Friday, November 6, 2009

Counsel This

I don't think my counseling skills are at the level they should be. Anger management should not include folding your unfoldable glasses when you're just a little mad at your parents.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Think About It

There's something to this special ed way of playing TicTacToe. I'm thinking that I might like to play this version. Not sure why I like it, but I do. Anyway the students in room 105 like it this way. A lot.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

No Excuses

I have no excuses for not posting, 'cept the new job, and the wild clients, and my OCD son not adjusting to school, and a daughter who has entered junior high, and middle school students who write my name on the lunch tables(don't ask), and....and.....well, you know.

So, in the words of one of my colleagues, I may enter the world of Professional Bummism. I tried it out for fit at a recent Pittsburgh Pirate game. What do you think?
(Can you believe that people leave this shit in the parking lot???Can you imagine what that seat was like? Yeah, I thought of it well after I sat myself down in this chair.)

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


This is Alex. He is my special needs neighbor, and he and I have a lot in common. First of all, he loves to play games. My kids won't play games with me, so I have to borrow Alex, and he'll play Uno til you can Uno no more.

We also have "sportin" clothes in common. Alex always beats me in the sock department.

And, then there's this.....we have this in common too.

"Alex, I understand, really I do, but you have to resist, and put the gun down. It gets easier; I promise. Pretty soon the urge will almost be non-existent."
I love Alex.

Still not working for me.....

In our house, my children have carried on a horrible habit of falling asleep well after Hubby and I do. When they were younger they would stay in bed and watch TV, and now that they're older, they seem to come to our bedroom quite often between the time that Hubby and I go to bed and they fall asleep, which could be a difference of two hours.
Problem starts with gettin'g busy. We can't not find the time to get down, have fun, you know what I mean. If you don't have children you may not understand the inability to really enjoy yourself when you not sure if a child will come barrelling through your bedroom door.
Because one of our children is 8, and he still gets scared, we have an open door policy, unfortunately that seems to continue even if our door is closed for the few times that it is, and it's not like you can say, "Hey kids, tonite's the nite we're getting down, so keep out!" That's just freaky. To solve the problem, my husband put a lock on our door so when it is closed, for the five minutes we spare ourselves, no one will come in the room, interrupting us.
This worked well until recently, while when were in the midst of gettin' busy, I hear "p-ting, 'yes'!" This was coming from my son's room. Now it's his dad that should be saying, "Yes" or me or whoever is having the most fun at that moment, but it's not, it's coming from this little eight year old at 11:00 at nite in the next room.
Stifling my laughs, I try to get through our business, because all focus is now lost. When we're done and the bolt unlocked, I go into my son's room to find him lying on his back in his bed, shooting popcorn kernels straight up in the air, ricocheting them off the ceiling into a bowl on the floor.
Now I must admit that this takes talent. That this is what we've been waiting for, for him to entertain himself. For him to stay out of our bedroom. But I can't. I just can't get busy when there is a loud game of Popcorn Kernel Ball in the next room.
Plan B....MMMM....wonder if the third floor has a lock?

Sunday, August 30, 2009


To the gods of the CornHole and Pass the Pigs World, I am truly sorry. I beg your forgiveness. I now know that I was in error in my previous post, stating that you were deplorable, bumpkin games. I'm sorry for the following reasons. Do you see the picture above? Can you imagine the evening I had playing croquet looking very similar to the posted picture? Could I ever be forgiven for wanting my children to wear white shorts and navy collared shirts and give up Corn Hole and Pass the Pigs in order to play the above mentioned game? Alas, no.

I was thrilled, when at a recent family gathering, someone pulled out the Croquet game. I had not played the game since I was 15 years old. That's a lot of years. That's 24 years ago, and in all that time, my memory had forgotten the game, the pace and the rules. Not to fear, we had the rule Nazis with me!
You must understand my family. We provide a vast array of fun for all, and last nite was my time spent with the Hiram and Wellsely graduates. Me, humble sport that I am, graduated from a mere state school, and some of my family does not hesitate to remind me of this, but with pride I hold my head high.
The process began with one person setting the wickets up with a tape measure, then eyeing their line up then resetting the wickets and remeasuring.Lawsy Mercy.
The next step came with my young niece arguing incessantly with a much older family member, who has played longer than my niece has been breathing air. First she argued that one can accumulate strokes during the turn. Secondly she argued that one can not "send" another's ball. After carrying on for several minutes, she then realized that she was recalling the "British" rules. Are you serious? British rules? Dear stars in heaven.

