Kids and the Vote

My fourth grade class was debating yesterday as to who should win the election today. I just sat back and listened to their reasoning. Or lack of reasoning. But, one thing is clear, they repeat what they hear in their household, and in the end, most of the reasoning I heard was well, scary. I think I heard three students say something that made me feel their parents are informed.

When I was in fourth grade, if someone asked me who was president, I may have replied,  John F. Kennedy. Oh sure, I knew he had died on my parent’s anniversary several years before I was in fourth grade, and I knew that the gunman was gunned down by some night club owner, but I didn’t know who took his place. Wait. That’s a lie. I remember my grandfather talking about “LBJ, that goddamn snake in the grass.” So, our president was LBJ….Grandpa liked Ike, whoever the hell that was. Later, I found out it was Eisehower, who was president before “that catholic boy.” My grandfather was all about being a republican. But, I was nine years old and had important things to do like go to Campfire Girls meetings and play chinese jump rope. I didn’t care about politics. The only thing I knew at the time was that presidents used initials and short nicknames instead of their names….Ike….JFK…..LBJ.  I was VLM. My friend Ramaine was RAC. Lori was LAM, and LeeAnn was LAW. I was pissed because my middle name messed everything up. I could never have pretty monogrammed towels.

And kids really didn’t pay attention to who was running for president back then. But, that changed when we baby boomers had kids and talked about it more and the kids listened. Why did they listen? Well, because our kids stayed indoors more than we did when we were young. We were outside as long as it wasn’t storming. Well, my mom forbade it to lightning on Woodland Estates, so we were outside most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, my kids played outside plenty, but the mid 80′s were different than the mid 60′s. Kids of the mid 80′s listened because they were around the parents more.

English: Seal of the President of the United States Español: Escudo del Presidente de los Estados Unidos Македонски: Печат на Претседателот на Соединетите Американски Држави. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My daughter became a big fan of CNN when she was little. She liked Tucker Carlson and his bow tie. She became interested in the environment when she was very young, getting mad at the Harrison Power Plant and its wicked plume of black smoke that came out of the stack. She was in tune. Both of my kids were. So, they listened. She pointed out later, “Mom, you are so not a Republican. And Dad……he is definitely not a Democrat.” They listened and picked up on things. And she was right. I changed my party years later so I could vote for Obama.

But, back to my fourth graders. I let them go at each other. One said that Romney hated the Earth. Another said that Obama was going to close all of the coal mines in the state. (West Virginia)

“I’m voting for Romney. Obama doesn’t believe in God.”

“I’m voting for Obama because Romney is a Mormon.” When asked what a Mormon was, the child told me, “It’s a man who has a lot of wives…and that is just wrong.” Another boy added, “I think having a bunch of wives is wrong….but if they could cook, it might not be so bad.”

“Romney is going to win because Obama is going to make rich people pay more taxes.”  I asked if his family is rich. “Yes, my mom works at Walmart.” A girl laughed and replied, “Working at Walmart doesn’t make you rich. You have to win the lottery if you want to be really rich.”

“Obama is a terrorist. His middle name is a terrorist name.” I asked him what Obama’s middle name is.  “Something like Muslim or something.” Another child laughed at his response. “Muslim is not a middle name. It’s something you sew with.” Um, okay, muslin is a cotton. Points scored for knowing fabric.

In the end, their rants and reasons for voting for their respective candidates were highly amusing…and sad at the same time. I had to wonder:

Do people really understand the issues or do they vote because of what they hear from others the same way children form opinions from watching and listening to their parents and believing it is right and just?

It that is the case, which I think it is in a majority of people,  we would always see the proverbial snake in the grass.

The important thing today is to exercise your right to make a decision of some kind. It may not be for the best reasons, but we are lucky to be in a country where we are free to make a choice, even if is because you just like the man. Reagan received a lot of votes because people just liked him as a person. If that alone makes you get in your car and stand in a line to vote, then good for you.

Just please vote.

Sylvester Cat Soaky Bubble Bath Time

Foghorn Leghorn (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I was young I am pretty sure that the tv commercials were directed right at me. Now, you have to understand that we only had three channels on our tv set. Thank god we didn’t have QVC or Home Shopping Network then because I would have been grounded for using my mom’s credit card every other day. Well, if we had credit cards back then too. Shit, we didn’t have much back then.

