Anh vs. Spanx

Working in the beauty industry, I have noticed nobody appreciates the size they are, until they are no longer that size. This is not about the pressures society puts on girls and women to be a particular size, or anything of that nature.  This is also not my attempt at fishing for compliments, because I know what I look like, and I know what I need to do if I want to change things. 

This is about the evil that is spanx.

Earlier this week, I had a very important meeting.  So important that I decided to pull out my lucky suit, the one I wore to my defense 7 years and 20 pounds ago.  I probably should have tried it on earlier than an hour before the meeting, but hey, let's not judge on this beautiful Fall day.

The first sign things might be amiss was when I put on the blazer, my arms could barely squeeze through.  Guns?  Uh, no.  Unless you count overstuffed sausages as "muscles"...not so much.  Putting that aside, I went on a fervent hunt for my tried and true spanx.  This baby wears like a high-waisted underwear, tucking everything in nice and tight.  I don't know where or how it squeezes everything in (I suspect squishing all the fat together and minimizing the space between cells), but it does it.  Of course, it also holds EVERYTHING in, so when you finally relieve the pent up gas, you will shoot through the room like a jet-pack.

I don't know when I bought that spanx, but I suspect it was also 20 pounds ago.  Getting into it without pulling a muscle or breaking a bone was nothing short of a miracle.  If I ever attempt this again, it might be best to employ Sam's help.  He would have to hold it, and I will just have to pray that when I jump off the roof, I hit my target and avoid injury.  After much thought, manipulating, praying, and negotiating, I pulled it on.  Everything in my torso tucked in, I was able to pull on my skirt AND pull up the zipper.  Score!!!

Then I looked in the mirror.

Two pigs fighting under a blanket is one way to put it.  Two pigs fighting inside a toddler-sized sleeping bag is more accurate.  And on top of that, you could see the underwear line!  Horror of all horrors!!!  Then, I did the unthinkable--I tried to walk.  I've never really given much thought to the art of being a geisha, but I'm pretty sure I have the walk/shuffle down pat, except for the fact I don't think geishas shuffle because they are pulling two fighting pigs inside a too-small sleeping bag behind them. 

Time was running short.  Very short.  If you are eating, or plan on eating anytime in the near future (like ever), you might stop reading.  I take no responsibility for you becoming a bulimic after reading what follows.

Once I got past the shuffle, I thought "Forget it.  Just go with it.  It's too late, and there's not another suit in the closet."  But as I shuffled away, I realized I. Could. Not. Do. It.  I could not go into a very important meeting, skirt stretched beyond capacity in the front AND back, so tight you could tell if I had shaved my thighs or not.  So, I shuffled back to my room, shimmied out of the skirt, and peeled the devil spanx off.  It may or may not have ricocheted off the wall and broken the ceiling fan.  Either way, I'm in the market for a new ceiling fan for my bedroom.

I rifled through my drawer and found a thong underwear (is that what you call it?!!), pulled it on, shimmied back into the skirt, and prayed to God and any deity that might be listening that nothing falls out.

Stupid, evil spanx.  I'll be getting another one when I buy a new suit.

An open letter to the Board of Education regarding the resignation of Dr. Doug Sumner

Today, it was formally announced that our superintendent, Dr. Doug Sumner, resigned from USD 232.  I wrote this letter and sent it to all members of the Board of Education, as well as teachers who have had my children in school.  I think it is important to be the change you want to see.  I will not sit back, complain, or throw my hands in the air and lament "I can't make a difference."  Because I will make a difference.  I will be the change I want to see.  Please join me.

*****************************

Dear Members of the USD 232 Board of Education,

As an elected official in an unpaid position, thank you for your service.  I am sure most of you are mindful of the fact that although you are chosen to represent your constituents, your post is won by popular vote in the event you face any opposition.  As such, your voice is not necessarily representative of my voice.  However, as an elected official, you are trusted to truly represent the views of your populace, leaving your personal views aside.

The news of the resignation of Dr. Doug Sumner as our superintendent is inarguably against the wishes of all parents and teachers within USD 232.  This is a tremendous loss and blow to our district.  During Dr. Sumner’s tenure at USD 232, as you know, the state slashed funding numerous times, and parents were asked more and more to contribute supplies and time to ensure our children would continue to get an education that clearly supersedes what the State has determined to be worthy.  As much as parents were willing to donate their time and resources, we cannot supplement our teachers’ salaries, nor can we pay them what they deserve.  When you spend a mere 30 minutes in the classroom, it is clear theirs is a job of passion, not financial gain.  Our teachers kept their posts, despite offers in other districts of higher pay, and I firmly believe it was because of Dr. Sumner’s leadership. 

When the news of Dr. Sumner’s resignation was made known, the first series of questions were “Why?  What happened?” There is plenty of blame to be had.

1.              Shame on me for not attending the BOE meetings to personally witness reports now of inappropriate behavior by a board member.  Shame on me for believing an elected official would put his personal agenda aside and truly work for the best interests of the people he is supposed to prioritize—the faculty, staff, and students.  Shame on anyone who did not vote to prevent this person’s election into this position, and shame on those to did vote for him to put him there. To this end, I will remain silent no more.  My voice will be heard, directly from me.

2.              Shame on Scott Hancock for his clearly inappropriate behavior—lacking professionalism, respect, or any degree of decorum.  Shame on him for using his position to push out Dr. Sumner.  It is far too late to do anything to bring Dr. Sumner back, nor would I expect him to return, given the lack of respect he was given.   To this end, I ask this board member to resign with dignity.  I am unclear as to what agenda you were trying to achieve, but your purpose was achieved, and your “work here is done”, so to speak.  I am asking that you step down with dignity before I take formal measures to have you removed from your post.  You do not reflect the views of the people you have been elected and trusted to represent. If you truly believe your views represent those of people in our community, it is repugnant in the extreme.

3.              Shame on any person for having allowed that board member to have so much authority, to cross so many boundaries.  Our children are taught a zero tolerance policy regarding disrespect, yet this person was allowed to behave in a manner so reprehensible it moved Dr. Sumner to resign from his position.  If a child behaved in this manner, that child would expect to be faced with severe consequences. 

Our community has been dealt a severe blow with the loss of Dr. Sumner as superintendent.  I wish Dr. Sumner the best as he moves into his next position, though his loss will be felt deeply.  I hope that as we move forward, we learn from what has happened.  I, for one, will be heard.

Regards,

Anh-Nguyet Nguyen

HOA woes, and the vicious pit bull they appointed treasurer

I'm not going to lie.  When we moved to Kansas City almost 9 years ago, I purposely looked into subdivisions with an HOA because I LIKE the idea of an HOA.  Call me what you will, say what you will (it IS your constitutional right, after all. In addition, I have been called Gladys from "Over the Hedge", which is only slightly inaccurate), but I like the idea of some degree of uniformity while still allowing individuality, living in an area where efforts to keep your home and surroundings beautiful are valued, and strange as it may sound, I like having neighbors.  Neighbors who are older so my children can interact with multiple generations and hopefully learn a healthy respect for their elders, neighbors with children their age so they can play, neighbors with different views than our own so that we can have diversity and a peaceful means to live amongst them.

Then, there are the other parts of living in a subdivision with an HOA.

A couple of years ago, one of my friends (who has since wisely moved away) convinced me to join the board.  With a relatively successful business that basically ran itself, I found myself with extra time, and I have always been an advocate of getting involved and giving back.  So, I agreed.  Not only did I agree to be on the board, I agreed to take on the role of treasurer without really considering all the duties it required.

Let's clarify a few things:
1.  I have been accused of being obsessively compulsive, which I think is necessary as a scientist, whether current or former.
2.  Although I am detail-oriented, I am happy to hand over the reins if someone else wants them.  Thus, I let Sam take care of our family finances, and I spend his money freely.
3.  Sam says I have no fiscal sense.  He has no malicious intent.  He is just very observant and honest.
4.  Although I spend Sam's money freely, I am very stingy with other people's money.  Sam wishes above all else it was the reverse.

Without going into details of all the colorful things that have been said, emailed, or mailed to me, I just want all those people to know a few things:

• I do not horde your money in a personal account.
• If I did horde your money in a personal account, surely you can concede my house and yard would look better, or rather, I wouldn't be living in this neighborhood anymore.
• I do not pay for lavish parties with HOA money. As the controller of the purse strings and enforcer of delinquent accounts, I am not well-liked (well, maybe that's for other reasons as well, but I personally think I'm hilarious and a peach), so do not get invited to parties. I will not pay for parties to which I am not invited.
• When you ask what you can plant in your yard, my first suggestion is grass.  And I do not mean cannibis.
• Get involved so you can join me in laughing at people who get mad at me.  I don't take a lot of things seriously, and you getting mad at me for doing my job is only going to make me laugh at you, which makes you even madder, which makes me laugh harder...and while I love laughing, I hate merry-go-rounds.
• If you're interested in building a 6 foot privacy fence, I would suggest you start at the curb because with that attitude, nobody wants to see you, either.  Don't forget the moat.  But be sure you get it approved by the Architecture Committee first, to which if you attend and get involved, you can head.
• Going to my house to "give me a piece of your mind" is not necessary.  I am confident you have little left to give away if you think it's prudent to yell at an adult in front of her children, and believe me, it's ALWAYS going to be in front of my children.  Savor what remains and just mail the payment, thank you.

Next meeting is March 4.  I wonder if I am going to need a bulletproof vest...

Letter to Ethan, age 4.

Dear Ethan,

Ok, I get it.  You no longer want to hold my hand as we walk to the bus, or even give me a kiss before you get on the bus lest God forbid, another child sees you.  But you are only 4 years old, and I am still bigger and stronger than you, so tough nuts, kid.  Unless you would prefer to be attached to a leash (I'm open to it), your hand will be firmly in mine every single time we cross a street or parking lot.  Every. Single. Time.  Deal with it now, or make plans for your savings to be used on therapy later.  Your dad (and probably everyone else we know) calls me an obsessive helicopter mom, but I really don't care what anyone thinks about my over-protectiveness.  As long as I am here, I will be HERE.  I will do my best to not embarrass you (ok, I'm lying--I will embarrass you as long as I have breath in me, but a lot of that happens without me even realizing it because I think I'm hilarious).

I know you are finding your voice, and letting yourself be heard VERY CLEARLY.  But buddy, it's not ok to say you hate someone, especially me or anyone in your family.  If you remember, I am a lot bigger than you at present, so I can and will take you out.  Such ugliness will not be tolerated, even if it comes on the heels of me tackling you and smothering you with kisses.  You are freakishly strong, and I know I won't get away with this for much longer.  While we are on the topic, here are just a few other things you should work on:

(1) the golf club is not to be used as a weapon, nor is your sister's head to be used as a substitute tee; 

(2) it's not socially acceptable to hold up a salted peanut and say "you just suck on this"; 

(3) burps and farts are funny, but not ok in church, and definitely not with the gusto you've been putting behind them as of late; 

(4) retaliating against a perceived injustice by peeing on the wall is not permissible;

(5) do not pick your nose in public, but when you do, do not hold up the giant booger and announce "I just got my brain out!"

Next Fall, you will enter kindergarten.  I will be a mess.  A complete train wreck, and this is saying something because I do not cry.  Well, I do about once a year, so I'm saving up for August.  When your sister went, I was ok because I knew thought she was ready.  With you, it's about killing me to think of sending you off to a new school with a new teacher.  You've had a wonderful preschool teacher who understands your quirks, needs, and dry sense of humor (not sure where you got that) for the past two years.  I am worried about kindergarten.  I am fully aware no child or parent ever died from the jitters of the first day of kindergarten, but you should be aware that I will be a mess.  Your dad will probably find a reason to not be in town that first day because he doesn't want to have to make the call to Jaws of Life to pry me away.  I will probably be put on a list at the school as a problem parent, if I haven't already (there is some speculation such a list exists, and it's now called the "Anh List").

Until you absolutely have to, stay young.  Stay innocent.  Stay loving, uninhibited (although it's okay to NOT take off your undies and run through the house stark naked), and always love to laugh and make others laugh (you can do this without running around naked).  I love you all the time, even if we don't like each other 100% of the time.  

When will you go back to work?

Every year in December, Sam looks over our finances from the previous year.  In 2012, he let out a deep sigh, seeing what he'd made, what we had spent, and what he projected we should be spending vs. what we I really spend.  Then he asked me, with more seriousness than usual, "Do you think you'll be going back to work once Ethan is in school full-time?"  

My standard response since I quit my job as a scientist to take care of the kids (and discovered how much fun I was having) was "Is our house in foreclosure?"  

