All’s fair in love and tagging. Or so sayeth Shakespeare. Maybe it was Marlowe? Hard to tell now. That English Lit. degree is lost somewhere in the depths of that junk drawer in my kitchen so it’s difficult to remember.

When I tagged Julie the other day she returned the favor and asked me and a couple of pregnant ladies and even some un-pregnant ones about when they were at their most ‘bangable.’ I’m going out on a limb here to suggest that means when we think we were at our prettiest. Like princesses. Like darling young ladies who felt really good about themselves. Or maybe she meant when I had bangs. Me and bangs just don’t get along.

You really don’t want me to start talking about hair because I’m a curly girl.

Tangent coming up! This one’s for the Curly Girls and Guys. I’m looking at you, Mr. Brilliant Malcolm Gladwell.

I found a new product line called Ouidad and if you visit their site you’ll find where they offer free trials of products after you let them know about your own curly hair. FREE TRIALS, CURLY PEOPLE.

With that said, I suppose I’d better get back on track here, except I feel another left turn coming up ahead.

Growing up with a beautiful, athletic, popular sister it was hard to ever feel ‘pretty’. One story in particular comes to mind when I think about how I’ve viewed myself as a girl, a young woman, and eventually a woman. My father was active in the Jaycees and helped to coordinate all of the events where we lived and, since he was big on staying active, he signed us up for all kinds of marathon runs for charity. We were about 12 and 13 years old at the time. In one of them there were all these celebrities and my sister and I were quite overwhelmed with meeting these people who our parents talked about. We weren’t all that much into Frankie Avalon or Connie Stevens, but we couldn’t wait to meet Smokey Robinson.

After the marathon there was a dinner at a banquet hall where my father took both of us after we’d cleaned up from our sweaty runs and we stood close by our father in the hopes that Mr. Robinson would shake our hands. Maybe we’ll get an autograph!

As we sidled up to him my father very proudly presented his two daughters and he did shake our hands. Smokey, known for his sparkling eyes, noticed that mine were about the same color as his and told me, “Pretty eyes!” and I probably stopped breathing for a second there. Then, my older sister was presented to him and he gasped. “Oh! SHE’S beautiful!”

There was enough of a difference in the way he said that for everyone to notice. I continued to hold my breath except now I was also holding back tears. I knew that everyone thought she was pretty, but I wanted that, too. What little girl doesn’t? My father’s hand was squeezing mine tightly and, in a rare moment of complete understanding from him, he pulled me back into the circle where Smokey Robinson was salivating over my sister and firmly said, “Both of my daughters are beautiful. Thank you for meeting them.”

In what would become a pattern for us, Erin would take me off to the side and reassure me that we looked the same and that none of this mattered and look! Shrimp cocktail! Let’s distract you with food!

If I could fast forward to being 17 I recall having this strange thought that feeling good about myself wouldn’t really happen until I hit my stride in my 30s. It took that long to drop the baby fat from my kids, gain strength from weightlifting, and finally getting control of pimples and wild hair. (See above)

Now that you know how Smokey Robinson helped blow my self-esteem for my teen years, you’ll understand why I like myself much more now and that it took until I was 34 years old to actually have a good picture taken of myself.

I forgive you, Smokey. But you had no idea looking at me how much worth I had on the inside anyway. Now, sing me a sweet lullaby and we’ll call it even.

Mike asked me to do a meme last week and I’m going to try not to be suckage supreme and forget about it so let me do this right now even before I chronicle one of the biggest days in my life this past weekend. Is the suspense killing you? I know how you feel.

The rules according to Mike:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Random Numero Uno - I’m currently not sleeping. Rather, I fall asleep quickly and then awake at awful hours and then hit the wall sometime around 2:15 each day. Luckily, my counselor noticed the baggage under my eyes and sadly they are not matching Louis Vuitton ones. Today I go to the doctor for some meds and watch how I sneak this one in: I’m also dealing with “situational depression”.

Random Numero Dos - Whenever I watch movies that have an underwater scene in them I hold my breath as long as the character holds their breath and then blow it out PPPPSSSSHHHHHEEEEEWWWWW to show everyone present that I won the non-existent breath holding contest I had with myself.

Random Numero Tres - Paul Rubens sort of fascinates me and last night I was excited to see him again in “Mathilda” and last week it was “Mystery Men” and I’m always thrilled to see him in anything. I fell in love with his power over absurd children’s television when Mallory waved bye-bye at the t.v. screen when she was 2 years old as Pee Wee’s Playhouse ended and he rode off in the sky with his bicycle.

Random Numero Quatro - I have large hands and my nails grow beautifully but I don’t bother keeping them up and looking good. In fact, I got a fungus once when I tried out acrylic nails and my right index finger is grotesquely misshapen. The other nails look great! But that one is gnarly and I try hard not to use it to point, but then I have to use my middle finger and…you see where this is going.

Random Numero Cinco - I listen to what people say about my accent or the phrases I use too much. For instance, my Canadian friend JoAnne told me that Americans don’t say “You’re welcome.” We make this high-pitched non-word “Uh huh”. As soon as she told me that, I started listening and I do that, too! We also abuse the word “literally”. Though, “clearly” is a close second for American citizens. Some examples: Clearly, you didn’t do what I asked. Clearly, he is confused and mistaken. Clearly, you are an asshole.

Random Numero Seis - Clearly, I love all things Winnie The Pooh so here is the random quote for today: “The spring has sprung, the grass is rizz. I wonder where them birdies is?”

My tagging choices are not so random but I’m going with…

Pete from Fiddley who wrote this favorite post of mine and whom I’m following closely now.

Sarcomical who is Sarbeautiful and Sartalented.

Julie from Mothergoosemouse. Don’t let the name fool you. It ain’t your average mommyblog.

