I got a new calling two months ago. Let me tell you, if I could apply for any calling in the Church, this would be it. In fact, I doubt my bishop has ever seen anyone so excited at the prospect of serving. I am the new ward Activities Chairperson! This is perfect because I LOVE TO PLAN PARTIES. As long as they’re not at my house, and I don’t have to scrub toilets ahead of time, I’m all over the event planning business.

So we’re having a spooktacular ward Halloween carnival bash on Friday at the church, complete with a bounce castle and slide, games, face paint, photo booth, food, and four different Spook alleys. We’ve even got human Whack a Mole (in this case, Smash a Pumpkin).

But I’ve been so busy working out the kinks that I haven’t given much thought to what I’m going to wear (this is shocking, since my outfit is usually paramount in my mind). But yesterday I was at Walmart stocking up on candy when I saw it: the perfect black wig.

And so, with no further adeau, I am please to announce that I am going to be none other than the one, the only, Tattoo Queen of the Universe, Kat Von D.

Okay, so even with the best push up bra on the planet, my boobs have never looked even remotely like that, and let’s face it, the only way anyone can wear a white swimsuit is with some serious editing. (I’m convinced she doesn’t actually look like this in unairbrushed life, but I think this is a really cool picture.)

Now all I have to do is pencil in a few fake tattoo dots and some eyebrows (mine are transparent), strap myself into a girdle and some tight pants, throw on those $2 tattoo arms from Walmart, and I’m a very cheap, watered down version of Kat Von D.

And the best part? Jason has agreed to be her Motley Crew boyfriend, Nikki Sixx.

I wonder how long the Bishopric will keep me around…

Vacations are not healthy. You get this nice, relaxing dose of life without responsibility, then you’re slammed back into reality, high heels first.

It hasn’t been the best week. I seem to have lost my sense of humor for motherhood, and my patience tank (which was already running low) was lost in baggage claim.

So today we went to Ikea. I love Ikea. Why? Because not only is stuff cheap, but they have a delightful fee-free daycare for the toilet trained toddler in your life. In my mind, this trip was going to be a breeze. How hard can one kid at Ikea be?

Unfortunately, I forgot one little Sweedish detail: the kids have to remove their shoes. That’s right, they wanted Rex to take off his sneakers. Let me tell you, the first thing out of that boy’s mouth every morning is, “where are my clothes and shoes? I need my shoes!”

Trying to get him to part with his tennies was like asking one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to give up his shell. He freaked out, and the only option I had was to keep him with me.

Five minutes into our field trip June was screaming (which she’d been doing since 6 am), and Rex was having fits because he couldn’t play in the play center, and all I wanted to do was look at shelving. That’s all. Nothing more. Shelving.

When I finally found what I was looking for and stopped the cart, Rex started yanking on my coattails. Seriously, he was pulling me as hard as he could by the back of the shirt, trying to get me moving toward the play area. I tried to gently dissuade him from pushing the volcanic eruption button, but he wouldn’t give it up.

So I snapped.

It was like all my pent up frustration with my whiney babies and my very sore foot (and no, I don’t want to talk about the foot) seemed to gel at just the wrong moment. Before I had time to censor myself, I reached back and whacked him.

And two old ladies saw me.

To make it worse, he started to cry and told me I hurt his feelings.

In that moment of behavioral clarity, I felt like a fool. The fog cleared and things were suddenly obvious: here I am, a grown adult with my own agenda, dragging to very grumpy children around by their shirt collars to goodness knows where while I try to run errands that they despise, and I get mad at them for not puppeting along behind me like shiny, happy people.

I appologized to Rex, and once again reviewed my goals for the day: Do not spank or yell.

That is the toughest list I’ve ever had.

I hate flu season. I especially hate it when I’ve put off vaccinations only to find out that we missed the first batch and have to wait until Thanksgiving for the second round.

But my main reason for hating flu season? I can’t take the June Bug to nursery on Sunday if her nose has even the teensiest drip.

This is a good rule, I totally support this rule, but I could curse her dratted drippy nose right about now. See, I get a break from the other two with school and preschool, but nursery on Sunday is the only time during the week where I get to shove her off on some other unsuspecting adult without feeling guilty. That equals two restful hours where I don’t have to constantly pay attention to her.

Like right now. She’s supposed to be in bed, napping. But I can hear her, about five feet behind me, being unsuccessfully sneaky and totally naughty. Maybe if I don’t turn around, I won’t have to deal with her. Maybe if I close my eyes and try really hard to ignore her, she’ll decide she really is sleepy after all, sneak back to her bed, and GO TO SLEEP.

I love her, but I really hate flu season.

Let’s face it, I can make excuses about how the kids need to eat early for the next 18 years, but if I don’t buckle down and bite the broccoli here soon, they’ll be grown and gone and will think China is just a country in Asia. It’s time for dinner.

Check out this week’s column for my take on family dining.

Wow I’m needy.

Seriously, this is day five. That’s right, I’m looking at over 120 hours of childless reckless abandon. It’s been good for my soul, to be sure, but right now, the only thing my soul needs are a few peanut butter sandwiches and some snotty nose kisses.

