster” by the B-52s.

My children are quite emphatic about the types of things I should and should not see. Mason forbade me to ever watch The Blair Witch Project and it strikes me as funny that my 16 year old is goading me into not watching it because “It will scare you, Mom. For reals.”

A girlfriend of mine came over to bring me some soup and cranberry juice and when she pulled out her cell phone and pulled up the antenna on it Mallory exclaimed, “Whoa! When did it get all 1993 up in here?”

Mason can’t get enough of saying “beast”. When we went to see Prince Caspian he kept saying that Edmund was a “beast”. His friend is leaving for boot camp and will come home all “swoll”. Is that “swole”? Basically, it’s “swollen” without the “n” so let’s go with the first one.

It used to irritate me how long it took the Count from Sesame Street to finish counting to a ridiculously low number like 5. One ah ah ah ah ah. Two ah ah ah ah ah. Jeebus, get to 5 already, would you? My young-child-brain really did think that and my grownup-brain still believes it to be so.

Count Chocula. Is he still around? Do we still expect vampires to hawk chocolate puffs to children?

I’m having my daughter do all my bidding for me and mostly that comes out to her picking things up at the grocery store since her brother cares nothing of getting a driver’s license. He couldn’t afford the gasoline anyway in this rancid economy. (I’m trying to get the network news agencies to use this phrase “rancid economy” because it beats out “beast economy” because that doesn’t make any sense.)

Normally these would be foodstuffs (and who decided that could be one word anyway? Food and stuff mashed together for foodstuffs is odd, to say the least) and since I don’t want to/can’t eat they aren’t forced to toss raw meat at me. They only need to keep my hydrated. I was not feeling the Fierce Gatorade since it is a weird bluish/purplish color not found in nature and it turned my mouth that color. I tried working up some bubbles to foam at the mouth and freak out the kiddos but I had no spit to form any. My children are probably grateful for my inability to work up some mouth juice.

I sent Mallory off to the store for some things and while there she picked up Friday Night Fare and put those down on the counter first. The checkout girl is scanning her items and decides to make smalltalk.

She scans the frozen pizza, the macaroni and cheese, the Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and smiled. “Oh! Someone has a fun Friday night planned!”

That’s when Mallory plopped down the Immodium and Vagistat with a raised eyebrow.
“Oooohhhh.” The clerk offered her condolences.

“Yep. Just taking care of my mom tonight. Just takin’ care ofmymom.” I know she said it just like that, running those last few words together and saying them very slowly as they dripped with sarcasm.

The Palm Centro Smartphone commercial had this on it: Expletives mustn’t be abbreviated!

Damn right! Spell that bitch all the way out!

When I’m not wearing my glasses I am shockingly blind. It’s not got anything to do with reading so much as a child that my eyeballs went on strike or masturbatory activities, it’s just that with every pregnancy my eyesight got worse and worse. I’m pretty awful, too, with the whole Help Mommy Find Her Glasses which used to be a fun game for the entire family until I ran out of Pez candies to distribute to the children when the turned up emptyhanded and I would exclaim through squinted eyes, “Try again! Isn’t this fun?” Eventually, those kids grow up.

As I’m sitting on the toilet I look over sans glasses and notice the pantiliners box and when I squint I can only make out “36” and “long” and I begin to wonder why pant sizes are now included in feminine products. I actually didn’t care to pursue it any further and now I believe that these pantiliner sizes are for very large and tall women.

Good grief, how did I go from sports drinks to delicate girl products? Never mind.

It’s been a rough eight months and I haven’t written down anything for fear of tearing out my eyelashes and rending my clothes a la biblically.

I probably crossed the line when my purchasing something from Circuit City recently and, upon getting my receipt, I realized that I’d forgotten my canvas shopping bag I’m trying so diligently to bring with me on every trip outside my house. I told the clerk that I would go ahead and take the plastic, thus killing the planet with my iron fist shoved up some indiscreet hole. He handed me a long ass piece of paper as receipt and it was all I could do to wave it in his face and say, “You could stand do a little better yourself!”

This may be why no one wants to go shopping with me. Or for me.

This will be brief since my internet is spotty, my unnamed Apple laptop’s mouse pooped out, and the internet gods are farting on my head. Does anyone sense a pattern here? First the body, then the technology. Such is my life.

