Total weight loss: 5lbs
Total amount of Diet Coke consumed on daily basis in order to stave off eating: 2 cans
Total amount of chocolate consumed daily in secret in order to not count towards diet: 1 candy bar
Amount of money spent on exercise clothes in order to look good while ‘working out’: $75
Total time actually exercising: 20 minutes
Injuries incurred that might prevent future exercising: 1, heel pain due to soft-tissue inflammation

Discovering that you have reached the age where you can no longer just “get in shape” without doctor supervision and that losing weight may require actual dieting: Priceless.

Teachers do not teach because of the money. Honestly, by the time I pay for child care I think I clear about $200 a month and most of that is spent on dry erase markers and candy for my students. (Best gift for a teacher? Gift card at Office Depot). I really do teach because I love doing it. I love my subject, and I love my students. My students are full of life, potential, innocence, and an inability to imagine life’s obstacles. It is hard to not be optimistic about your own future when you are surrounded by that kind of energy. Plus, they are interesting people (for the most part) and many times they make me laugh (mainly at myself).

I teach because today I received my student evaluations from the fall and some of the comments I received said things like; “She makes me want to do my best work”, “Her enthusiasm for English actually made me like it”, “She really makes things clear and I feel like I learned a lot”. (They also said things like “She’s too hard” and “I wish she gave study guides”) THAT is my pay. THAT is why I teach. I teach in the hopes that one person will walk away knowing how to communicate their ideas a bit clearer than they did before. I hope that one student will look back and say “I read Emily Dickinson in college and really liked her”, or perhaps, shockingly someone might actually say “I never liked Shakespeare until I read Othello in my freshman English class”.

When I look back on my education I can point to a handful of English teachers that influenced my writing, my reading and who I am as a teacher. I’d like to just honor them for a moment:

• Ms. Cook, Brighton High School — she was very enthusiastic and somehow made diagramming sentences seem like a good time.
• Mrs. Morrisson, Brighton High School — she never was embarrassed to share things from her own life and that made what we were reading seem more interesting (including her story about seeing a UFO).
• Mrs. Rafferty, Brighton High School — she introduced me to Jane Austen, Shaw, Tennyson, Shelley, Keats, Bronte. It makes me cry thinking of the beautiful language that she showed me and that inspired me to dedicate the rest of my education to studying it.
• Artie Johnson, Western Michigan University — he gave me the confidence to write
• Martin Schictmann, Eastern Michigan University — he showed me how relevant and current Chaucer, Beowulf and King Arthur can be in relation to The Simpsons. Hey, a fart joke is funny whether or not it is coming from Chaucer or Bart Simpson.

These moments when students acknowledge your hard work, and praise you for inspiring them is better than any paycheck. It is what teachers live for. Please Internet, I beg of you, take a moment over the next couple of weeks and thank the teachers that made a difference in your life. At the end of the day that is truly the only pay they receive.

At approximately 25 years of age the “Martha Stewart” gene seems to activate within women. Women who normally partied until the break of dawn, and cared less whether or not they wore a bra, suddenly discover their domestic side. As I recall, this transformation began with me when I took a quilting class at age 26. Where was the cute, college, coed who liked to stay up late playing poker with the boys? Apparently she disappeared, (along with my metabolism that allowed me to eat as much fast food as I desired).

Unfortunately that is only the beginning. It is at this moment that we begin to be aware of the social and familial expectations of us as women. OH LORD ABOVE that list is long. If we marry and have kids that list can include everything from being the religious beacon of truth for the entire family to being able to host a formal sit down dinner for twelve. We become THE Wonder Woman of our own lives. And like Wonder Woman, with her red, white and blue spandex suit, we all could use a good utility belt. Here is mine:

• BABY WIPES: I don’t care if you have children or not this little package of wetness is a key to any woman’s survival. Spill something? You can wipe it up. Dirty hands? clean them. Unidentified object on public toilet seat? No worries. With their compact size and versatility no woman should be without them.

• ADDRESS BOOK: Inside this book you should have the following phone numbers:

1. An Ob/Gyn whom you trust with your life, your vagina and your most trusted sexual secrets
2. Two best friends whom you can call to complain about your husband, your children or your parents and won’t judge you or the people you are complaining about.
3. A good babysitter that your children love and who loves your children
4. Pizza Hut or other favorite take out facility
5. A good hairstylist who no matter how bad you may feel always makes you feel beautiful.

• A RECIPE FOR DESSERT AND DINNER: That’s right, even women who don’t cook should have one easy and mastered recipe at the ready for a dessert and a main course. My personal selections are “Chocolate Eclair Cake” and “Pepper-Crusted Salmon”. They both sound fancy but are so easy my 4 year old could make them.

