You're Fucking Kidding Me Here

Those of you who know me in "real life" know that I am not a petite little slip of a chick. I'm a honking, hippy, big chunk of woman.

Which is why I am allowed to make the following statement:

Why the fuck do Big Girl Designers and Stores insist on creating clothing that:



1. Doesn't look good on anyone over a size 2



or



2. Doesn't look good on ANYONE, much less a big girl.

Let's be honest here, I'm not some cat-walking, trend-setting bitch. But I know enough than to even THINK about wearing much less than WEAR the following items I just ran across on Lane Bryant's website:


First of all, jumpsuity things like this are horrific. The peg leg look only furthers the LARGE aspect of your hips and ass. The spaghetti straps do not encourage you to wear a bra - which you dearly need. And the red shoes? Your "pop of color?" Gimme a break here. Please. You look like a fucking fool, lady.

A romper? Really? Take that shit off and go naked. I beg of you. I have nothing else to say on this vile swath of clothing.

Hello? Braless much? Bad. Mucho bad. Even if you're only a B cup. I have a friend who can get away without a bra - but she barely breaks the B cup. Seriously. We're talking an A. For real.

So...people, heed my fashionista words:

1. no all-over animal prints

2. wear a fucking bra

3. walk away from the jumpsuits and rompers.

You outgrew such things when you were a toddler.

Thank me later.

10 Things I've Learned

1. It's ok to take care of myself. There will still be enough time and energy left over to take care of everyone else. If I do it the other way around, there will never be enough for me. And that's not selfish.
2. There will always be egg and sperm donors who refer to themselves as "mothers and fathers." Just because your egg or sperm created life doesn't necessarily mean that you're a parent. You're just a donor - especially if you had the child only to spite or to control someone - including the child.
3. Those donors? They're dumbfucks who will undoubtedly have bad karma revisited upon them in numerous ways.
4. Letting go of vengeful feelings toward people who've hurt me is hard but SO fucking worth it.
5. I love watching and hearing my son go sleigh riding. His laughter constricts my diaphragm. I honestly cannot breathe when listening to it for fear that I'll miss one giggle.
6. Being able to life my right was something for which I was never grateful. Now that it's physically taxing to do it, I am grateful for the challenge and lesson that doing the tough stuff is greatness.
7. I love my physical therapy people more than some people I've known for years. I've been able to let go of so much excess "life baggage" since my rotator cuff injury, and it's a freeing feeling.
8. Just I relish in my deep friendships and still firmly believe that the small circle of tightly-knit friends I have is absolutely the most amazing group of people ever - being my friend is something you should savor. If you don't feel the same way, we shouldn't be friends. Really.
9. I need to reevaluate where I am professionally.
10. Turning 39 this month was an exhilarating experience for me!

Irony at Work in the World Today

So I have made myself scarce during hall duty so that no one bumps into me.

I've been careful to give kids wide berth even inside my own classroom.

All to no avail.

I waited until the first load of bus kids were dismissed today before walking out of the library with the remainder of my kids and going downstairs to my classroom. I didn't make it any farther than the lobby when an exchange student decided to dance backward and ram into my freaking shoulder with his freaking backpack.

Yeah. Thanks for fucking nothing. And the adult who watched the whole thing and did nothing? You're worthless.

I am icing my shoulder and will take a nice pill in a moment.

And will be seeing my surgeon on Friday. Cannot wait.

So much for being fucking careful.

Back from the Depths

Yeah.

Me.

Let's just say I haven't found the past six months to be kind to me. I'm done wallowing in exhaustion and depression. I'm hoping the bloggy will serve me well in documenting the rise. I'm a fucking phoenix, baby.

So I had the surgery to repair my rotator cuff.
Was denied by workers' comp.
Hired an attorney to represent my case.
Figured out that my personal life is so much more important than my work one. (Why am I learning that damn lesson all the fucking time? Let's just be done it, woman!)
Was schooled by the world of pain.