No, we are not at risk of losing our home.  You can let out that breath you were holding; we will not be asking you to take the whole lot of us in.  But, it made me stop and think, and then seriously look for a job.

Bingo.  My dream job was available - a research analyst with Shook, Hardy & Bacon, a very large law firm.  Quite obviously, the compensation would be very nice.  However, there would be travel.  Lots of it, and sometimes, with little notice.  I was 100% confident I would get the job, and decided to update my CV and begin the process.

Then I looked at Ally and Ethan.  Since missing a Mother's Day Tea when Ally was in preschool and realizing she was the only child without her mother that day, I swore I'd never miss another one of her events.  I volunteered regularly when she was in kindergarten, was in the classroom on a weekly(sometimes daily) basis in first grade, and tried to get on the volunteer schedule as frequently as possible this year.  She goes to school now, confident that if anything happens, I will be there.  Although I don't get to volunteer in Ethan's classroom, we get to spend a lot of time together, and it's so much fun to watch his language develop from 50 words a year ago to talking non-stop now.  Ok, I actually have a lot more enjoyment from tormenting him and making him scream at me to leave him alone.  He's talking.  Now, if only we could get him to give up the diaper...

Being with the kids is a lot of fun for me.  Sure, there are days they drive me insane.  I'm human.  To suggest it's always rainbows and butterflies is absurd.  There are days they probably wish I'd find a job and just go away.  But, I'm that weird bird who enjoys the summer days and breaks where I get to spend more time with them.  I just think the time where they love me so deeply and openly, believe I have all the answers, and all hurt is eliminated by a kiss and tight hug is so limited.  I feel that when I turn around again, I'll be packing Ally's things to go to college, and she'll never live at home again.  She'll only be a visitor.  So, I cherish this very short time with them.

But then again, things are costing more and I cannot spend less than I already do, trying to keep up with all the commitments and activities the kids are in.  We didn't get those luxuries as children, so Sam and I are determined to let our kids have that experience.  So, I started thinking seriously about the job, my stomach twisting in knots.

Just as I was putting the application together, Sam called with news that he'd received his bonus.  With tremendous relief, I put the application away, relieved to have another year with my babies. 

That was in December.

You dirty old louse.

Now that it's over, I can breathe normally and tell about it.

Last Thursday, I had lunch with a friend whose daughter is in the same grade as Ally.  It's nice when you are good friends with the parents of your children's good friends.  Not only does it make socializing with adults easier, you know someone else is looking out for your child when you are not around.  It's one of the things I love about our community.

Before her food even arrived, my friend was compelled by a self-professed moral obligation to disclose that she had found head lice on her daughter and herself.  I love this friend, whose anonymity in a rare move I shall respect, because she and I share views of what warrants us to go ape s*** ballistic.  As she described her experience of her discovery and subsequent desire to purge her home of this pest, we both started.  We itched, twitched, shifted in our chairs and soon, were scratching ourselves all over in a very public place with no shame for where the itches were suddenly erupting.  Mind you, we are women - we itch just like men; we are simply more discreet in how we manage it.  And I know that as you are reading this, your scalp is crawling, your neck is itching, your back feels like bugs are crawling up and down and your legs have an itch that seems to be behind the knees but when you scratch, there is no relief.

My poor friend was beside herself, and during the course of her story, revealed that she reached a breaking point and melted into a ball with heaving sobs.  My heart broke for her.  I had lice once as a child, and I know how horrific it can be to find it, and rid your home of it.

But as a helicopter concerned mom, I felt the need to take preventive measures and treated Ally's hair that night.  It had been a long time since my experience, but Sam and I were pretty sure we found a couple of live ones.  My reaction?

SWEET JESUS, MOTHER OF GOD, HOLY SAINT JOSEPH AND THE WHOLE ARMY OF SAINTS AND ANGELS WITH EVERYTHING ELSE GREEN ON EARTH!!!!!  How did this get into my child's hair and into my home?!!!

I combed and picked and pulled through that child's hair until she was in tears, Ethan cried in sympathy, and I suspect Sam wasn't far behind in the waterworks.  Although it was late, I stripped every single bed of every blanket, sheet, stuffed animal and began THE CLEANSING.

No exorcism could be as clean.