Next came the discussions of Civil War theories (yes, I bet you didn't realize there are "theories" about that war, stick with me kids, you learn you something.....that is after I learn me something first) and then came talks of research and professors who "don't know what they're talking about" in all of their 60 years of life. Schnikes. Whatev. All this while others were measuring just how far the ball did make it through the wicket and wondering if it should count when there was still 1/8 " remaining of the ball lying under the wire wicket.
And so it went...needless to say, I lost, and I came to the conclusion that my children can play Corn Hole just as much as they please.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Hot For Principal

My husband never thought that he wanted me to be a principal, but now that I have recently obtained the position and school has started, he has a whole new fantasy. He's hot for principal. Now that just makes me hot for Curriculum Director, which is his title, but somehow that just doesn't sound so, well, hot.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Play Therapy

I'm asking myself this question as play therapy went awry yesterday.
Session I
Playing with a doll house and a ten year old client, trying to create scenarios which will enable her to form healthy opinions of family and relationships ended up with her yelling at the "males" in the house, forcing me to discipline them. Then the males broke the females' dolls and ruined their bedroom.
Now I know that this scenario may not be far from the truth, but the more that I tried to encourage her to play nice, the worse she made the males roles. By the end of the session, the males, who were to be the little brothers, were running away and a newscast came over the TV with a story about how these little males hit an old lady and stole her purse.
We put the doll house away and ended the session.
Session II
While doing therapy with an 8 year old, we decided to jump on the trampoline and build her self confidence and trust. Unfortunately, her wiener dog would not leaves us alone and yelped to be on the trampoline. We obliged and brought him on with us only to find that the client jumped real high, on purpose, sending a rippling effect to the extent of sending the wiener's dog ass into the air while his front paws stayed firm on the trampoline. Over and over and over.
Let's hope that my administrative skills are better at school than my therapy skills with clients.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Ahhhh..Teenager Musings

I just love my daughter's relatioship with her father. This is the text that he received from her today while she was at soccer camp, and he was at work.
Details later= Jayne wore tied dyed shorts, so if she leaked it wouldn't show. Guess what? She leaked.
News of the day.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


This is Gunnar.
This is Gunnar drowning.(not really)
This is Gunnar representing me.
School starts tomorrow, and I'm already feeling like this for several reasons.
  1. If you're making me the middle school administrator, do you want to let me know that my head teacher quit this week?
  2. Is it possible to get book shelves? There are a FEW books which need homes. Not like we're a school or anything.
  3. Now is not the time to be painting classrooms. Just in case you were wondering.
  4. Now is also not the time to be switching classrooms among teachers. Talk about confusing a special ed. kid.
  5. Lexapro has not kicked in yet.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Hoodlums and Bumpkins

This is the neighborhood. These are my kids and then some. I want to pretend that they are playing croquet in their white shorts and navy collared shirts. I want them to breaking soon for tea and crumpets. BUT they're not.
They're playing Cornhole. I never heard of Cornhole before this summer. I also never heard of .....

WTF is a dice game made of pigs? I mean what kind of place do I live in where kids are playing with a beanbag and tossing it into one hole? What is the fascination with throwing little plastic pigs around the table?
Hoodlums, I say. Backward little Northwestern PA children.

Worse yet, they don't only play with these podunk games but they expose themselves. Yep, you heard it right.
This little girl was flashing her puppies to me until she remembered that mama has a blog, and mama spares nothing.

This little guy doesn't care that mama has a blog. He doesn't care that the whole world is seeing his bum.
That's enough. I'm driving to Ralph Lauren and loading them up with a new image. Then I'm hiring a private tennis coach and buying private golf lessons.
Stay tuned for more.....

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Paula Dean, Move Over

It's Calamari. I won't make you guess.
I thought that it could possibly, maybe, by a far reach, make a tasty breakfast.
You see, in typical Kendra fashion, I was out of milk, and I was out of bread, and I was out of Toaster Scrambles and quite frankly, I did not want to drive to the grocery, so I presented this.
I know have milk and bread and Toaster Scrambles, and this..... still in the fridge.

Saturday, August 15, 2009


Babies. I think my family is working in cohorts with one another. If it's not this little visiting, most adorable, perfectly smelling, soft as ...well...a baby's bottom, angelic eyed baby boy........

it's this most adorable, perfectly smelling, soft as .......okay, you can surely get my point, baby boy.