First of all, Saturday morning cartoons rocked back in the 60′s. I got up early and watched them all morning. Well, before my mom shooed us outside to play. I loved Foghorn Leghorn. He was my hero. I would sit glued to the tv set all freaking morning, because the commercials were just as exciting for me. And when I first saw a commercial for Soaky Bubble Bath Time, I was beyond excited. I mean, you could take a bubble bath AND have a prize. The bottle was a cartoon character. This was unbelievable to me. I’m sure I was sitting there with my mouth open. This was an exciting time for this little skinny little seven year old.  The year was 1963……. and it was bath time.

Soaky Bubble Bath Time….Wow, what a great way to take a bath.  I had to have this. My mom, however, was never on board with anything at first. She came up with an excuse that as a seven year old I could not possibly understand.

“Vickie, I am not buying bubble bath soap………….it will not make you any cleaner…………..no it won’t…………no it won’t……………Vickie, there is so a bar of soap in the bath tub………………………….yes there is………………well, I’ll tell you what, let’s go and take a look…………………………..Ok, where did you hide the soap?”

Ha! I knew she was going to cause me some problems, so I hid the soap before we had this conversation. I was soaky bubble bath time smart. But, then she confused the hell out of me.

“Vickie, I am NOT buying you this so-called Soaky Soapy Bubbles.”  Ok, first of all, stupid mom, it was called Soaky Bubble Bath Time. But, I let her go this time, because she was not finished.

“The soap can give you an infection.”  What? Sitting in a bath tub can give you bronchitis? My mom was a loon. Oh, but once again, she was not finished. She saw the expression on my face and decided she needed to be more precise with her statement. “It can make your deet itch, Vickie.”

Ok, I have to tell you that I thought everyone in the world called their female private part a “deet.” That’s what my mom called it. When I was young I always had to make sure that I washed  “down there real good” when it was bathtime. And of course, I knew when I was quite young that that area was always last with the washcloth. And you know, well, that was always a great piece of advice. But, I didn’t want an itchy deet. But, was she lying? She lied to me a lot.

“Vickie, Dr. Parker said that bacteria in the water can make your deet itch…………………I realize that soap is not bacteria………When did Dr. Parker tell me this? A while ago………………yes, he did…………….yes, he did……….Vickie, I am not going to argue about this. I am not buying bubble bath. I can’t use bubble bath.

Why the hell would my mom use a Popeye Soaky Bubble bath bottle? She doesn’t even watch cartoons. She made no sense. And when she said “no,” that only meant one thing: ask Dad or Grandma.

So, the next time I stayed at my grandparent’s house was the first time I bathed with a Soaky Bubble Bath Time. I have no idea which cartoon character I took a bath with first, but I am thinking it was Elmer Fudd. But, I could be making that up. I can’t remember. Grandma Orpha always thought I was going to drown or she was cheap as shit because she only gave me about 1/2 inch of bath water. Well, it wasn’t up to my armpits like we had it at home every night. I poured in a cap of the bubble bath and played for a while. I loved going to my grandmother’s house. I asked her if I could take Elmer Fudd home to share with my brother and sister. Yeah, like I was really going to do that. Grandma said I could take it home with me. My mom was not amused.

“Vickie, it can’t make your deet itch right away.”

Ok, fruit loop, how long does it take? Well, it didn’t matter. It was already brought into the house and we used it that very same night. I still took a bath with my sister, so we had a good old time. We played  “Ethel and Mabel” most nights during bath time anyway, so adding bubbles to the mix made bath time so much more fun. We used up all of the washcloths and put soap in the middle of the washcloths and then would fold the cloth over the soap and then punch it to make the soap spurt out. What fun we had. We stayed in there until our fingers looked pruney. My mom didn’t care. She was able to sit and smoke a few cigarettes in peace while we were in the bath tub.

“Bath time isn’t quite the same without your cartoon buddies!”

So began our soapy bubble bath time. We bought them left and right. We had Mr. Magoo and Popeye, and Sylvester kitty cat. My dad even had a use for Sylvester. He had a huge flagpole in the backyard and somehow the finial blew away or just fell off of the top of the flagpole. So, what did he put up at the top of the flagpole for all the neighbors to see every day? You got it. Sylvester the cat’s head.

Yes, we Mendenhalls were high class, that’s for sure. But, what is for sure is that reports came out years later that bubble baths weren’t so good for girls and women…..and their deets. But, it was already too late. We went through a lot of bottles of Soaky Bubble Bath time soap without any “girl” problems.  My best friend, Ramaine, and I would even laugh and say, “deet de deet” and sing it to the Pink Panther theme song when we realized that no one else called it that. It was now our private little joke. Why the hell did my mom call it that?