I talked to Grandma today and found it very refreshing. She’s currently watching June and Rex while I’m gone. I was thrilled to hear that my 22 month old hasn’t changed a bit. She’s still up at six yelling, “Gramma, where are you?” followed by 14 fun filled hours where she doesn’t let the adults in her life get one single thing done (except making dinner, which my MIL managed to throw together during June’s all too brief afternoon nap). The rest of her week has been spent talking to, reading to, staring at, holding, and playing with my totally demanding little pistol.

This afternoon the June Bug finally lost it. She woke up from her nap demanding the whereabouts of her mother. They called us, and Grandma put a sobbing June on the phone. I quickly explained that I’ll be home tomorrow, flying on the airplane, so sorry, blah blah blah. She was silent during the Big Excuse (never felt so guilty in my life), and when I was finished, all my baby said in her downright bossy little voice was, “I want Daddy!” I passed the phone off and he gave her a similarly guilt-ridden speech. Once we were done talking to her, she was done talking to us, and we were promptly dismissed.

I must say, I can’t wait to get home, and at the same time, I’m kind of terrified of the little tyrant that awaits. Do you realize that the rest of my month will be spent guiltily slaving away to her every whim, trying to make up for my delinquent mommy behavior?

I’m so excited to get back I feel positively shakey.

It’s a funny thing about girlfriends and vacations. For some reason, no matter how much I love my man, I love my girlfriend time almost as much.

I’m in Washington DC for a few days with my hubby, visiting my dear friends from days gone by in good old Waldorf. While I don’t miss the traffic, weather, folliage, minority status, or lines at grocery store, I sure miss the girls. Talk about salt of the Earth, what is it about women in the mission field that so totally rocks?

Maybe I’m partial to Out of Zion territory because I was raised that way, but I can tell you one thing for certain, these girls have each other’s backs. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all flawed, but I made friends in Waldorf that I’ll selfishly keep for life. And we’re not just talking about casual friends, these girls get right down to business when it comes to being friends.

They’re the kind of women that don’t hesitate to call you in the middle of the night because they know you’re up watching reruns of Say Yes to the Dress and stewing about life in general. They’re the friends that you can forget to call back for thirteen months, but when you finally dial that number, they don’t need caller ID to tell them who’s on the other end, and they don’t need a psychic to tell them why you’re calling.

This trip is exactly what I need. A few days away from the mountains do wonders for a girl’s perspective. Besides, my kids were so excited to go on “Buh-cation” to their grandma and grandpa’s house, they won’t even know I’m gone.

Funny, but I’m already missing those cute little buggers.

(Notice I did not call them parasites? It took some serious effort to hold back on that one.)

So the other day we were moving furniture and Harrison found a book we’ve been missing for about two years. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good,Very Bad Day.

I was so excited, I love that book! I immediately sat down with my first grader and started to read.

Then I remembered how it got lost. Very conveniently lost.

Have you ever read that book out loud to a  little kid? By the time we got to the dentist, I was sweating bullets and Harrison was one big scowl. I could see him identifying with Alexander, mulling, stewing, thinking about his own terrible, horrible life, and how very much they had in common.

And so, like a good mother, I casually misplaced that book behind the couch. I love it, but I’m not sure it has a place in our reading agenda right now. I think we’ll stick with shiny, happy books for the next year or two, just to be on the safe side.

Alexander can quietly stew behind the couch, it probably couldn’t make things worse for him.

Wow. Wow wow wow. Talk about the never ending story.

Okay, here’s the scoop. When I got back from meeting with my son’s teacher the other day, I was really shaken up. It’s never easy for a journalist to hear that something meant for a general audience was taken so, so personally. And that’s what happened. I wrote a piece about an issue facing mothers and schools, naming no teachers, schools, or districts, and very very sadly, my own school took it as a personal attack.

It wasn’t a private issue, it was a public issue so I wrote about it on a public forum. Why? Because I’d like to see the policy change, and I’m in a position to say something.

Very regretably, people took offense. I’m very gifted in this department, I can offend just about anyone without even knowing it. Trust me, it’s a talent I’ve been accidentally cultivating for years.

On top of my ability to offend, I have a problem with honesty. I’m kind of really honest, especially on my blog.

When I spoke with Harry’s teacher, I was shocked. I didn’t know what was going on at the school, finding out that so many people were angry at me took me completely off guard. I felt terrible.

I came home and wrote about it, because that’s what I do. In looking back, I probably should have kept the bit about teachers not wanting anything to do with me to myself, but that was really upsetting. And dare I say, I’ve been trying hard not to take offense that so many people took offense when none was intended.

I’m just a mom who loves her boy and wants him to get the best childhood I can offer. Finding out that maybe people don’t like us because I stood up and said something about an issue was really tough, and not for me, for him. No one wants to think their kid is going to be targeted because they tried to do the right thing.

So yes. Hearing that we’re not very welcome at his school right now kind of horrified me, and I said it out loud. I’m so sorry, Mrs. B, I should never have said it to anyone. But it shocked and it hurt and I felt just a little bit powerless and yes, a little bit victimized.