My family would love another child. Yet, there is a predicament as my hubby is nearing 43, and I am nearing 40. I know that I continue to drop eggs monthly as the pain routinely makes its way into my back, but I think it's with multiple gifts that my ovaries supply my empty uterus, and it's not multiples that I would be wanting.

AND, I think that my uterus likes being empty. I like it being empty. I like sleeping at night. I like tipping back grandpa's concoction of white lightning. I like being able to visit at picnics and not run around like a sweating maniac after toddlers.

But, oh my stars, these babies melt my heart. Those eyes you can not resist and those little fingers grabbing your hands... heart be still.

But oh again. I would have to name the baby Mildred Genevieve, cuz that's the name of my recently deceased nanny. And you know when you love someone, you have to carry on their name somehow. Mildred Genevieve, whom most called Midge. There is some unspoken obligation to name children after our loved ones. Keegan got John as part of his name after a grandfather. Kacee received Jaymes as her middle name, from my father and my cousin stole our great grandmother's name, Hally, for her daughter. Names like John, Jaymes and Hally are nice names. They're normal. We love our grandparents and their names, but Mildred Genevieve. I mean really who looks at a baby and says, "Hello little Mildred Genevieve."
Geez, when you love someone you also can not give them a name like Mildred Genevieve.

Decision made. No babies. The world only needed one Mildred Genevieve. I love you, Nan.

Thursday, August 13, 2009


This pool is getting a little crazy. If it 's not skinny dipping......

It's beetles screwing on a pine needles.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Ditched While Camping

Would you ditch this family?

Can you imagine the excitement I got when I snapped a pic of these two Amish men on the pontoon boat? That is so taboo, so taboo that it gave me butterflies in my tummy! I felt devilish and so bad when they looked across the water to see my lens staring at them. Why would someone ditch this event?

Oh, and the laughs we had when our fifty year old friend took Keegan's BMX bike off a jump, ending up flat faced out in front of all the "cool" kids at the park, breaking his hand now needing surgery.Who would want to miss this once in a lifetime happening?

And mountain pies! Now that's not something we get everyday! Yup, ditched again. Who would do this to such an wonderful camping trip?


Monday, May 11, 2009


A Little Slow out of the Gate!

But better than the last race! After two races he has made vast improvements. Geez, I just want to kiss those little cheeks!

Friday, May 8, 2009

Scratch the Oatmeal

(see yesterday's post)
This is what I saw in the hall outside of my office, after, of course, I heard belching and splashing.
What in the hell do I eat now?
I guess that C.C. and Tonic will have to do.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

No Tuna For Me

Do you see that little orange ball? Well, that is the reason that my tuna was not eaten for lunch. That little ball is a shark eye.

Today as I was observing a 4th period biology class, I lost my stomach and appetite and whatever else was left of my adventurous side. I used to love anatomy class when I was in college, but alas, no more.

One bouncing eye fell off the lab table. One disgusting child picked it up. One disgusted teacher said to "PUT IT BACK IN THE DISSECTING PAN!" One ( or two or three) screaming student scrunched their nose.

Two minutes later this little orange ball was found on the ground. To which one disgusted teacher yelled to "PUT IT BACK IN THE SHARK!", and one disgusting kid said that it wasn't from their shark. After inspecting all the sharks it was understood that this little orange ball was leftover from first period.

Yesterday I had to throw away my sausage for lunch after observing piglets being dissected. Today the tuna had to go. Thank goodness for back up oatmeal.

Tonite will be vegetarian nite.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009


I was tagged by Harmony who is a doll. Her posts are always amusing, sweet and well, just all around good reading. I am required to state seven AWWSUMMM things about myself. Sheez, that is a lot, and I'm not real good at this stuff, but like I force my clients to identify positives about themselves, I will force myself.

When I was working on my masters in psychology we had an entire class on self analysis. Our professor asked us how we could ask others to look deep into themselves if we could not look deep into ourselves. Here I sit again at a desk, analyzing myself,(like that doesn't happen everyday), but now I have to look for good things. Yikes. Here it goes....

1. I have natural strawberry blonde hair and big boobs. Okay, so that's superficial, but when you're pushing 40, you're grabbing onto anything.

