A fever is sweeping the Glinda household.

No, really.

I don’t mean that as a euphemism. A fever really is sweeping through my household, cutting a swathe of whining, complaining, and tantrums.

And that’s just my husband.

Ba da BOOM.

Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all morning.

Last week’s poll regarding your favorite reading material came down heavily on the side of fiction, which 85% of you voted for.  I would have to say that I also love fiction, but if I really stop to think about it, between newspapers and various blogs, I probably actually read more non-fiction on a daily basis.

Here is my burning question of the day:

I attended my senior prom with my then-boyfriend, and let me tell you, it sucked.

At my small school, generally only seniors attended prom, and underclassmen were only able to go if they were asked by a senior at our brother school.  Why, I have no idea, but I sort of wish I had gone as a junior because then I might have thought twice about going as a senior.

I had a great dress, six couples shared the cost of a limo, we went to eat at an expensive restaurant before prom (even though we were technically being served a meal at the dance) and unbeknownst to me, my hair looked like hell.  I found this out later when we got our pictures back, and it probably would have ruined my night if I’d known.   Thank you, best friend, for not mentioning it because you knew I would obsess about it all night.

Anyhoo, I think I paid a total of $300 for everything, which included dress, shoes, boutonniere, fake nails, glitter hairspray, (hey, it was the 80′s) and my share of the limo. My parents paid for my dress, I paid for everything else.  My at-the-time boyfriend paid for the tickets, his tux, my corsage, and the dinner.  He probably paid close to $300 as well.

So, a total of around $600 bucks for a night we spent arguing and sitting miserably on a couch in the lobby of the hotel.

This is why it boggles my mind that anyone would pay upwards of a thousand dollars, or even close to two thousand, for one night in high school.

Trust me kids, in the long run, high school means nothing.

I don’t know if my son will still be homeschooled by the time he reaches prom age, but you can bet that I won’t be shelling out anywhere near that amount to send him there.

This toy is practically perfect.

It is beyond sturdy, (my 9 year old can ride on it quite violently and it holds up just fine) is low noise-producing, (unlike that damn cat piano my sister bought) and it promotes physical activity.

If you’ve got a 2-3 year old, look no further for your next toy purchase.  We got this as a gift for Christmas, and it is used a LOT, which is saying something for a two year old with a short attention span.

They only sell this at Toys R Us, so accept no substitutes.

I went to Tarjay recently and bought my daughter some sippy cups.  I needed new ones because although she loves the kind with the straws, she has chewed said straws down to the nub.  So I decided to just get the latest in technology ”unspillable” kind, especially as she has a penchant for dumping water all over the floor and my leather furniture.

The cups were on the lowest rung of the display, and one cup was orange and one cup was pink.  I definitely noticed animals on one cup, and only quickly glanced at the other one. Whatever, it was pink.  As long as both of them weren’t pink, I was good.

Until I got home and opened the package.

OK, ignore the purple cup. Do you see the graphics on the pink one? It’s got a purse, a makeup brush, a compact, and a mirror, among other things.

Am I wrong to think that this is just a bit too mature for a two year old?

I love makeup. I write a beauty blog. My daughter enjoys watching me put makeup on.

But it just seems wrong.

Amirite?

Before my surgery, I was given a folder with various directions on how to prep for the upcoming knife to the throat.  I say that literally.

Among the papers in the folder was an Advance Directive.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is basically instructions to the hospital on your wishes if you were to become incapacitated or gravely ill.

Trust me, it wasn’t a fun exercise.  I went over all the questions with my husband, asking him his preference on some of the items, such as if he would want to be the sole person who determined if I was go go off life support.  This was no walk in the park stuff, but something necessary and something I realized I should have filled out a very long time ago.

Of course the surgery and the thought of going under general anesthetic was enough to scare me into doing one, but who knows what will happen to us from day to day?

An advance directive should not be just the provenance of the elderly. One minute we can be perfectly fine and the next day we could be in a coma because someone hit us with their car.  It doesn’t always have to be a foreseeable event.

OK, enough of me being a downer.

Just go and do it.  Going somewhere like here can help, as each state has different rules regarding advanced directives.