If you ever have to have your rotator cuff repaired, just know that it's a bunch of hellish pain. Worse than labor. Worse than gastric bypass. Worse than hernia and adhesion repair. For real.

I'm almost 6 weeks post-op and am still taking pain meds. I go back to work tomorrow, and to be honest, I'm fucking afraid. I know I'm still exhausted by normal everyday activities. I've missed a ton of instruction with my students. We have the 8th grade direct writing and multiple choice writing tests coming up in about a month. I still have physical therapy three times a week for at least another two months.

What the hell? And I'm scared shitless that some kid is going to bump into me and tear out the work my surgeon did.

Here's the skinny on that. I finally understand what he did. Took me long enough.

• opened me up
• ground down a bone spur from my upper arm
• drilled holes into my bone
• reattached the four muscles that create the rotator cuff (I always thought the cuff was just a tendon or ligament.)
• reattached the muscles to the tendon that had been ripped off
• sewed the tendon (pulling the muscles along with it) into the holes drilled into the bone. Get it? It's like a sewing thing. Weaving the tendon through the holes.
• Then the tendon eventually becomes reattached to my bone - grafted so to speak.

Yeah. And my stupid ass truly thought I'd have the surgery and be back to work after a four-day weekend. Seriously. That's what I thought. My PCP and surgeon looked at me like I was a psych patient on weekend leave telling them I'd won the Nobel Peace Prize when I explained that I'd only be missing two days of work.

I had the surgery December 17 and will be back tomorrow for "light duty" (what the fuck is that when you're a teacher?), January 25. My doc wanted me out through February 11, but I've already had to take weeks without pay because my sick days are LONG gone. I have to go back. My PT folks don't like it either. So be it.

I went into work recently to fax some paperwork for my return to work. One of my big 8th grade boys gave me a hug? Me? Started crying. I can't be hugged. Can't have my shoulder jostled or touched. Don't think about a massage. Blah.

One of my sisters bought me a gift certificate for a massage for Christmas - I'm not scheduling that until I can ENJOY a massage, people! No no no!

Good Stuff?

• Buddha is thriving in preschool.
• I'm menu planning so I can feel like I've got a handle at home.
• I'm back to creating recipes now that I can sort of cook with one hand. No bread for now, but I'm in the middle of a citrus chicken recipe with quinoa. I'm hoping it will be as good as I think and can post it to the food blog.
• I've decided that I will use the textbook to teach - no more creating the wheel stuff. If the book was good enough to be adopted, I'm using it. This means I will become a member of the Pocketbook Club. I will arrive early each day because I have to drop off Buddha next door for preschool. He begins about an hour before my kids arrive. I will leave ON TIME because I have PT and I am no longer married to a job that obviously doesn't give a shit about me. I'm pretty bitter about the way my district treated me after this injury. No more giving everything. I and my family deserve that.

Very disjointed post here.
That's the pseudo update for now.
Lighter topics forthcoming.

Ahhh All That is Beauty

Thought I'd suck your ass in with this on. I guess in a manner of speaking, this IS a beauty, but I want it to be someone else's beauty.

Dr. Quack who said I was bruised and needed to exercise my shoulder should be shot at a firing line. I should be the one with the pistola.

I went to see the competent doctor yesterday and was shown how my cuff is not only torn but has a fucking hole in it. A bone PUNCTURED it. Yeah.

1. I felt pissed and scared all at the same time because now I know there will be more hoops through which I will have to jump in order to get this covered by workman's comp.
2. And relieved because I was beginning to think I was Miss Hypochondriac in a Sling. It's been almost a freaking month that I've been walking around in this thing, and I've started to feel like a freak show.

I will find out when the surgery is tomorrow. The surgical office through which my surgeon works was closed on Saturday. I'm looking at about three weeks out of work, three months in a sling, and physical therapy to get back to a semi-normal condition.