2. I am patient with the elderly and young people. Older people are full of wisdom, and children are full of future.

3. I am a great daughter to my father who is alone. I am his only, and he is the best. 'Course sometimes he gets forgetful and calls me his wife, and then he calls me Kacee instead of Kendra, but that's ok, he's pretty awesome in my book.

4. I am a hard worker. Well, not right now, cuz I am blogging at work, but usually I am a hard worker.

5. My family always comes first. My hubby and children are my world, and most of my free time is spent with them, just the way I like it.

6. I am a better psycho-therapist than an educational administrator.

7. I love life and try to find humor in everything. Even when I'm mad, my hubby and I can usually get a good laugh on.

Whew....Now I am supposed to tag 7 people, but just being back to blogging after a lengthy time off and a new blog, I don't have a lot of readers. If you read this and want to do this, please blog it and let me know. I would love to read it!!!!!

Friday, May 1, 2009


How is it that poor Keegs has to play with the Amazon women? He came up to their shoulders and no higher. Poor Babe, he's just a runt. Tonight we're off to the BMX races. That should be a little more balanced.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Kate and The Arts Program

Kate is getting ready for seventh grade. Ugh. On the up note, she is applying at our local Liberal Arts College for an Art Immersion Program to attend next school year.

As we were preparing the application, I found, once again, that my daughter is Jessica Simpson, reincarnate. Wait, not reincarnate, that would mean Jessica was dead, but you know what I mean. I reviewed the questions for her essay and as she sat there sweaty from soccer practice, in her tank and shorts gulping water in a grotesque manner, I knew the evening could be long.

First question was why she was interested in the program. We chose some flowery words and put them in an order which was acceptable but didn't sound like her mother had wrote it. (That was a hard task for me.) She pissed around with her father adding his words of wisdom, my OCD flairing as I had already taken her to the library to get five books to be read in two days. It was now 9:30. It had to be typed, and that would be up to me.

Second question was asking what she could add to the program. She looked at me with great puzzle and asked what that meant. I told her that it was asking what she could bring to help those in the program. She looked blank for a long time and then gleamed, "Drinks!"

Shit. Jessica traits were screaming.

"No, Kate. What can you bring that would help people and enhance the program?"

"Oh, my cheery smile," to which she added, "can you make sure that you put a smiley face in there?"

"No, Kate. This goes to a college and a board of professors. No smiley face."

"Okay, well, at least make sure that you include cokes somewhere."

I sent her to bed and finished her essay for her. Thank goodnes for her killer soccer skills. That may be all I have to work with here.

AND, the boy was crying after this. Yessss!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

She's Gone

There is not much to say, but old readers know that Nanny Prozac was the shiznits. She passed away yesterday at the age of 95. I am walking around today with a numbness and without direction. She gave me many smiles and life will be a little boring without her, but when someone was very tired, you just can't be selfish and expect them to go on forever.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Do I Hafta?

I don't want to pre-read books for my daughter, Kate. I have my own books that I want to read. NOT HERS. Kate started to read Twilight. Everyone is reading Twilight but not me. If everyone is reading it, I'm the one who won't. Never read Harry Potter or The Purpose Driven Life. Not reading Twilight either.
But, today as I was driving to Ohio for some shopping, Kate was reading. In her young, sixth grader mind, she was unsure of some words and how they fit into the context of the book.
"Mom, what's scintillating mean?" I describe it for her as it relates to "his bare arms."
"Well, how does adrenaline fit in?"
"What's unintentional seduction?"
Shit, what in the hell is in this book? Do I hafta read it? Guess what? I am not. That's why I'm the reality therapist. Really not pre-reading. Really hoping it all stops with a kiss. Really not into reading her books.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Therapist Not a Missionary

I am a therapist and not a missionary. I will help you, but don't push it. One particular child likes to get daily hugs. I always give him a side hug. No, I am not a Duggar, but there is no way that this chest........

is touching this chest.

I try to be therapeutic as I know that everyone needs the human touch( cue Rick Springfield's 80's song, "Human Touch.") He thrives on it, but I had to draw the line when these grimy fingers touched my cheek today.

"Feel how cold my hands are."

Before I could stop him he touched my left cheek right about in the middle- yep, I can still feel it- his hand stroked my cheek.

Let me tell you that those fingers were not just cold. They were cold and clammy. Clammy means sweaty. I'm going to the bathroom to wash my face and redo my makeup.