• A GOOD PAIR OF JEANS: As simple as this sounds it has taken me almost my entire 38 years of life to find a brand, style and size of jeans that fits me consistently. However, a good pair of jeans can be a life-saver. Wear them with heels and you are ready to go out. Toss them on with a t-shirt and flip-flops and you’re ready for the mall. They are the most universal item of clothing in your closet and no Wonder Woman would be complete without them.

• A GOOD BRA: This is also essential to any Wonder Woman wardrobe. Where would Linda Carter be without her multi-colored corset? She sure as heck wouldn’t be Wonder Woman and neither will you. This bra is neither lacy nor meant to be seen by others. This is a bra that will lift the two largest fat deposits on your body and prevent them from causing you to sweat in strange places, or scratch even stranger places.

• EMOTIONAL ARMOR: Perhaps Linda Carter could actually repel bullets with her breastplate but we real Wonder Women need to be able to repel the emotional bullets flung at ourselves and our children. Every morning you should be prepared to protect and fight for those things most important to you and not caring what others think about you is a critical component to achieving this goal. Trust me, if Wonder Woman really cared what other people thought she wouldn’t be wearing thigh-high red boots.

Most importantly as we transform from girls to women, women to wives, wives to mothers, remember the Wonder Women who came before us. The courageous, brave women who struggled with the same balancing act we all face. So girls, lace up those boots, and strap on that utility belt it is time to lead the charge.

Special thanks to Scribbit for the topic idea. Wish me luck as I enter this post for her monthly “Write-Away” contest.

I’ve always been tight with money. I’ve never felt the need to own ANYTHING. I am ecstatic when I get something on sale or if I can just “do without”. My needs are small, few and usually inexpensive. David, on the other hand, has a passion for life that requires him to own every cool “toy” at least once before he dies. Although it seems we are working at opposing ends it has served us both well. I prevent him from spending all his money and he forces me to enjoy the “fruits of our labor”. Recently, the conversation in our house has sounded something like this:

David: I REALLY want a jet ski
Me: I REALLY think we should save that money
David: But, I REALLY want a jet ski and it will complete me as a human
Me: I REALLY think we shouldn’t spend our money
David: Think of how much fun it will be?
Me: Think of how nice it will be to not worry about if we have money
David: OH C’mon

Fast forward three years later and we are having the same conversation until finally during a moment of desperation for peace and harmony in my house I hear these words come out of my mouth; “BUY THE JET SKI AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!” (Surprisingly, this is how the kids get what they want too.) So, David bought a Jet Ski on Thursday and we took it to the lake for 4th of July.

Well, I must concede (as I did with the motorcycle) that the Jet Ski is in fact wonderful and we did have a supremely grand time at the lake. Unlike previous visits Lucy swam the entire time in the lake — UNASSISTED! She even climbed aboard the Jet Ski and declared, “Go FAST Daddy! Go Fast!” Max even swam and pointed out every dragonfly with an excited “dagonfie”. We ignited $500 worth of fireworks for the strangest holiday tradition ever invented. And after the singing of the “Star-Spangled Banner” and “God Bless America” we ate watermelon off of the rind and spit out the seeds. I’m not sure we could have had a more All-American 4th of July if Dick Clark had attended.

I now sit here basking in the glory of sun-tanned, exhausted and dirty children. I think David put it best when he said “We’re not buying a Jet Ski babe, we’re making memories.” Indeed.

As we start this holiday season I thought we could take a moment and appreciate something very American — toys made in Asia. I’m not passing judgment, but I suspect by the instructions on the back of this box that just perhaps this was not manufactured in the US. Happy 4th of July y’all!

I missed Father’s Day this year because I was busy. (That whole miscarriage thing can really put a dent in your holiday plans). I have not forgotten my dear ole’ pop and I wanted to acknowledge and be thankful for the person my father is. So Dad, Happy Father’s Day.

1.) Humor. My Dad is REALLY funny. He definitely leans more towards “dorky-dad-humor”. You know those puns and jokes that leave most people groaning, but it doesn’t matter because he thinks they are hilarious. My dad has this great laugh, that starts at his toes and comes out as an unabashed roaring “HA” that nobody can ignore within a tri-state area. There are days when I wish we lived closer and on those days that is what I miss most.

