Category: Quirky Thoughts

If you are a big fan of physics (who isn’t?), you’ve heard of Shrodinger’s Cat.

Ok, but seriously, if you watch the Big Bang Theory, you are also familiar with Schrodinger’s Cat.

For anyone not familiar, Shrodinger’s Cat is a physics thought experiment, surprisingly enough developed by a guy named Schrodinger.  Imagine that there is a box containing a cat.  Also in the box is a vial of poison that, if broken, will cause the cat to die immediately.  The vial is rigged to a device that will break it at a completely random moment.  The device is separated from the cat, so the cat can’t influence it.  The box is sealed.  According to the thought experiment, the cat is both alive AND dead until the box is opened.

With me so far?

I would like to point out here that no cats were harmed in the making of this thought experiment.  Well, except for the theoretical cat, which was, of course, killed.  Except for a while it was both dead and alive, so the theoretical cat is also a zombie.  For some reason, that never made it into the original version.  I think the students would have paid more attention if it had.

Recently, I’d heard this thought experiment applied to cell phones.  For example: you drop your smart phone on the ground, it lands screen down.  Until you pick it up the screen is both broken and not broken.  Or – if someone, let’s call him my husband, washes his iPod in the laundry.  Its both toast and fine until we try to use it again.  Except it wasn’t fine, it was broken, and now we have to replace it because someone doesn’t check his pockets.  Theoretically.

I got thinking about other Schroedinger stuff laying around.

A baby makes a loud noise out of his rear-end.  That diaper is both clean and disgusting until you check.  Of course, as soon as you check he’ll poop anyways.  Then he’ll smile at you.

The text message you accidentally sent your boss after a few adult beverages?  Yep – you’re both fine and fired until you get a response.

Right now, I am in possession of Schrodinger’s Lottery Ticket.  You see, I have not yet checked to see if the numbers won, so according to my theory (ok, Schrodinger’s theory – sort of), my ticket is BOTH a big winner and a total loser.  I’m not a total loser (the self-esteem seminar said so).  The ticket.

I’m enjoying life as a lottery winner.  I so appreciate all those individuals who say they still plan to work.  I’m not one of them, but I appreciate them.  I will mostly hang out in my new treehouse, as soon as Pete Nelson gets done building it.  I want one of those with a bathroom in it (oh Pete Nelson, you and your composting toilets – you are a card).  And a secret room with a secret entrance known only to me.  Well, me and Pete Nelson.

Just for kicks, I think I’ll have that crazy British guy come and design me a pool.  He seems like he’d be fun. He always compares the clarity of the water to gin – which makes me think he’s had rather extensive gin experience.

Life will be good.  I’ll have a lot more time for blogging and writing.  I’ll put Carl and Raylene on the permanent payroll so they can keep traveling.  I will probably spend too much time in sweatpants – but they whisper that its ok.  So far, no one has called to ask for money – but maybe that tips the Schrodinger scale.  I will just go ahead and start a publishing company myself.  Maybe I’ll call it Schrodinger Publishing.  Yeah, no.  Q & L Publishing does have a good ring to it though.  I will soon be taking resumes and applications.

Oh – and I am going to get someone to clean my house.  I actually don’t really mind cleaning – but if I don’t HAVE to do it, I’m sure not going to.

For now, I’m going to kick back and enjoy the life of leisure.  At least until I check the ticket numbers.



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Quirky Thoughts

So, my poor, faithful doggy passed away almost two months ago.  I miss her terribly, and there will never be another like her.  I fully understand that we could never ‘replace’ her, she was a member of the family.

However, our house doesn’t really feel complete without a pet, either.

So the initial plan was to wait until spring time (for potty training purposes) and get a puppy.  I pretty much knew what I would be looking for.

Then the thought occurred to me, wouldn’t it be cool to get a tiny elephant instead?  A real elephant, but the size of a Labrador.  Totally awesome.

I would teach him to do his little elephant business outdoors, and I would teach him tricks and how to use his manners.

I think I would name him Roger.  Or maybe Mr. Finklestein.

I would NOT let him sleep in my bed because that just doesn’t seem like a good idea.  However, I am also a little worried about having him sleep next to my bed like the dog used to.  She used to twitch and woof and stuff in her sleep.  I’m afraid Mr. Finklestein will do that, and his trunk will touch my foot if I have to get up, and I’ll think there’s a crazy killer doll under my bed, and then I’ll scream and scare him and he’ll probably have a scared-poop right in the middle of the floor.