I didn't tell the good doctor that I'd seen the bad one until yesterday. After he went through he MRI results with me and explained that there was no other way to attempt to fix my shoulder, I enlightened him. I explained how the idiot had told me that I merely had a bruise and needed to exercise the shoulder to gain my mobility back. The good doctor's face got all red and puffy. I almost cracked up.

I think what he was feeling was what good teachers feel when people tell them about BAD teachers. We're sorta lumped into the same category no matter how good or bad, ya know?

He told me it was ridiculous, that I still need to be in the sling, that surgery is the only option, and that it doesn't really matter what the idiot said, I will get the care that I need.

You said it, mister.

And off to make my appointment with the superintendent to ask her how she's going to fix THIS.

The Pig

Butter's got the pig flu. Bastard pig.

Brought him the dr yesterday even though I didn't want to. I had to ask for a mask. I don't care if there ARE a ton of people with this. Let's cover it up, peeps! He hated the mask but wore it until we were back in the room.

He cried and cried because he thought they were going to give him another shot. The last time we were there he had three shots and a finger prick. The kids's got a mind like a steel trap. The doc? I LOVE him. He walked into the room, took one look at my kid, and said, "Hey, buddy! NO shots today! Not one!"

Prior to the doctor coming in, Butter had tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked at me and said, "Let's just get out of here! I'm not sick anymore!" Yeah. He was fine and dandy with being sicker than hell as long as he didn't have to face a shot. Once the doc made it clear he wasn't going to stick him, he jumped off the chair and let the man poke and prod. Again. I. Love. This. Doctor.

I am no longer going to the chick who is there. She pissed me off to high heaven. The guy is greatness and digs Robert. He talks to me like I'm not an idiot and is old skool - he didn't give me Tamiflu, and I wasn't piss faced about it.

Normally, that would have set me off. Nope. Vick's, Motrin, and HONEY. For real. He said dark honey cures a lot of what's ill with people - including some of the BAD BAD BAD symptoms from this pig shit.

Lucky for me, I have a HUGE jar of the shit in my kitchen from one of my local bee keepers - AND it's dark. Love love love!

And get this - he REMEMBERED Butter from an appointment we had with him 2 1/2 months ago. Before that appointment, he'd never seen Butter. Hell, I'd never seen the doc. He was new to the practice. We'd been shuttled into an appointment with him for a physical and well-child visit. Because he was new to the practice, he had more open appointments than the other docs. Without me mentioning a word to him, he brought up some blood work he'd ordered on Butter from last time, asked me if I was giving my kid the supplements to help with the low numbers we saw on the blood work, blah, blah, blah.

Yeah. He remembered. That means a whole hell of a lot to me than someone who rifles through a file before opening the door. I don't expect doctors, or anyone else for that matter, to remember everything. No one can do that. But he recalled my kid's face and some sketchy blood work. That's good enough for me. We discussed the timeline - we weren't supposed to go back for a recheck on his blood shit for another month - and parted with smiles all around.

I hope everyone has a doctor who's half as compassionate, smart, and supportive as this one.

N.B.
I am heading to my ortho guy this morning. I had an MRI last week. I'll know more on my fucking shoulder shit later today. I'm hoping for some PT and that's IT.

Quote Time

From one of the kids in my double block class. All but one child is a minority student. All of the kids failed the state standard test last year and have a double block of English with me to help get them up to speed.

I mentioned that I knew about a show on BET. I even gave proof by quoting something from the show.

Several children looked at me in disbelief. I could see the whole thought process working - how in the hell could she possibly know about anything on BET because she is WHITE.

One spoke up to defend my honor:
"Ya'll!!!!!!!! SHE BLACK! You didn't know that?" Yes. He meant this. I am not kidding.

Which was met by a chorus of "Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhssss..." as if all it took was one kid explaining that I am not in fact white; I am black.

Ok.

Race change. Check.

I love my kids. Love them. They are tore up from the floor up. And damn greatness.