2.) He’s smart. My dad is an avid reader and I am grateful everyday that this is a quality that I inherited from him. He’s naturally curious and has always encouraged us to find our own answers to life’s questions. He is a critical thinker, and has always wanted his children to question everything and everyone. Unfortunately this quality has come at the sacrifice of his common sense and lack of social awareness. My father has an ability to be completely socially inappropriate and say the absolute wrong thing at the wrong time. So, if he has offended you I say “I’m sorry” he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

3.) He doesn’t know that he has daughters. I think the best gift my father gave me was not recognizing that girls were different than boys (outside of trash responsibilities which he never made my sister and I do). If I had told my father that I wanted to join the Army, be an astronaut or become President of the United States he was supportive. It never dawned on him that perhaps my opportunities or potential might be limited by my sex and if this social idea was even mentioned he found the whole thing to be “rubbish”.

4.) He honored my mother. Women marry men like their fathers and my father always showed my mother respect, care and love. Of course he also did the normal father things of leaving his shoes on the floor, crumbs on the counter after making a sandwich, watching the TV too loud and spending hours at a time sitting in a room with my mother and not talking to her. BUT, he loved her.

5.) He was patient. Okay, for those who know my father you are going to find this last little bit shocking. Indeed my father is known for screaming like a banshee at his inability to find the salt shaker. On several occasions my mother has had to physically restrain him from starting a fist fight over a parking space at the mall. I’ve seen him lose complete composure because the phone is ringing and he cannot find the “talk” button, and I have yet to go to a fast food restaurant where the food came fast enough. BUT, when it comes to the really, really important things my father has infinite patience. My father seemed to be very good at giving us the space to make our own decisions, to not always jump in and fix things.

Most of all I’m grateful that at 37 I still think my dad is pretty awesome. I still find him to be one of the most interesting people I know and when I find myself struggling with a decision he still gives me the best advice. He has been and always will be my toughest editor and I fully expect that after reading this he will have some advice on how I could have made this less wordy.

It was when I worked as an Assistant Director in the dorms during my junior year in college, that I experienced death for the first time.

I had just checked into duty on Sunday morning and was sitting at my desk digging my way out of a pile of maintenance requests. Not an exotic job, but hey, somebody has to fix the toilets. The front-desk clerk came running into my office and exclaimed “somebody has killed themselves!” The words hung in the air like a cartoon bubble before I jumped up from my desk and flew downstairs to the room in question. I didn’t open the door. I never got the chance. Her roommates were curled in the fetal position, hovering against the wall and each other. They looked as if the Earth had fallen off its axis and if they didn’t cling to each other and that wall they would slide to one end of the hallway. The other students lingered in the hallway looking for somebody, anybody to take charge. The gray, metal door stood there; closed, locked and silent. Nobody needed to open it because we all knew what was behind the door.

What was behind that door was a 19 year old blond college girl who had hung herself from her loft bed in her dorm room. I sat in the Director’s office in silence as the Dean called her mother to tell her that her daughter was dead. I heard the cries of despair and torment. Three days later I stood at her funeral. Four days later I stood in her dorm room and packed up her stuff. A half-finished Diet Coke can, textbooks haphazardly tossed on the ground, dirty laundry that hadn’t gotten finished. The irony to this situation was that she had attended a high-school in the town next to mine. She lived only two stories away from me for two years. Yet, it took her death for us to meet.

I learned something really important about suicide that day – it’s selfish. You see, she hadn’t thought of her parents, or friends, or complete strangers that might still be thinking about her 18 years later. She hadn’t thought about the gut-wrenching discovery her roommates faced when they came back to school that weekend, or the fact that they had to drop out of school because of it. She didn’t realize that the pain she was experiencing had been felt by so many before her. She only thought about her own emotional pain in the moment.

This post was inspired by Post Secret. Frank has asked that if possible we promote Hopeline, a 24-hr suicide line, 1 (800) Suicide, and I am more than willing to do it.

I wish I could tell you that the story is fiction, but it is not. Her name was Colleen and I still think about her. I graduated, but we left Colleen behind.

One of the tell-tale signs that you have found yourself in the pit of summer is the endless stream of reruns and brainless shows that can be found on TV. Well, don’t despair gentle audience for I have discovered an oasis of entertainment within the blighted landscape of summer TV. If you have not discovered the light and funny “My Boys” on TBS well then, let me introduce you. This comedy is based on a 30-something young woman named PJ, who is a sports-journalist writing about baseball in Chicago. PJ is a younger, cooler version of myself (or at least I like to think so). She is surrounded by her poker-playing guy friends and brother (played by the crazy-funny Jim Gaffigan) and they seem to insulate her from dating. She is a tom-boy to beat all tom-boys but also sweet, tender and funny. The best part of the show is her narrative of the world around her, her analogies to sports and her relationship with her brother. (Jim Gaffigan’s running commentary on suburban living is hilarious). The show airs on Thursday nights at 8:30 central – I invite you to watch.