Karen Sugarpants who is working on a redesign of this site and who is currently GLOWING from all the running she’s doing and looking awesome in the meantime.

Amy from Assertagirl. She’s stolen my superheroine name, but oh well.

Stefania from CityMama. She kicks ass, takes names, and then cooks up something yummy for everyone.

I would hope that you’d all join in because I don’t expect that anyone would have time to do a meme when the weather’s getting nicer and the end of the school year is nigh. If I tagged me the fact that I used the word “nigh” would be the dealbreaker and I would probably refuse.

Don’t be guilt-ridden, either. It’s not like I’m depressed or anything. Huzzah!

I’ve been tagged twice in the interim period of not having any internet service at home and, for the record, I’m not upset about it at all, no I’m not. There is no rash forming on my upper arms from it. I have no new twitch in my left upper eyelid. I’m not experiencing the shakes or any other form of withdrawl. Nope. Not at all.

Since my mom fed me great winter soup (something homemade and concocted by her after having chowder in a restaurant and proclaiming I can make a soup better than THIS and actually doing it) and is allowing me to use her computer and internet, I’ll knock out two at once with the promise of a Mondo Beyondo list soon. I can tell you right now that this will be a mental exercise for me that will tax my brain. If I sprain it, will ice help?

Susan proposed that I write down people who had a big influence in my life that affected the direction of my life and career.

My friend, Dhana (that’s Donna but she had really creative parents who were enamored with Ghana at the time when their daughter was born) who asked me for a ride during my senior year in college so that she could do observation hours at a school. I was an English Lit major who wanted to stay on for graduate school right away and my goal was to be a professor in college. Since her car was broken at the time I drove her there and sat in the back of the classroom with her while she completed her hours for her Elem. Ed. degree and my jaw was on the floor the entire time while the same thing went round and round in my head: OHMYGODIWANTTODOTHIS. I WANT TO BE A TEACHER. Had she never asked me or walked around in complete joy of working with students I may have never decided to pursue secondary education and spend another year and a half in college.

My first principal at the school where I did my student teaching named Dean who taught me that everyone learns differently and many of them through stories. “Remember,” he said, “that even Jesus was a teacher who taught things through parables. If you think your students will absorb everything you simply SAY to them absent some real life exampled, you are in for disappointment.” If it weren’t for him, I would try teaching everyone the same way. I also wouldn’t have this little gem he gave: “People overuse commas. Commas and sex eduation have the same rule: when in doubt keep it out.” (And see? Just now I wanted to type “when in doubt (COMMA), keep it out” and I’m second guessing myself.)

My amazing teacher in the classroom I student taught in, Dr. Wiseman. She lived up to her name. When I started she told me that the honor students I would have wouldn’t be as bright as I would hope, so don’t have high expectations until I meet them. She was right. I was coming out of a college classroom where everyone was intellectually driven (and these were English Lit and British Lit classrooms, so come on) and I had to remember that they wouldn’t all be like that. She let me teach James Baldwin’s Go Tell It On The Mountain and let me cry when I chose a book too advanced and culturally different from them. I hadn’t given them enough background information so that they could appreciate it. “Start again,” she said. “You can start over and do it better. It’s ok. Be honest about how you didn’t prepare them and have enough humility to start again.” She also had one of these in the classroom which I later got to use in my own. When I put their homework up on the electronic signboard THEY ALL WATCHED IT AND WROTE IT DOWN. My homework return rate was darn high.

Finally, 7 Random Things that Daisy tagged me with so long ago that she’s probably no longer interested.

1. I am allergic to so many things that when my allergist tested me he poked about 120 things into my arms and was to wait for 15 minutes to see which affected me most but after 2 minutes he said, “Holy crap! You’re allergic to a metric ton of stuff!” I like to think he didn’t tell any other patient that but me.

2. Our administration team at school has eight members and we’re all still getting to know one another. One of the other deans wants us to do a team building activity at her daughter’s gymnastic studio where we use harnesses and mats and spot one another. I emphatically told them that I loved gymnastics and couldn’t wait to do this and they laughed at me so I stood up from my chair and did a walkover in front of the rest of the admin staff. They think I’m weird. And flexible.

3. I have some Spanish tongue twisters memorized from childhood. Don’t ask me what they mean or why I remember them, but they flow out of my gray matter with a strangeness that mystifies me. Whenever people ask me to say something in Spanish I usually choose one of them or I recite John 3:16 to them. That’s Juan tres diez y seis.

4. Sometimes I go to the movie theatre just for the popcorn. I might not want to even see anything, but the popcorn calls to me. (August Rush wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Lots of closeups and slow acting from that naturally pretty Keri Russell, but I’d watch that Freddie Highmore and Terrence Howard in just about anything.) Once, while pregnant with Mason, I pulled up outside a theatre and forced my older sister to go in for just popcorn. She tells the story differently but since this is my blog I can say that I did NOT hold her at gunpoint.

5. Speaking of weird pregnancy related cravings, each time I was pregnant I had different things I wanted. With Mallory, it was coffee. Color me shocked when she was 4 years old and sipping the dregs out of my cup. With Mason, it was bologna. Again, I paid a girlfriend $5 to go out at 2 a.m. to get a pound of it. With Morgan, it was EVERYTHING. He isn’t picky at all when it comes to food.

6. I’m completely grossed out when people use tissues and visible PICK THEIR NOSE while talking to me. Like it’s a normal thing to do in the company of other people. Lately, I’ve gotten bold and told them how disgusting they are.

7. My mother cooked Thanksgiving dinner in a black “Sopranos” apron that she found on the sidewalk when she lived in California. She is so freaking awesome. Now, I want to cook in one all the time. I won’t feel inspired unless I can imagine Tony Soprano whacking someone. Who wants pecan pie?