While the kids were crying because they were tired and wanted to go to bed, I began washing all the linens, vacuuming every square inch of the house, and came very close to boiling the kids to rid them of the pestilence.  Had I been around during biblical times, I doubt the locusts would have stood a chance. At one point, Sam got the nerve to squeak out the possibility that perhaps I was going maybe just a tad bit overboard.  When I turned in response, I did not see myself but I am pretty sure my eyes must have been blood red and my fangs bared with flames coming out from behind my hair as I was sprinting through the house with the vacuum in between cycles of the washing machine, all the while itching and twitching.  Because God forbid I should let the washing machine or dryer have a break during THE CLEANSING.

The next day, I went up the school to do some volunteer work, and was approached by the nurse.  Sam and I have endeavored to raise Ally to not be ashamed of anything about herself--how she speaks (she is exceedingly polite, so it's pretty easy at this point), looks, dresses or her choice of toys or games.  Our thought process behind this is to raise a confident child who recognizes that if someone judges her for something like that, they do not deserve her for a friend.

In an illustration of the effectiveness of our parenting, Ally announced to her class "I have lice!  My mom found bugs in my hair!!"  And of course, on that day of all days, her amazing teacher who is now very familiar with our family (I'll let you guess why.  One hint--it's not because Ally misbehaves) was absent, and the substitute panicked.  The nurse examined Ally's hair, and declared to me "She has a really bad case."

WHAT THE WHAT THE WHAT?!?!?!?!

"Please, show me what the devil you are talking about, because I just treated that child last night."

Turns out Ally has dry scalp that can easily be mistaken for nits if you have poor eyesight.  However, after a more intense search, she did find two nits, but determined Ally to be safe at school since I had preemptively treated her the night before.  I asked again and again and again if I should take Ally home and put her in an autoclave?  I think at this point, the nurse insisted I keep Ally at school for Ally's own safety because ape-s***-crazy-mama was back on the loose.

THE CLEANSING continued throughout the weekend.  I treated Ally again with prescription-strength shampoo on Saturday.  I vacuumed, washed, dried, dusted, polished, and sanitized everything in sight and a few things still in hiding.  Finally, on Sunday night, I collapsed onto my very clean bed and promptly fell asleep.  In the middle of the night, Ethan crawled into our bed as he sometimes does.  I did not care.  I was too tired to care.

Until he promptly peed.  All over my bed, pillows, down comforter, quilt, duvet, and sheets.  At least now, I am happy to report Ally is squeaky clean and free of lice.

Goodnight, Perry...

He was a funny little kid with his curly hair, button nose and his slightly darker skin that never meant anything to us other than he was a little different, just like the rest of us.  So, he welcomed us, we welcomed him, and being in the same grade, he quickly became friends with my older brother.  Of course, being friends with one of us meant you were friends with the whole pack.

The two of them made a funny little pair, both slightly chubby, both a little dark (one spending every spare minute fishing or playing outdoors), and both with a goofy sense of humor.  One of my most vivid memories was in the midst of a game of backyard kickball, he stopped, wrinkled his button nose, cocked his head to the side, declared "I smell rain", and sniffed the air the way a puppy sniffs when it detects something mysterious.  To this day, every time it's about to rain and I detect that distinct smell in the air, I think of Percy Crosley, or as he became known as an adult, Perry.


We reconnected on Facebook after not seeing one another for over 20 years, and all those intervening years melted.  He was the most attentive user, always responding quickly to any comment or post.  And, he was the most optimistic and positive person.  Every morning, he'd give an update on his plans for the day while enjoying a cup of coffee, ending that post with "Enjoy the day! Be blessed!"  His evening post closed with "Much love as always! Be blessed! Ciao!!"

Last week, we lost Perry after a long battle with pancreatic cancer that had hatefully spread.  Perry knew his days were numbered, but that did not stop him from living, and sharing his love.  He was never judgmental, and always gentle in expressing an opposing view.  Losing him hurts.  Really bad.  Nowhere nearly as bad as the pain he battled for so long, but it still hurts.  My only comfort is that I know when he passed, he knew he was loved and cherished by so many all over, and he was not alone.  Rest, my dear friend.  You were loved, as much as you loved.  When my daughter smiles, I know you are smiling.  When my son giggles as he thinks he has tricked me, I know you are giggling at me, too.  Rest, and I know I have someone looking after my family from above.  Much love to you, and thank you for your many blessings.  And for now, ciao.