Can we just agree that dolls are the creepiest thing on earth?  Except maybe clowns.  And if you even mention clown dolls I will mail you 700 pounds of elephant poop.

It would be great.  Elephants eat plants, so I wouldn’t have to trim my trees.  Maybe, since he’s tiny, he’ll even do the grass?

Less shedding.  I know they still have hair and all – but still, less.  Also, it appears that elephants love baths.  My dog did not love baths. I don’t think Mr. Finklestein will give me big pathetic ‘this is the most horrible thing you’ve ever done to me’ eyes the whole time.

I suspect Mr. Finklestein will occasionally stampede through the kids’ toys, which will make them mad.  But then, as a result, they will pick up their toys and put them away so they don’t get stampeded.  And suddenly my house stays clean for more than 20 minutes.

I will have to put a fence around my gardens because of the aforementioned plant eating.  Then, of course, Mr. Finklestein will reach over the fence with his trunk and grab my ‘maters, because he’s a jerk.

I wonder if tiny elephants chase squirrels, bunnies, and chipmunks?  Because my dog sure didn’t, so anything would really be an improvement.

I did some checking, and there IS such a thing as a Pygmy Elephant, but they are native to Borneo and endangered.  I don’t live in Borneo, and I don’t want to start a tiny-elephant breeding program (or do I?), so that is not a good match.  Also, those elephants are still way to huge.

I have a feeling elephant poop will be useful compost too, already being mostly plants.

Really, all the signs point to this just being a great idea.  I will post when I have found Mr. Finklestein and we are all settled in.


Until then – please post in the comment section if you become aware of tiny elephants for sale or adoption.



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Quirky Thoughts

I can’t help but notice the similarities between babies and bacon.  Its eerie.  Here are a few:

1. Bacon comes from the belly of the pig.  People like to eat bacon.  What do people do with babies?  ‘Eat their tummies’ to make them giggle.  Coincidence?

2. Bacon is better because of all the fat.  Fat also makes babies better.

3. Bacon makes a lot of funny sounds.  Babies constantly make weird sounds.

4. Bacon has an unmistakeable smell.  Babies do too.  Sometimes its that wonderful newborn head smell.  Often, its, well, a bit less pleasant, but every bit as distinctive.

5. Everyone loves bacon.  Even people who claim they don’t secretly do.  Same with babies.

6. Have you ever tried to resist picking up a piece of cooked bacon, just sitting there?  Its almost impossible!  I have the exact same problem with sleeping babies.  I have to internally tackle myself to the ground, I JUST WANT  A LITTLE CUDDLE!


In other news, I’m hungry and likely hormonal.  But that’s not related to this.


I don’t think.



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Quirky Thoughts

‘Wow!  I really miss those political ads’ said no one ever.

I know – old news.  Nothing new there, nothing quirky or interesting.

What if I said I had an idea that could fix all of it, eliminate waste, give us actual information about candidates, and benefit society?

Because, I TOTALLY DO.

Oh, Oh, Oh – I’m so excited I need to pee!  Be right back.


Ok.  Here we go.

How to fix Political Campaigns in 6 Easy Steps.

1. Candidates area allowed 1 commercial.  They can play it one time per day on up to three stations.  During that commerical, they present their own personal views, in their own words.

2. You’ll notice that by allowing one commercial, it eliminates negative ads.  Shockingly, that is deliberate.  If a candidate wishes to challenge an opponent’s views or character, or really anything, they can do it in official, televised debates – face to face – with opportunity for rebuttal.

3. No fundraising outside your constituency.  If they can’t vote for you, they can’t donate to your campaign.

3-b. No more ‘super-pacs.’  I’m tired of corporate-sponsored candidates.


We pause here to note that with only one campaign, there would likely not be the need for millions and millions of dollars of fundraising.  What would it be used for?  Got ya covered.

4. Fundraising can be used for the 1 commercial, as well as travel expenses to meet with potential voters and talk about what they stand for.  All additional funds must be used to fund a public service project that the candidate feels best exemplifies their values and priorities.

Cool – right?

Passionate about veterans?  Create a new program to serve them.

Strong on education?  Show us.