     Just a few minutes ago, here in 2012, I private messaged Ramaine on facebook and asked her if she called her deet anything else when she was little. It’s so funny that I  can still ask her stuff out of the blue as bizarre as what we called our deets back in the 60′s and she immediately has an answer for me. I mean, when was the last time we talked about our deets?  When we were 13?  Her memory is so much better than mine. She reminded me about the “deet de deet” and that in her family they called it “cho cho.” I guess each family may call it different things, like how my mom called my little budding breasts, “mosquito bites.”

In the end, I am just glad I never went the bath salt route.  Because, we all know what happens when people use bath salts. An itchy deet would be the least of their problems.

My First Barbie

I was walking down the toy aisle at Walmart the other day, when I came upon something that stopped me dead in my tracks. I had to stare at this oddity, sitting on the shelf, staring at me, before I said aloud, and to myself,

“This is f*&$!#  up.”

I had to turn around quickly to make sure that there were no children in this aisle. I teach elementary school, for goodness sake. Teachers aren’t supposed to throw around the f-bomb in the toy department of their local Walmart. But, I just couldn’t believe what I saw.

What the hell happened to Barbie?

Now, I realize that it has been some years since I have played Barbie dolls with my daughter. She had twenty-one Barbies and had names for them all. Well, of course she would name them. You have to. It’s a rule. But, I remember a different Barbie than the ugly, bloated, botox-faced  doll that stood in front of me….in a box. I just wanted to tear into each of their packaging and tear their little heads off. Not because I am a loon, but because these were imposters. That’s not Barbie. These so-called dolls look like the dolls my daughter got for the $2 gift exchange in kindergarten. Imposter Barbies. Now the Barbies are copying off of the imposter Barbies. You are following me, right?  And I’m not talking about the clothing. The outfits Barbie wears are awesome. Whoever the designer is a Mattel should get a high-five. No, I’m talking about their faces, their bodies. The mold was broken somewhere along the way and replaced by some cheaply made Barbie body. A plastic deformation has taken place…It takes a lot for me to curse in the toy aisle at Walmart.

I had the very first Barbie doll. The first Barbie appeared in the stores in March 1959. I was just three years old. I don’t know if she bought it then, but I had it. I probably toddled around, clenching Barbie in one little hand and my Lassie stuffed dog in the other.

Notice the earrings. This will be important later

I don’t know why I am being so overprotective of Barbie in 2012, because I didn’t treat her so kindly back in the early sixties. I sort of feel bad for what I did to her.

As I got older, I really enjoyed playing with Trolls. Trolls were big from 1963-1965. Barbie sort of got shoved off to the side while my friends and I bought trolls and everything that came with them. Lee Ann was the first to have a troll house. What?? There’s a troll house? Dear God, I had to have one too. We would all get together and play with our trolls. We would comb their hair and have great conversations.

I mean, is this not the greatest thing you have ever seen? I was salivating when I was little when I saw Lee Ann open this case. I realized at this very moment that I would never play with Barbie dolls ever again.

Oh, but I did play with Barbie dolls again. Sort of.

We had a clothes chute that ran from inside my parent’s closet to the basement, right beside the washing machine. I’m thinking that was done on purpose. Anyway, one day when Ramaine and LeeAnn weren’t around, I played trolls with my sister.  It was time for…..

Barbie in Peril

Or something like that. We set up a troll make believe campfire made with a few of my brother’s Lincoln Logs near their troll house/cave. I had watched enough Tarzan movies to know that the jungle natives put people in pots to cook them. So, that’s what was going to happen to Barbie. She was going to be cooked by the trolls (jungle natives).

I don’t know how this happened. Trolls were always sweet little creatures that lived in a cave. But, when I didn’t get to play with Ramaine and LeeAnn and had to play with my little sister, I guess I was mad. And therefore, my trolls became mean. Mean enough to cook someone in a pot.

My sister put a piece of twine, which I think was really the dog’s leash, around Barbie, and lowered her down the clothes chute until she was over the campfire. We let her hang there for a while. I do remember her swinging back and forth for a few minutes. We made native noises like they did on Tarzan and then I did something absolutely horrible to Barbie. If my mom saw me do this, she would have taken me to a shrink a minute later. But, hey, we were playing human sacrifice and sometimes, just sometimes, Barbie had to be tortured.

