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.