Support food-insufficient families?  Go for it.


The way I see it – we would actually know more about our candidates, would have a LOT less money funding ‘public annoyance’ and we’d get something good out of the deal.
And while we’re at it.

5. Term limits.  You get up to 3  4-year terms.  House or Senate – combination.

6. House and Senate don’t get to vote for pay raises or benefits for themselves.  They can, however, vote for the other group. (BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA).


While we’re at it, I’m going to start a write in campaign to elect myself ‘Supreme Commander of the Universe.’  So far, my platform is mainly rainbows and unicorns, but I will work to flesh it out a bit more.  My sweatpants assure me that this is the right path to take.


I won’t forget about you when I ascend to the throne!  (unless I don’t actually know you, in which case –  sad to say – I probably will.)


Quirky Thoughts

So, the hubs and I found ourselves with a day off together this week.  Ran some errands, went to the gym (we are super-exciting people, try not to swoon).  Just for kicks and giggles, we decided to spend some time geo-caching.  We’d never done it before, but it seemed like it could be a good time.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, geo-caching involves finding hidden containers based on their GPS coordinates.  We downloaded a geo-caching app on Matt’s phone (complete with the GPS – that part is important). As it turns out, there were around 6 in our general area.

First, we went to the park.  A little learning-curve and we figured out what we were doing.  Little green dot – we are coming to get you!  Easy peasy – just use your compass and follow the coordinates.


And then we found . . . . nothing.  A whole lot of it.


Ok – no sweat.  Head to the apartment complex parking lot.  More nothing.  At this point, I couldn’t help but note that I felt like a creeper.  I mean, we were just hanging out near residential neighborhoods, poking around in trees and around signs.  You know, creeping.

Ok, let’s move on. The next one was behind the Family Video store.  As we walked over, I started to wonder how long it would take for the police to come and talk with us.  We passed a group of workers behind the Chinese restaurant, all speaking Spanish.  That made me think of a ‘General Tso Burrito’ – which I have to admit, still sounds kind of amazing.  We kept on creeping walking to the back of the Family Video. There it was!  Right there on the ground!  It was a $20 bill!  We found the Geo-Cash!  I have to admit, we did not think it would be actual cash, what with the change in spelling and all.  But still – success!

We did a bit more creeping, and pocketed our geo-cash and decided to head down to the nature trail. I am here to tell you – it feels a lot less like creeping in the woods.  Although, part of me was just waiting to find a discarded meth-lab or something.  Or hey – an operational one, complete with meth-makers!  Good luck – no meth labs.  No badgers either – they kind of freak me out. Matt and I followed our increasingly sketchy GPS directions through yards of thorn bushes.

It was at this point, we started to notice that the GPS was ‘inconsistent.’  At first, it was little things.  Such as: ‘967 feet,’ and then we walk 10 paces and it updates ‘742 feet.’  Ok, I’ll admit to spacing out from time to time on little internal ADD tangent.  I don’t know that I could just suddenly misplace the best part of a football field in a 15 second time span.

That’s when I started realizing that Matt’s GPS was messing with us.  The needle would point one direction and tell us to go 37 feet, then we’d take two steps, it would swing around and tell us to go 64 feet in the opposite direction.  We would turn around, and then it would pick a completely DIFFERENT direction, and a completely randomized distance to travel.  And this pretty much continued for about an hour and a half – during which time we found 0 geo-caches, and no additional geo-cash.  Still – an afternoon spent outside in the woods is never wasted.

Later we looked up more information, and found out that often the caches are buried.  AWESOME!  Now, in addition to being a creeper, I can also appear to be discarding evidence!  ‘No officer, I have a completely innocent reason for digging a hole in the middle of this secluded section of woods.  Nothing to see here, move along.’

Recap – lessons learned:

1. Wear pants.

2. Choose non-residential neighborhoods, unless you are super-comfortable feeling like a creeper (or, I suppose, if you actually ARE a creeper.  Then, carry-on).

3. The GPS on Matt’s phone is either a jerk, or something more sinister.

4. Geo-caching is more fun when geo-cash is found.

You know – now that I think of it, Matt’s phone never did anything like this until I got rid of those sweatpants (See: ‘A tale of two sweatpants’ on a previous post).  And Matt was the one who threw them out . . . .  I always suspected those pants hosted an evil spirit. You know, I’m just going to go get some sage and burn it around his phone.  Don’t mind me!