Since my computer is taking this FORCED SABBATICAL, I can only offer my recent wonderings before signing off:

1. I watched North By Northwest today. Eva Marie Saint? What a vixen!

2. I have watched every episode of 30 Rock Season 1, Gilmore Girls Season 4, and The Office Season 2. I’m sick to death of Liz Lemon, Lorelei, and Dwight and that’s only because I’m dreaming about them all in one Mocha episode and Lorelei and Liz make fun of me for not having a name that begins with “L”. Also, we’re all fighting over Dwight Schrute. DWIGHT.

3. Yesterday I slept for 2 hours straight on the couch. I sat up, switched positions, and slept on the other side of the couch for 2 hours. That’s four straight hours of fighting over Dwight Schrute and lots of sweating.

4. No food tastes good and nothing is staying in my stomach. Oddly, I’m no thinner. I blame Dwight.

5. Tonight I watched hour long episodes of My Name Is Earl and The Office. Tonight’s dream will include my own Amish Rumspringa, some bonnet deflowering, and Dwight. I’m sure he’ll make an appearance.

I really do try to get on the bandwagon but most instances find me half a mile behind. It reminds me of being the 2nd best runner in school right behind my sister, Erin, who was like the wind. I haven’t ever won in a foot race against her but since she’s had that knee surgery I might take the lead for once. Would it be in poor taste to challenge her now?

Kristen of Great Hair Fame asked if I would participate in this Virtual Baby Shower for Her Bad Mother, Mrs. Chicky, and Mrs. Chicken. Of course, I was too busy to reply to her and then missed the deadline for winning any kind of prize, but that matters not. I’m here to offer advice.

And since I haven’t forced any of my children into a headlock this week, I feel pretty qualified to give it.

This advice has to come with a disclaimer: I’ve never been that mom who frets over the things that experienced mothers fretted about and that’s because I had my daughter at 15 and my first son at age 20. By the time I was 23 I was done having babies and that is never more present than right now when I realize my daughter is about to be 22. When my friends remind me that I could be a grandmother right now I put them into a headlock. Purple nurples and wet willies are also known to be given for such a suggestion.

Mallory cried when she found out that Mason was a boy, but she wanted very much to feel a part of this newly formed family we were creating so I allowed her to help as much as she wanted. At times, she asked to help bathe the baby or put lotion on his face and she was an excellent burper. What I learned was that she just wanted to be a part of what was going on and even if we thought it was scary that she hold him or rock him to sleep, we put all the necessary precautions in place and then allowed her to help with the new baby. It was, however, more difficult to persuade her to change poopy diapers.

May you all experience fabulous learning opportunities with your children. Love and hug and kiss and sniff and eat baby toes as much as possible. Then, when they’re both old enough to beat in a footrace, challenge them. Let them know who’s boss.

Many moons ago when I started writing I frequented the site of a guy named Elden. That’s his given Christian name, but he goes by Fatty. And he’s not. Not at all. Unless you are discussing his huge heart for his family and specifically, his wife Susan. She’s battled breast cancer for some time now and it’s looking like they are holding hands toward some end that will not be at all what their family is hopeful for, but he is pressing onward like a soldier who refuses to give up the fight. He is, simply, a good egg and their love story is one for the books.

In yesterday’s post he posed the question of “What would you do if you only had six months to live?”

We’ve all played that game before and his answer is to record his wife’s voice in conversations they’ve had so he can replay them to honor her. Elden’s writing is spectacular and I urge you to read him. He mentions in that post a donation button he’s put up for anyone to donate. While I feel led to do so I know that it’s not a possibility for everyone. In the past, I’ve done my own donation collecting and it felt so wonderful to be able to do something for someone else. The intrinsic rewards are difficult to detail.

Since I wouldn’t pressure people to give I will ask three things here:

1. Visit Elden’s site.

2. Say a prayer for Elden and Susan and their four children and extended family and friends.

3. Leave a comment here in 6 words only about what you’d do in your final 6 months and I will use the number of comments to determine how much money I will donate.

Now go kiss your wife or mother or daughter and love the heck out of them. Do it tenderly.

*Thanks, Botched Experiment, for the urging to do something to support Fatty.

COMMENTS ARE NOW CLOSED. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE.