Earning an F

The other day Chris wrote at Notes from the Trenches about little ways she fails her kids. This morning, I'm really feeling like I'm failing mine -- Charlie especially -- in big ways.

I got an e-mail from Charlie's teacher yesterday that he'd had missing assignments two days in a row. I wasn't aware there was homework he didn't do because I didn't check his assignment notebook. I asked him if he finished his homework. He said yes.

Now, I knew in my mind that I needed to double check. To have him show me the work. But I took him at his word because I was too tired (read: lazy) to check. When I looked at his assignment notebook this morning (yes, about 12 hours too late), I saw that he has two tests today. I asked if he studied for them at after care yesterday. I got a blank stare in return.

He didn't even bring his reading book home, so he's on his own for that test. We went over the spelling words several times. As we were doing so, I realized this was the first time that I've seen the list all week.

I reached into his backpack and came up with handfuls of old crumpled papers. His desk at school is the same way. And why wouldn't they be? That's the way I am. Every time a teacher writes in a report card that one of my children needs to be more organized, it's a personal conviction against my character because they are not learning organization at home.

I feel like I'm failing him because I haven't been able to make him see that school is his most important job, probably because by my inattention, I'm giving him the message that it's not.

It goes beyond school. He wanted a short-sleeve shirt to wear today, but I haven't washed them. He's gone for two weeks without his medication because I lost the Rx. (See above re: organization. Found the Rx last night.) He and Robbie are taking their lunches wrapped in enough foil to tune in the TV on the international space station because I'm out of Ziploc bags. And the contents of their lunch are lean because our pantry and fridge are void of most things beside condiments.

Oh, and to add insult to injury, I just realized that he is singing in the choir at church this morning -- Mass started 20 minutes ago -- and I'm not there. If I wasn't trying to keep this a rated PG blog, I'd spew a string of expletives right here.

This is definitely one of those mornings where I'm ready to move to a hillside in Kentucky.

Not sure what to get Mom for Mother's Day?

How about a new kitchen?

Check it out here: HH Gregg-It's All About Mom

But hurry...deadline is TODAY!

Tweet me up, baby

+ + =

Ok, I am serious about wanting to go to the Biggest Loser finale and live Tweet/blog from there. I try not to get too whiny here about asking for favors, but today I am asking. If you Twitter, PUH-LEEZE tweet this:

@JillianMichaels @nbc @Ali_Sweeney send @4thfrog to live tweet/blog the Biggest Loser finale http://4thfrog.blogspot.com

If you already follow me on Twitter 1) thank you! and 2) you can RT the message above that I just posted.

Finally, if you are on Twitter, leave your Twitter name in the comment section so I can follow you too.

UPDATED to add: If you don't Twitter, but you do blog, I would kiss you if you blogged about my Twitter request. This is totally a long shot, but it would demonstrate the power of social media...or wishful thinking.

Biggest Loser: Who will you vote for?

It's down to the wire for Season 7 of the Biggest Loser. Tara, Helen, Mike and Ron are the last four contestants in the competition. Everyone headed home for 30 days, knowing that they would go back to the ranch for one last weigh in before the finale.

Much of the first half of the show focused on the homecomings. I couldn't help but feel bad for Shanon, Helen's daughter, and Max, Mike's brother. Tara was positively glowing.

Being at home was a struggle for all of the contestants. Mike's admission about closet eating hit home with me. Eat it before you get home so no one knows you've eaten. Yep. Been there, done that.

Helen said she knew there was a beautiful person inside of her. That's part of my problem. I don't have a vision of the skinny me inside. In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't believe it's possible.

Ron's guilt over setting a bad example for his kids, well, let's just say that might be the first thing Ron and I have ever agreed on.

Finally, Tara spoke of never living life to the fullest when she was heavy because she was so self-conscious. I refer to it as "living on the surface of life."

The Challenge
While they were home, the four were informed that their final Biggest Loser challenge would be to complete a marathon -- 26.2 miles. This was by far the most inspirational challenge I've seen on any season of this show.

It was cool to see Tara finish the course strong. It was uplifting to see Helen finish in under six hours. I was glad to see Mike persevere despite being unable to run the marathon due to a hip injury. Having past Biggest Losers (Ali and Michelle) and past at-home winners (Jay, Heba, Jim) was a great addition.

But I will readily admit that I had tears in my eyes to see Ron -- who either sat out of or quit most of the season's challenges -- walk the entire 26.2 miles. It took him 13 hours to do it, but Ron freakin' finished a marathon! I still think you might have ties to the Mafia, Ron, but tonight, you are da man, dude.

The Weigh-In
After the marathon, the weigh-in was almost anti-climatic. Mike, Ron & Tara each lost 10 pounds in their 30 days at home. Helen lost 7 pounds. Based on total percentage of weight loss, Tara and Helen are definitely finalists.

The Vote
America gets to vote between Ron and Mike to determine the 3rd finalist. I think my vote is with Mike, mostly because I think he deserves it and because he can give Tara and Helen the best run for the money and the title.

Voting will take place between now and tomorrow night at 10pm. To vote for Mike, call 1-866-613-0002. To vote for Ron, call 1-866-613-0001.

The Biggest Idea
I would love to be live blogging in the audience at the finale. Who thinks it would be a great idea? Twitter that to @Ali_Sweeney, @JillianMichaels and @nbc!