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Quirky Thoughts

This is a tale of two sweatpants.

Does it count as two sweatpants if its a ‘pair of sweatpants?’

Why do we call it a pair if its NOT two then?

Just work with me and stop arguing.


So, this is a tale of two sweatpants.  I first encountered these sweatpants when I went to National Camping School (What?  You campers never went to certification school?  Amateurs).  This was actually a training camp so that I could become an Aquatics Director for the Boy Scout camp I worked at.  It was at the end of May.  The first day was great – sunny and just a bit chilly at around 73 degrees.  That was far and away the warmest weather we had.  Over night, temperatures dropped into the 50’s, and never again rose above 65.  It rained.  A lot.  Did I mention this was an aquatics training?  Swimsuits don’t offer much protection.  My nickname that week was ‘Blue Girl’ because hypothermia is super funny!!!!   I couldn’t actually see my own face (because my eyes are inside my face), so I just took their word for it every time they made me get out of the 70 degree water to ‘warm up’ on the 60 degree deck.  Oh – and we slept in tents.  I was with a couple friends (who were doing sensible land-based trainings in other areas), so we made an emergency run to the nearest Walmart one evening.  I bought ‘the pants.’  They were awesome.  Size men’s extra large (otherwise known as at least 3 sizes too big for me – even at that time when I was a bit bigger), gray, with elastic/drawstring waist and elastic ankles.  I had absolutely no money at that point, so these pants constituted a major purchase.  That night, I put them on (along with every other non-underwear article of clothing I had with me) and went to sleep sort of warm.  [Note: I did, in fact, wear underwear.  I just felt one pair was sufficient, and did not feel additional underwear would increase my warmth significantly enough to warrant running out of clean underwear.  Thank you for listening.]   Some days we were doing our canoe and row-boat training on the lake and got to wear clothes.  This promised to be much warmer.  Except it rained on those days.  I would just like to say that ever since that week, I have been constantly cold.  Never was before – CONSTANTLY COLD NOW.  But, at least I had my trusty sweatpants, so I didn’t die.

I survived the week, and must have done pretty well, because they invited me back to instruct two years later.  Half of the clothes I brought were my clothes for the week.  The other half were every pair of sweatpants and every sweatshirt I owned.  I could change them every time they got wet.  It was almost comfortable!  Of course – I got so wind-burned that three days after I got home my face peeled off like a horrible lizard monster.  But that doesn’t have anything to do with sweatpants.

I’m not sure what made those sweatpants so magical, but they totally were.  At one point, I cut the elastic off the bottoms, so they fit more like straight-leg pants.  INCREASED AWESOMENESS!  I lost the drawstring at some point, and since they were more like 4 sizes too big, spent a lot of time making sure I was still wearing them.  They slowly got thinner and thinner and less fuzzy and wonderful.

‘No problem!’  I said to myself.  (I was in grad school and kinda stressed out – you’ll excuse the talking to myself.)  ‘I’ll just head down to Walmart and buy a NEW pair of huge men’s pants.  So I did!  Excitement!  I had learned, so I cut the ankles off and prepared to embrace the wonder of the sweatpants.

Know what happened? They were not awesome.  The legs shrank so the bottoms didn’t cover up my feet.  They weren’t as cuddly.  These sweatpants sucked.

I ditched them and went back to my old pants.  They were waiting for me – a little smug.  They knew I’d be back.  It was at this point that I acknowledged that my pants appeared to have a psychological hold over me.  (I was in a counseling grad program).  Feeling stressed, strained?   Put on the pants – ahhh, gonna be ok.  ‘Oh hey, I’ll put on jeans, I think I’m going out later. . . .why are the sweatpants in my hand???’

Somehow, over the next few years they would drift to the back of my closet, and then resurface again.  I wore them to the hospital the day I had my son, sure that my water would break, and that would be a good enough reason to get rid of them.  Somehow, they made it back home.