I took the earring out of her ear and plunged the tiny needle point into her chest. Well, her breast. And then I put her in the campfire pot (mason jar.) Barbie was going to be dinner.

I sound like a little Jeffrey Dahmer in the making. It sounds like something stupid brothers would do. One one hand, I’d like to think that I was just really being creative. I mean, I looked through pictures of the National Geographic and watched Tarzan. I knew all about Ubangi’s and native jungle people. And on the other hand, I feel like, years later, I need to apologize for being a part of a tortuous duo. I’m pretty damn sure this was all my sister’s fault. But, I feel compelled to write an apology to my first Barbie doll.

Dear Barbie,

    I am sorry I stabbed you in the breast with one of your own earrings. I will never do it again.

                                                                           Love,

                                                                         Vickie

My mom gave my Barbie dolls away to our stupid church when I went away to college. They had been packed away since I was in junior high. She never asked me if I wanted them. I did. That first Barbie doll is pretty valuable now. But, some little church going snot got my Barbie doll.

I wonder what she thought when she took off her swim suit, only to discover that Barbie had pin holes in her breasts. What’s your Barbie doll worth now, huh?

Ok, I’m done ranting. But, you know, it’s like everything else. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Running in the Rain

When I was little, no one in the neighborhood had a swimming pool. If someone did, I would have known about it. No, we had to get our kicks the old fashioned way. And by old fashioned, I mean running through the sprinkler, or waiting for it to rain.

I just watched a rain come through and it made me smile. It’s not summer yet, but I remember longing for a summer rain when I was little.

It is weird, but I remember my sunsuit. Well, I don’t know what the hell it was really called. That’s what my mom called them. And I think I had a million of them.

Now, you have to understand that my dad did not give a shit about his yard. He couldn’t care less if it had a bed of dandelions springing up all through the yard. He wouldn’t care if there were bald spots from where we used our sleds in the winter. But, I think that there may have been a man code in the neighborhood. When one man put out his sprinkler, they all followed suit. And that’s when we ran for our sunsuits.

 photo Ben Mall via Pinterest

Now, sunsuits were different than bathing suits. Sunsuits were play clothes, made of a light cotton. Mine were tied at the shoulders, gathered at the waist and had elastic at the legs. It was a bathing suit, but not really.

This is pretty damn close, but mine always tied at the shoulders.

I wore my sunsuit when I played on the backyard swing set. But, you couldn’t get in the car wearing this. Oh, no, that would not be appropriate. I had to put on another outfit if I was going to leave the yard. That outfit had to stay in the yard. I guess I would have been labeled a tramp or something. Nowadays you can go to Walmart in your pajamas without anyone batting an eye, but back then, you couldn’t walk out of the yard in your bathing suit. No sir re Bob.

A couple of years ago, I stood in my doorway and watched a summer rain. And then I lost my mind and took off my watch and changed from my semi-nice sandals into my rubbery flip flops and went out side in the rain. Oh sure, I realize that people driving by  probably thought I had a couple of screws loose, but I lived near the Rails to Trails, so I just started walking. And smiling. It was really raining. I didn’t hear any thunder, so I thought my chances of getting struck by lightning were slim, so I walked on the trail, and since there were no other crazy people out there beside myself, I was able to giggle a bit at my spontaneous moment.

When the sun came out a little while later and I searched and found a rainbow, I came to the conclusion that  at 54, I had not grown up at all.

How lucky I am.

The Tape Recorder

Technology has come a long way since the sixties. We now have personal computers, cell phones, and video games. Our cell phones are also personal computers and video games. Our personal computers are also movie theaters and music venues. We have many choices. Back in the sixties, we had a tape recorder.

Oh, my, what a newly purchased tape recorder can do for a kid. A tape recorder, also known as a cassette tape, or compact cassette, was originally designed for dictation. Secretaries all over the world were now able to just push a button instead of sitting across from their boss, steno book and pencil in hand, furiously writing in shorthand. Life was good.

photos via wikipedia

Philips invented the compact audio cassette in 1962, and the first compact cassette, creatively called Compact Cassette, was available for purchase. By 1966, over 250,000 recorders had been sold in the U.S. alone. And guess who had one of them? That’s right, the Mendenhall family.

Now, you have to understand why I was salivating. We really didn’t have much in the way of new fangled technology of any kind. Pong wasn’t even invented yet for use on our television sets. I don’t know if we even shortened the word television to T.V. yet. Our telephones had cords on them, attached to the wall. Oh, yes, I was salivating.

I quickly learned how to use our new Compact Cassette. I believe I was about ten years old at the time. Fourth grade was a memorable time, and now, Dear God, I had a tape recorder.

 The excitement was just too much. My mom told me that I could play with it the next day, so I don’t think she was too happy that I woke her up so early.

“Mom, can I use the cassette recorder?”

“Vickie, it’s 6:00 in the morning. Go back to bed.”

Shit.

“Mom, can I use the cassette recorder now?”

“Vickie, stop it. It’s only 6:30.”

Stupid mom. Birds were up. I heard them chirping. Mom’s were supposed to be up early.

“Hey, Dad, can I use the cassette recorder? It’s 7:00.”

“Sure.”

Good Dad. Bad Mom.I was already dressed and ready. I don’t know why I had shoes on, but maybe I would run outside and let the world know that I recorded a message. I ran into the kitchen.There was a little plastic tri-pod that the microphone would sit on. I positioned it close to me. I remember that I was a nervous wreck I put the cassette in the player, and hit the record button. My first recording was thought provoking and highly imaginative.

“Testing. Testing, 1-2-3″…..giggle giggle giggle. Voila!! History was made.

I couldn’t wait to replay it and listen to my voice. I had never heard myself talk before. I looked at my mom, who was fumbling with the coffee pot and mumbling something about killing me.

“That doesn’t sound like me.” I sounded like a little girl. I mean, I was a little girl. I guess I wanted to sound, well, like a newscaster.

“That sounds exactly like you.” my mom replied. She lit her first of 88 cigarettes for the day. She sat in her housecoat at the table, waiting for her coffee to percolate. She wanted to try recording her voice. That pissed me off. I mean, shouldn’t she be in bed?

So, the rest of the Mendenhall family had to go and use MY cassette tape recorder for most of the morning. I went into the living room and watched Casper the Friendly Ghost on the television set. Actually, I have no idea what the hell I watched, but I did watch a cartoon, because our cartoons rocked back then.

Well, the unimaginative family members had their morning of fun with the newly purchased Cassette Recorder and went about their Saturday morning.business. I sat quietly, like a buzzard waiting for a groundhog to get hit by a car. I had plans for this tape recorder.

Oh, the fun I had. My first item on my tape recording agenda was to tape record sounds. I turned on the recorder and rang the doorbell. I slammed a door. I followed the dog around, trying to get him to bark. He wanted no part of me. I called my bff Ramaine and asked her to call me back so I could tape the telephone ringing. I taped anything and everything that I could make a sound out of . What a great weekend.

I had my bff, Ramaine, walk up later in the day. She was even more creative than I was. She would think of something we can use with the newly purchased Cassette Recorder. I do not remember how this was decided, but the next thing you know, we were singing the definition of ‘lima bean” into the tape recorder. I am sure no one else has ever done that before. Ever. We were highly imaginative. We then opened the dictionary again, pointing to a word and singing that definition, too. We laughed and laughed at our choice of leisure activity. She could sing. I, on the other hand, sounded like a drugged up back-up singer for Janis Joplin. Fun time with my bff.

Saturday evening was spy time. I put the recorder beside the couch. I realized that one side of the tape was only 30 minutes long, so I had to think of a way to push the button so my parents wouldn’t see me doing it. I was going to tape record things my parents talk about after we went to bed. What fun!

I waited until my mom went into the kitchen and talked loudly while playing with my dog so my dad wouldn’t hear me press the button. Success! I went to bed and could hardly sleep. I was so excited to spy on my parents. I began thinking bigger, like taping my teacher while we were at lunch. That may have been tricky, as we didn’t have back packs back then.

I woke up on Sunday morning, and ran to the living room. It was 6:00, so I was sure that the fam was still asleep. I re-wound the tape and waited, impatiently. This was going to be so much fun. I loved spying. I hit the play button. It was my mom’s voice. This was fantastic!!

“Vickie, the next time you try to tape record someone without letting them know about it, it would be a good idea to sneak back in the room and turn it off before it makes a loud noise turning itself off……You will have plenty of time trying to figure out how to do this while you are in your room. You are grounded.”

Shit.

Well, all in all, I had a blast with our newly purchased Cassette Recorder. I interviewed neighbors and friends, taped the sounds of grass cutting, and the Mr. Softie truck making his rounds through the neighborhood. I taped my sister having a temper tantrum. Life was good.

It’s the little things in life that make such a big memory.

And that’s one for the record books…or in this case, tape recorder.