Mean girl

I have a confession to make. I'm kind of a mean girl. Yes, really. Me. I know you're all probably shocked. But I am.

Now, if you were to meet me at a dinner party, I'd be very nice to you. I'm only mean to you if I already know you and love you. And I'm not mean in a horrible, witchy, backstabbing kind of way. But in a "wouldn't it be funny if..." sort of way.

I already told you about the joke I played on a co-worker, which sort of falls into the "mean" (but funny) category.

This is not really a new trait. When I was about seven years old or so, we lived in a house that had a laundry chute from my parents' closet down to a closet on the first floor. I told my sister Shelley to stand under the chute and wait for a surprise. Being only four years old, she did. Which is when I squirted shaving cream down the laundry chute and on to her head.

A few years later -- different house, different sister, I told my sister Angie that there was a puppy stuck in the shower drain. She, too, was probably about four years old, which would have made me 12ish. I took her in my parents bathroom and begged her to help me get the puppy out of the drain.

"I don't see a puppy," she said.

"Oh no! It's way down there," I explained. "You have to get down and look really close."

So she got in the shower, fully clothed, down on her hands and knees, and put her eye right up against the drain. That's when I turned the shower on.

Horrible, isn't it? But I was young then.

Not sure what my excuse was tonight.

Annie was in the shower, singing away. I told her to wrap it up -- the girl takes showers long enough to fillibuster the Senate for a week. She insisted she'd just gotten in.

Oh, I just couldn't resist. I knew she'd be mad, but I decided it was worth it.

I went to my bathroom and filled up a 32-ounce cup with cold water. Then I tiptoed back to the kids' bathroom (well, Annie's bathroom, since she's taken it over), climbed up on the toilet and dumped the cold water over the shower curtain and onto my unsuspecting daughter!

Awful aren't I? (tee hee hee!)

Porcine paranoia

I'm trying not to get all freaked out about this swine flu business, but I have to say I'm losing my own fight.

Earlier in the week, I reminded my kids that the best way we can avoid the swine flu is to wash, wash, wash our hands. I work in a building with a community health center on the first floor and welfare offices on the second floor, so I've been taking the stairs to my third floor office when I can and washing my hands ASAP on the occasions I've ridden the elevator.

But yesterday, they announced that two elementary schools here will be closed for at least a week due to confirmed cases of swine flu. Then I started to get a little more nervous. I have friends whose kids go to one of the schools. It's in the same township as my own kids' school.

Tonight at church, Fr. Scott announced that we would not be holding hands during the Our Father and would be exchanging verbal greetings, not handshakes, at the sign of peace. I looked around and was suddenly glad that we'd chosen to go to 5:30pm Mass -- not only because we get to sleep in, but because fewer people attend that Mass than the Sunday morning services.

When it was time for Communion, all the communion distributors came out from behind the sanctuary obviously rubbing hand sanitizer into their hands. Maybe they've always done that, but tonight I noticed it. Then I leaned over to my kids and told them not to take the wine. I thought it might be paranoia, but when I saw at least two church members who are doctors skip the wine too, I felt vindicated. Frankly, I'm surprised that they still offered the wine at communion.

I'd already promised the kids we would have Fazoli's for dinner after church. But all the talk (and thought) about pandemic at church made me a little hesitant. Still, it was already almost 7pm and we were all hungry. So I compromised and did the Fazoli's drive-thru. That way we could at least avoid the germs that might be lurking on the tables, booths and the self-service pop machines.

I haven't bought face masks (no need to -- I have them left over from the post-911 emergency kit) and I'm not barricading the kids in the house (yet), but I am trying to be prudent.

Anyone else got swine flu on the brain?

Crossing the color line

When I was in my 20's, I had ideas for how my life was going to work and generally didn't have any trouble sharing my life's expectations with family, friends and co-workers. One of the things I was adamant about was that, when the time came, I would gray gracefully. I would not fall into the vanity of coloring my hair.

That coming from a 20-something is like a single woman declaring "When I have children, they will not run around the grocery store like heathens, they will be perfectly behaved in restaurants, and they will never talk back to me." Lofty goals, unlikely reality.

Sometime in my early 30s, I started coloring a bit just for the fun of going auburn or experimenting with blondish highlights. It really wasn't about hiding anything.

Now 18 years and 3 children after my bold declaration about graying, the hormones, the years, and the stress from both of those things have done a number on my hair. On the top, the strands of gray are becoming more prevalent. Why is that the gray hairs are the crazy-whack-funky ones that stand straight up or kink in four different directions?

I'll admit to having colored my hair on several occasions for the purpose of preserving my youth. Usually the color came from a box. Sometimes from a salon. But for the past four or five months, I've been going back to that "gray gracefully" theory. I work in a place that's all about positive aging, for crying out loud. So shouldn't I embrace my age instead of try to cover it up?

Well...that sounds good. However, the fact of the matter is that we're not talking about a few straggly grays in the crown of my head. Nope. The sides of my head are almost completely white. It's most noticeable when I wear my sunglasses like a headband (frequently) or when I tuck my hair behind my ears (almost always). Mike said I look like Paulie Walnuts from the Sopranos:

We talk a lot at work about successful aging. And I think that perhaps that means growing old on your own terms, aging in a way that you are comfortable with.

If that's an accurate definition, then I plan to be incredibly successful tomorrow with a box of Clairol Natural Instincts #20 Hazelnut.