A few days ago, it was starting to get chilly, so I somehow found myself standing in front of my closet with ‘the pants’ in my hand.  WHY?????  THEY ARE DISGUSTING!  They are splattered with paint and the rear end is so thin you can see daylight.  I said to myself ‘they have to go.  Enough is enough.’  So, I started to put them on.  As I unfolded the pants and pulled the waist-band open, I heard a strange crackling sound.  Theoretically, it was the sound of the complete decomposition of the elastic in the waist.  I actually think it was the evil spirit inhabiting the pants finally giving up and dying.  In either case, the strange psychological hold broke, and I calmly folded the pants again, and threw them in the garbage.  I hardly even ever considered getting them back out again.

Then I got out my running pants.

Ahhhhh, running pants . . . . . Just so comfortable . . . . . .

Quirky Thoughts

Where my 80’s girls at???  Ok – probably 90’s to0.  For all I know, tween girls still do this, probably via social media or mobile app.

What am I talking about.

Only the single most important predictor of your future.  On Earth.



Oh yeah – you remember what I’m talking about.  This is the one where you and your girlfriends got together and took turns deciding each and every facet of your future life via systematic elimination by random chance.

And by ‘each and every facet’ I mean usually about 4 things.  Maybe 5-6 if you were going the extreme route.  Ah – the idiocy of youth.

For those of you not ‘in the know’ M.A.S.H. stands for ‘Mansion – Attic (or Apartment) – Shack – House.’  This set the stage for what your future life would be like.  In addition, you would choose four boys you liked (or alternately three you liked and one you hated), four different possible numbers of offspring, four different types of cars, different careers, etc.  Of course, you could pick 4 good or interesting options, but that was no fun.  Ideally, at least one option in each category had to be something you personally considered horrible.  The girl conducting the test (I say girl because I am not personally aware of any male having ever done this – but I could be wrong) would say ‘go’ and begin making tic marks.  The girl who’s destiny was being determined (see previous note on ‘girl’) would say ‘stop’ and the tic marks would be counted.  Let’s say that number was 9.  Starting with the ‘M’ in M.A.S.H., you would cross out every 9th option until one choice was left in each section.  My friends and I happily burned through large sections of our notebooks planning out each others’ futures, then laughing hysterically at the results.  Its a little like the game of Clue meets [insert horrible tween Disney show.]


You know what – its time to bring it back.  But updated.  M.A.S.H. 2.0


Ok – this one is going to be gender neutral, because that’s how I roll.  Also, I’m pretty sure guys secretly wanted to know their future too, but couldn’t bring themselves to tell the other guys.  Well guys – your time has come!


Let’s start with the basics – housing:

M – ‘Move-in Ready!’ – lucky you!

A – ‘A little fixer-upper’ – enjoy spending every weekend at Lowes!

S – ‘Short Sale’ – Otherwise known as – you are never going to find out if you got this house.

H – ‘Haunted’


On Love and Relationships:

Spouse who splits the household chores 50-50

Spouse who learns to do a couple chores really well, and independently

Spouse who never does anything, and asks you to stop what you are doing to bring them beverages.

Spouse who does every single household chore without ever being asked, brings you bon-bons, and rubs your feed (fantasy)


On Children:

A little rambunctious, but overall good kids

At least one child has attempted flight from the deck of the house

At least one child appears to be attempting to light fires with their eyes.

Perfect angels 24-7 (fantasy)


On Career:

Love Love Love Love – I never truly work a day in my life because I love my job soooooo much

Its a good job – decent, and allows me to do what I want with my life

Meh – its ok.  Glad to have a steady paycheck

Job actively sucks a little bit of your soul out every day.





Google Glass

Land-line only






Whatever you’ve purchased because you vowed never to buy a minivan.


Health and Wellness:

Attend gym daily – it is first priority

Work out 2-4 times a week – actively work to schedule it in, but know that things come up

Work out when it feels like jeans button may shoot off and injure someone

Hey – who needs the gym when you can just buy cute matching workout clothes at the store!



Ok – now that we have the playing field set.  Quick – run to the bathroom.  See how many gray hairs you can count in 10 seconds.  That’s your number.

Go – discover your future/true life.


Have fun!


Quirky Thoughts

I am blessed with two children who (heaven help them) seem to think a lot like me.  That is to say, they work to find the logic in life.  In the absence of logic that suits their needs, they invent their own.  Admittedly, most of these come from the 6 year old Owen, but he started blessing us with these little nuggets around age 3.

Just this week, out of the blue, he commented ‘When I get married, I’m going to pick a girl who likes kids.  Cause if she doesn’t, she’ll probably be a terrible mother.’