This was never about me. Tonight when I put my babies to bed, I couldn’t help thinking about how crappy my day was, but how worthy they are of an advocate. That’s me, their advocate. Frankly, all I care about is that the school I have to send my kids to (because yes, I DO live in the district) will love them and look out for them. My kids are beautiful and smart and I want them to have the best and most balanced life I can give them right now. If that means an extra hour to run around outside, I’m willing to ask for it.

If you need an apology from me, I’m more than anxious to give it. I’m young, I’m learning, and this has been an extremely difficult week for me.

Lastly, I’d like to thank the three friends who read my blog (but hardly know me) from Far West who made the thirty minute drive to my house tonight to hold my hand and bring me chocolates. One is a Relief Society president who canceled all her meetings to come, another is a PTA president who came to beg us to move to her district, and the third is my darling friend who has probably had an even tougher week than me, but still came to lend a shoulder and a little friendly lip balm.

To everyone else, especially my son’s wonderful teacher, I’m so, so sorry. The end.

Let’s change topics.

I finally watched The Biggest Loser yesterday. Holy fat cow, Mo is totally right: Tracy has supernatural powers.

Do you realize that not only has she managed to retain power in this game (despite everyone hating her chubby guts), but she’s losing an impressive amount of weight without even hitting the gym? I swear, if I didn’t know better I’d think that girl was regurgitating her Caesar salads.

And it goes even further than that. Not only does the wheel of fortune have Tracy’s name written all over it’s black and blue face, but she has the power to make her mortal enemies do her bidding. Seriously impressive.

Take Liz for instance. Tracy spun the game wheel, complete with about 50 possible options, and on her first try got the one and only golden ticket. That gave her the sole power to divide their group of 12 into two teams, breaking up current allegiances and stacking things in her favor. And come on, who doesn’t love that kind of drama?

Because she’s smart, and because everyone hates her anyway, she busted some teams to smitherines, earning a number of new enemies. Personally, I’m starting to like this girl. I think she’s mostly smart (aside from her inability to say it like it is. She tends to talk out of both sides of her mouth. Example: telling Bob she felt a connection with him instead of just stating the truth–Jillian hates her guts so she’d like to keep a safe distance between them.), and I think she handled the break up rather brilliantly.

Unfortunately, Liz took it personally. She declared that she would do whatever it took to get Tracy out of the game. But when eliminations came around at the end of the week, Tracy used her magical abilities to voodoo Mo into sacrificing himself on her behalf, and did one better by convincing everyone to take him at his word and vote him off. Poor Mo, but go Tracy go.

How impressive is that? I wish she would publicize her dirty power secrets, I bet they’d work wonders on my kids.

So yesterday I went in and talked to Harry’s teacher.

To be honest, I sit around taking care of kids and cleaning the house all day, I don’t get out much. And my blog? I write for mothers and from what I can tell, most of you feel the same way I do. I can honestly say the impression I’ve had from most mothers here is that my article hit the spot, it’s exactly how they feel.

Then I met with Mrs. B.

Ho-Ly Crap. The first thing she told me was that she felt sorry for me, because in lieu of my recent article, there’s not a teacher at my son’s school who wants anything to do with him or me. Basically, as far as that school goes, my name is Mud.

I was kind of stunned. It was like finding out you were adopted by really mean people. The teachers at his school felt personally attacked, and that’s my fault. If I could do anything again, I would have gone in and warned Mrs. B about the article so she wasn’t taken by surprise, and so she understood that I write to represent mothers, not just myself. If I had a problem with her, I would tell her. It’s homework in general I hate, and that’s a national issue.

But I still would have published it, because it’s my job to represent mothers, and gosh darn it, I’m going to do it.

The thing is, after talking to a few friends, I’ve learned that our elementary school tends to blacklist parents who make a noise. In fact, the first grade teachers have had two complaints about the homework already this year, but they haven’t made any changes. Why? Because the first mother came across as angry and upset (which never got anyone anywhere) and the second complaint was anonymous. ANONYMOUS.

Now what does that tell you? It tells me that mothers are terrified to talk to the teachers at our school. I tried to tell Mrs. B that so many moms are passive and don’t feel like they can say anything. If an anonymous letter doesn’t speak volumes, I don’t know what does.

And instead of listening to a single thing I said in my article, the teachers at my son’s school hate me (with the exception of Mrs. B, who is seriously an angel on Earth, and Mrs. J, the principal, who I worship and adore).

So I’m asking for something from all of you who have agreed with me. SAY SOMETHING. If you feel this way, don’t just leave me a comment agreeing with me, GO IN AND SAY SOMETHING! Do it with cookies if that makes you feel better, be kind and appreciative of all the things those wonderful teachers are doing for our kids (because we all know they’re working their tails off here), but let them know how you feel.

Don’t wait a single day, and don’t do it anonymously. Send an email, send a letter. Write a note to the principal, buy a hot air balloon–just do something. If we don’t start speaking up and speaking out as a group, it’s not going to matter.

Because I’ll tell you right now, they didn’t believe me yesterday. It was like I was in a different country. If we’re going to make a difference here, we have to communicate with teachers.

What are you waiting for? Do it. Do it now.