By the way, don't my boobs look like two cantaloupes without the rind? They do to me.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Answer That One, Women Services

( Old picture, but I'm stuck at work with limited resources.)
She would die if she knew that I was writing this, but hey, for the most part we're all women, I think. If not and you are reading this, well then you're still okay with my topics, obviously.
Miss Thang is having major trouble getting her cycle right. It is a huge pain in the ass for her, and I feel horrible about it. Unfortunately for her, she had to go to the gynecologist's office last Friday to talk about her hormone imbalance.
This doctor is my doctor. He delivered her 12 years ago. He is an older man with a goofy sense of humor. Very non-threatening. My sister is his secretary, so you would think it was a very benign visit.
On the way there we had the following conversation.
"Is he going to touch me?"
"Well, I don't think so, but if he wants to check for cysts, he may have to."
"Eww, how does he do that?"
"Weelll, he has to feel with his finger. Slip them in just for a minute."
(I am cringing at this point, but I wasn't gonna set her up for a surprise. If you're judging me at this point, then you'd better come up with a better solution.)
"Oh, gross. That's an "uh-oh" touch."
Now, she has been plagued by Mr. Matt who comes to visit their school from Women's Services every month. He discusses good touch and bad touch. Sexual harassment. You get the picture. She hates it. He creeps her out.
"Well, no, honey. It's not an "uh-oh" touch."
"Well, would you call it a "good" touch?"
Shit, hell no, I wouldn't call it a good touch. Thank you very much Women's Services. Did you cover this type of touch with her. No you didn't. How in the fuck do I explain this touch with her. She's 12. She's not thinking of all the times that she will go through this when she has a baby. Damn, she doesn't even think about the times when the "good" touch will feel good.
Thank goodness we only had to talk with him. He gave her some hormone therapy pills, and we were off on our merry way.
To you Women's Services, thanks for nothing. AND, what kind of touch IS the gynecology exam?

Saturday, February 7, 2009

One With the Bumps

I'm trying to analyze this and getting no where. As we were driving home from our run on an old dirt road today, hubby was swerving this way and that. He does this a lot. He moves the steering wheel one way and then the other. He gets this strange look on his face.

Now let me tell you. This shit drives me crazy. First of all no one wants to think that there may be something wrong with the car, but furthermore, it's more unnerving to watch his face crinkle up as the car sways to the left and then to the right. And, I gotta tell you, there is no fucking sound. No fucking problem with the car. Nada, nothing.

So, I had to get on him and ask why he does this all the time, and he does do it all the time.

He started to explain that it stems from when he used to race motocross. He always had to listen to the bike in order to catch problems before they caused trouble for him. Then he proceeded to get philosophical. "You have to know the bike, and it's the same with the car too. In fact, I know it sounds silly, but you have to be one with the bumps on the road."

Silly? I think that's just plain nuts.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Art Therapy

Wanting to do a little art therapy, I had the all the tools. My little six year old client was all ready to go. She loves to draw, and it's something that we can do together to avoid her negative interactions with her siblings.Her first picture came out quite loverly! It was a picture of her oldest 17 year old sister. Ahhh, this is progress. She wanted to create a picture of her sister with whom she usually fights and argues, and occasionally hits. I am hitting some positive spots in her brain!!!!
The picture came complete with smile and a trendy little outfit which displayed her sister's belly. She laughed and commented on the fact that she should draw the sister's belly button ring.
Delightful activity. Relaxing and calming. I colored pictures while I sat next to her.

Now we have the second photo. Okay, it's okay. Until you start to stare at it. Sister is now smiling with evil eyebrows. Her arms resemble the hulk, and she has a club foot. Well she did in the other picture, but somehow this one looks worse. My client is now glassy eyed and less talkative. I keep coloring.
Looking up from my coloring book as she calls my name, I find this three inches from my face. OOhh, no....this is not good. Damn it. "Honey, slowly put down the crayons. Walk away from the table. Don't look back."
Time for me to high tail it out of there before she starts her progression of art on me. So much for art therapy and my success with yet another client.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Beginning (or the end)

I am a therapist. I have been a therapist for years. It's my hobby which should tell a lot about me. I drive my children crazy with my advice and my husband nuts with my overanalyzing. Thus, it's the beginning of my journey to insanity ( then end of my sanity), and I have decided to take some of you with me.

This will be offensive at times; I promise.

This will sad at times, I guarantee.

But always this will be the honest stuff. Not the textbook crap and the rosy colored glasses.

Reality therapist for sure.