Refrigerator Snobs

When I was little, I couldn’t wait to show my mom the A+ I received on any of my tests. I was proud, because I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. I attended a private school through 3rd. grade, and the nuns at Sacred Heart of Mary Mary Quite Contrary never sent home anything. The only thing I remember them doing was yelling and scrubbing gravel out of my knee. So, I never had many proud moments there to bring home for my parents.

So, when I was finally able to talk my parents into letting me go to Edgewood with my friends, I was shocked when I got my first Spelling paper back with a big A+ written on the top. It wasn’t just an A, mind you. They gave you an A+ in public schools if you did exceptionally well. I was awesome. So, I jumped off of the bus and ran into the house to show my mom and dad my first A+ (Technically. I am sure I was awesome at the Sacred Heart of Mary Juana, but no one let me know that there.)

Well, the first thing my mom did, as ALL moms did back then, was to put it in a place of importance so everyone, including Susie the dog, could marvel over my greatness: the refrigerator. Back then, everyone put papers and pictures and magnets on the refrigerator. That’s what we did. They say that the kitchen is the heart of the home. Well, the refrigerator is the brain. It is the main item where everyone gathers. It is where the food is. It is where my A+ in Spelling was hanging. Yes, the refrigerator was a trophy case in more than one way.

Fast forward many years. I got my own refrigerator and somehow, two children. Ok, I’m teasing about the last part, but I was ready to be a mom. And if you want to be a great mom and show your children that you love them, you hang their shit on the refrigerator. And I did. I remember my husband and I visiting some friends for the first time, and she didn’t have anything on the refrigerator. She had two boys. They were about the same age as my children. Where the hell is the baseball schedule or papers they colored in class? My God, you must be a terrible mother not to use your refrigerator as a trophy case. What the hell is wrong with you?

Well, then it began, like dominoes falling softly on the carpet. Everything changed. Sleek stainless steel refrigerators came into people’s lives and all of a sudden, the fashion was to not put anything on the refrigerator. Why, Martha Stewart, why, was this not acceptable any longer?  I would go to houses to visit and not see anything on the refrigerator. I know some  of these mom’s were decent mothers. I just couldn’t get past the idea that the refrigerator should be just that, a refrigerator, and not a message board. Oh, the humanity.

So, I tried to get on board. When I moved in October, I just stared at the new refrigerator. It was classy.

Moving day, October 2011. Shiny new refrigerator.

I decided that since my two children were grown and on their own, there was no reason I should put anything on the refrigerator anymore. Less is more and I wanted my kitchen to look like a grownup for once.  The refrigerator was not really the heart of my home. My dining room table and the little machine I type on all flippin day was the heart of my new home. I was going to keep it looking sleek, because that was how I was trying to roll to. Sleek. (She laughs while writing this.)

Well, that didn’t last too long. I hung a map of Manhattan on my refrigerator when I was moving in. My daughter is attending NYU for grad school and is living in Manhattan. I love NYC, so a map went up on my refrigerator. Notice the lovely “Kitchen Clip” holder thingy.

A map for the atlas geek

After a while, it felt like my kitchen had no pulse. Sure, it looked crisp and clean, and sleek, but it had no heart, no feeling. So, up went some more stuff.  I put postcards on the side of the refrigerator. My kids travel all over the damn place and have studied abroad. Being great kids, they send their momma postcards.

I have more postcards, and change them around from time to time. I do try to be a minimalist in my postcard hoarding. Well, then I got to thinking, “Why not put up the magnets I collect when I go somewhere?” So, on the other side of the refrigerator, I put up some “travel magnets.” I have a lizard from Cancun, an Empire State Building from NYC, and a Myrtle Beach magnet, among others, hidden from the viewing public. I think refrigerator magnets are cool.

 I guess I still wasn’t happy. The refrigerator showcased my children and my travels, but not me. And after all, I am pretty damn important. I live here alone. With a cat. I should show something that is pure Vickie. My fourth graders are always making pictures for me. I could show off that “awesome teacher” gushings by placing an accolade or two on my refrigerator. I found just the perfect one. I made it huge so you can see all of the wonderful detail. Yes, I am awesome.

So, this is what is on my sleek, shiny, new refrigerator. I’ve only been here since October, and my kitchen now feels like me.

So, in the end, if you want to be a good parent, you must use your refrigerator as a trophy case. If you don’t, well, I fear that your children will do poorly in school because you don’t show positive reinforcement by showcasing their accomplishments.

Just sayin. Don’t be a refrigerator snob.