Hmmmm, while true, I am curious how much time he has spent considering that eventuality.

This is the same child who, since age 3, has decided he will be a paleontologist.  He has actually asked questions about schooling requirements, and has resigned himself to lots and lots of education.  He plans to work in a bakery in college to earn money (and eat ice cream for breakfast, because his dad told him Orange Leaf opens at 11:00 am for college students).  He knows he should study rock climbing, and feels the best vehicle for him will be a Ford Raptor off-road truck.  That’s why he has to work in a bakery – they are expensive.   And why does he want to be a paleontologist?  Well, he loves dinosaurs for one thing, and has for years.  This is the reason I know so much about dinosaurs.  How much you say?  A. Lot.  That’s a post for another day.  A few months ago he amended that plan to say he wanted to be a paleontologist because of the teamwork, and because of ‘no paperwork.’  Why does my 6 year old know what paperwork is, and why does he know it is not a good thing???  My husband and I don’t talk much about work at home.  Well, at least he has a life plan.

His back-up plan is to be a meteorologist.  He loves weather.  He doesn’t understand that other’s don’t always love weather.  When he was 5 and his sister 2, a storm was cooking up, and the wind really started to blow.  Lucy got a little upset and his response was, in his best comforting big-brother voice, ‘Don’t worry Lucy its just wind.  It just knocks down buildings and makes tornados and stuff.’  Very helpful.

I do keep a record of these bits of wisdom, of course.  I was just looking back over them, and found one from the middle of kindergarten, 6 months or so ago.  I had picked Owen up from school, and was asking him how his day was.  They had been playing in the gym in the after-school program, so I asked him what his favorite thing to play was.  His answer? ‘I need suction cups.’  Me: ‘Um, why?’ Owen: ‘I need 4 suction cups so I can climb the walls when we play tag.  Then I can hang from the ceiling and laugh.’

My record stops there, probably because there really is no good response to that.  The root of the problem is that he was a kindergartener, so one of the smallest kids.  Also one of the slowest, so he gets tagged easily.  Instead of asking how to run faster (hint: the answer is to stop worrying about how awesome you look running), this was his solution.

Let’s go back to age 4.  Driving in the car, running errands one morning.  This happened:

Owen: ‘Mom-I need to go poop!’ Me: ‘We’re almost home buddy.’ Owen: ‘Ok, I’ll lock my butt up so he poop doesn’t get out.’. (5 minutes later) Owen: ‘Mom! The poops going to come out!’ Daddy: ‘You said you locked your butt!’ Owen: ‘The poop has the key! It took the key out of my hand!’


On another day, another time, I will share some of the nuggets his little sister has begun dropping about.  Not the least of which include some of the things she has told God she’s thankful for during prayer time.  Like the holes in mommy’s sweatshirt.

Until next time y’all.  I should be getting a report from Carl and Raylene anytime!


Child Logic Quirky Thoughts

I have thought long and hard about this, and I think I have uncovered the most effective marketing strategy ever.

I am pretty sure that even fancy marketing people have nothing on this – it is truly just the best idea ever.

Do you know what it is?

I bet you can’t guess.

Its so simple, so effective, its almost diabolical.

Its. . . . . . . Kindergarteners.

More specifically Kindergarten teachers, but eventually the kindergarteners themselves.

Why yes, I will explain!  You see, I recently had a child complete kindergarten, so this comes from that experience.  I can’t really speak for kids in other grades, its possible this model could be more widely used.  However, because I have only had a kindergartener up to this point, I am going with that.

There were a number of things that came up this year, and despite my ambivalence or outright dislike of some of the things that came up – we knew about each event, fundraiser, ‘special restaurant night,’ purchase opportunity, and other school related sundries.  Not because of colorful fliers (which sometimes made their way to the ‘get rid of when the kids aren’t looking’ pile without a lot of attention), but because my kindergartener was certainly aware of each one and made it his personal mission to remind us.  I assume much of this information was passed along through his very wonderful kindergarten teacher (no sarcasm here – she was absolutely terrific).  Now, a lot of this I can understand.  If the school is having a fundraiser night at, oh let’s say Chuck E Cheese, of COURSE my kid is going to want to go.  He has an ulterior motive, unrelated to his school spirit and his desire to assist his school with getting a new floor for the gymnasium.  He loves that horrible, horrible place.