Your family will thank you.

And if you don’t believe me, just go and see The Descendants.

First of all, make sure you’ve got one. This is a pretty handy checklist for those that aren’t sure.

The Munchkin is not 100% introverted, and there are actually probably very few who could be described that way.  But he falls just on the majority side of introverted, and that’s good enough for me.

First of all, know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being an introvert, even as our society rather absurdly celebrates the extroverted, who apparently are always ready to flip over tables and dance drunkenly on camera.

I try to keep his introvert tendencies in mind when we go places and not force him to do things he doesn’t want to do.  But, that doesn’t mean I will allow him to never have to address or speak to people, which I think is an important life skill.  Well, to do it politely and efficiently, anyway.

So a while ago when he wanted to purchase something with his own money, I made him go to the cash register and pay for it himself.  He freaked out.  I informed him that the people working at the store were nice people who were not going to bite his head off, in fact, quite the opposite.  He continued to freak.  We struck a bargain where I stood beside him the entire time, but he was the main contact with the employee.

It worked well, and since then he has somewhat overcome his fear of cash registers, and has no issues with paying for things by himself.

Wait until he learns I want him to join Toastmasters.

I would classify myself as someone who used to be more introverted, but somehow became extroverted.  First my Dad helped me out of my shell when I was young and too terrified to speak to adults I didn’t know well, and then my husband (a bona fide extrovert) pushed me over the edge into extrovert territory.  Or at least someone who is able to fool people into thinking I’m an extrovert. Pretty soon I was talking to anybody and everybody, and soon found myself able to easily conduct employee trainings for large groups of people with aplomb.

So I know the path my son walks, and I’m here to help guide him through it.  I don’t expect him to be an extrovert any time soon, but if I can get him to the point where he doesn’t freeze at the thought of talking to strangers (i.e. employees in a store) and can carry on a brief but interesting conversation with almost anybody, then I will consider my job to be done.

If he grows up and would rather stay home and read rather than go out clubbing, then I might just thank my lucky stars.

I was talking to a friend of mine who wa recently laid off her job of ten years. She spoke of some depression and anxiety, and she wants badly to climb out of the funk. However, losing her job was an unexpected blow to both her ego and her bank account.  She has two boys, seven and two years old.

She said that she had been talking to her mother-in-law and the MIL mentioned that she had noticed that my friend had changed since she had first met her.

“You know,” she mused, “You definitely became different after you had the kids.  You used to be so happy and carefree.”

Well I’m sorry, but what the hell is suprising enough about that to warrant a comment?

Who among us was not a fairly happy, carefree married/attached woman when things like children and mortgages weren’t in the picture?

It’s really easy to be lighhearted and the life of the party when you don’t have small leeches that suck the life out of you children.  Imagine being able to have some time to yourself to read a book, or have a guilt-free workout, or a glass of wine, or any of another million things that become harder when you have children under the age of five.

And I think the worst part of it is that even though the MIL truly wasn’t trying to be critical, I think that if my friend had maintained a devil-may-care attitude, people would have noticed and said that she obviously doesn’t take mothering all that seriously.

Motherhood, the land of no winning.

I promised, and here are my personal downsides to homeschooling.  Click here for the Top Ten Things I DO like.

10.  Oh, the weight of responsibility!  If he can’t get into an Ivy League, I’ve got no one to blame but me.  Kidding. Sorta.

9. Storing all of the various and sundry items needed to pursue school at home.  Had to purchase a small bookcase just for all the stuff.

8. I’m sure this is different for most people, but I personally dislike being a stern taskmaster.

7.  Which brings us to the fact that nine year old boys can be ah, a bit averse to learning. Let alone one who would never speak to a teacher the way he speaks to me when he doesn’t want to do something.

6. The fact that I am probably more critical of him to his face than a teacher would be.

5. Having to do school work when my toddler has pretty much tired me out for the day.

4.  Feeling like I have very little time to relax.

3. Having a gnawing feeling that I could be doing any or all of this better than I currently am.

2. Not being able to drop my kid off and have him be someone else’s problem for 6 1/2 hours a day.

1.  Trying to balance everything, and somehow coming up short.