So, it goes something like this.  My husband and I get the colorful flier and find out that a certain date is my child’s elementary schools special fundraiser day at Chuck E Cheese.  We quickly look at one another and say ‘no way, rather write them a check.’  And into the pile.  Great!  Problem solved.

Problem not solved, because a certain Kindergartener will bring up the subject each and every night until the night in question.  And we will attempt to delay with ‘we’ll see’ or ‘we’ll decide later’ (parents you will recognize this as ‘absolutely no way in heck that’s going to happen, but I will procrastinate this decision in case you get into big trouble and losing this opportunity can be spun into an important learning moment.’)  Every day.  Multiple times.  With great excitement.  Enthusiasm.  School spirit.  And big happy cow eyes.

So, we end up at Chuck E Cheese, my husband and I staring at one another and trying to figure out how this happened.

Repeat as needed 14 times throughout the school year.

You may ask yourself, how does this relate to marketing?  Well, quite simply, kindergarteners have the innate ability to zero in on our weaknesses, and exploit them through a combination of unwavering tenacity and cuteness.  Want to get a political candidate into office?  Get the kindergarten teachers on your side.  BAM!  You’ve got them bringing home their subliminally implanted lessons to propagandize the parents.

Want to sell a new product?  Convince the kindergarten teachers its awesome (this will take some doing – they are intelligent people – but let’s assume your product warrants approval).  ZOOM!  Kids wear down parents with relentless marketing until we wake up one day, and without realizing it, think out how amazing that product is indeed.

Do I intend to use this?  Absolutely.  You see, if no publishing company sees the brilliance of the children’s books I am trying to get them to buy/publish/print, I will go the self-publishing route.  And then I will do a reading at every kindergarten in the metro area.  I will pass out business cards.  And I will be ready.  In 10-15 days (depending on the self-control of the parents involved) the orders should come rolling in.


Of course, in this case, its absolutely the right thing to do.



Quirky Thoughts

The subject recently came up, ‘what would be the best last name to have.’

Here’s the deal – you can use any logic you like!  Would you choose the last name of a famous person and go for the ‘I’m totally related to them,’ angle?  A notable scholar?  A famous person from history?

All very solid choices – and I applaud you.

That is not where my conversation with Matt (my husband) went.  Now, I knew it would have to be a name that could be spelled, because between my maiden name and my married name, I have been spelling my last name 147 times a month since I learned to spell.  And despite spelling it to everyone who will listen, people still constantly spell it wrong.  So, in addition to all other requirements, I do insist that my ‘Best Last Name Ever’ be spelled phonetically.  All that aside, the whole equation changed  while back.

You see, several months ago, I ran across the last name of someone I do not know (and cannot remember where I saw their last name), but it was so awesome, I have thought about it since.  And that name was ‘Fightmaster.’  Oh yes.  Its just SO COOL.  I think, though, if your name is Fightmaster, there’s probably some kind of obligation to get your kids martial arts lessons.  Likely for their own good, cause everyone would want to take down the Fightmaster.

I would not have changed my name when I got married if my last name was Fightmaster.  In fact, I think I would have insisted that Matt change his name.  He actually agreed with that.  So, if the time ever comes that I have to change my identity to escape my enormous fame and fortune as a writer (yes please), I’m going for Fightmaster.

I thought that was it.  Problem solved!  But no.  Matt and I. . . . we . . . . I don’t even know how to say it.  We DISAGREE.  GAH!   You see, Matt contends that he best last name to have ever is ‘Asaurus.’  Think about that for a minute.  Add your own first name.  Would it be Dave Asaurus?  Wendy Asaurus?  Heinrich Asaurus.  Well, poo, I think he might actually be on to something.  Endless giggling opportunity.  I should probably point out we have been deep in dinosaur country for the past 4 years (nothings cuter than hearing a 3 year old say ‘I’m going to be a paleongologist.’ – Yes, I know that’s not correct, but he was three, cut him some slack.)  The only thing that could even possibly make it better would be if you happened to marry someone who’s last name was Rex, and you decided to hyphenate.  Kim Asaurus-Rex.  Dang, I concede.  That would, indeed be the coolest last name ever.

Do you have a better one?  Speak up!  I dare you.

Kim Asaurus-Rex (in my mind)

Quirky Thoughts