Mind Dump No. 2 (Lip Synch Swearing, All Nighters & Farm Workers' Rights)

I'm too friggin' busy supposedly generating extra cash for the family to create a thoughtful, well fleshed out entry today. That's right. That's how cool I am? Well, okay, not at all. I'm just terrible at managing my time. So, instead of blogging on a specific topic, I offer you yet another uncensored, un-spell-checked mind-dump.

My daughter just woke up from her nap. Yes, her NAP! How thrilling that both of my wee ones crashed out for a full hour while their big brother is at kindergarten. I woke up next to Cheeks on the bottom bunk shellacked to his pillow in my own puddle of drool. You'd think I'd take advantage of a sleeping house and make headway on several writing projects and overdue chores. But no. What do I do? I sleep.

Sleep from the fallout of pulling a true all-nighter on Sunday-Monday. I don't suggest staying up all night. I didn't log one wink of sleep, at the age of 31 and three quarters, for the very first time in my life. I felt drunk all the next day, singing random commercial jingles (zoom, zoom, friggin' zoom) and tossing burnt Eggos in the air like a speed freak juggling clown. Caught in a vortex, I sat mesmerized in the glow of my flatscreen monitor, bouncing between writing and Google-ing old friends from high school and long lost flames. I found out that a spurned college crush now owns a successful gourmet ravioli bistro in upstate New York and that several of my old "newsy" articles still exist out there in the cyber-sphere.

I also discovered that I'm still embarrassed of those old over-written articles. Time has changed nothing about my shame of my own published writing. Basically, I wish it were better, not so adjective heavy, without so many lame cliches and metaphors. Can you say TRYING TOO HARD? That's my life in a nutshell -- trying too damn hard. If everyone walked around with their biggest weakness clearly stamped on their foreheads, mine would say "Tries Too Hard to Impress," "Cares Too Much What People Think" and "Can't Make a Decision Without Frantically Consulting a Million People," among way too many other things.

Where am I going with this? Let's see ... Let's blind ...

I tagged along to my son's kindergarten today since my husband wasn't available to bring him to school today. I'm lucky he brings him at all. I see so many mothers of multiple children, including really young children like mine, skulk to the gate with groggy babies on their hips, rushing to make it inside before they're shut out, forced to do the late walk of shame through the front office. Uh, gee, I've never done that. We pulled up, literally onto the curb (whoops), just as the teacher was rolling the chainlink fence shut.

In haste, I parked in a spot that was two seconds away from being brushed clean by the street sweeper. Yup, I made a $40 mistake. One that had me mouthing the word "shit" and raising my fists in futile protest in front of my son's kindergarten classroom. Luckily I didn't say it out loud or I don't think I'd be welcomed back inside to join in for Super Lectoro (Spanish for Super Reader time). I still can't believe I did that. Way to model inappropriate anger management, Kim.

After The Lawyer's homeroom, I followed him with his posse (his two sibs) in tow to his Language Arts class, which is taught mostly in English. We learned about the plight of a fictional farm worker child and discussed ways to help hard working people who don't make enough money to make ends meet. A poster showcasing the kids' ideas was clipped to a whiteboard. It read: "make more money," "Yes, we can!" "more schools," "better education" and "no grapes." I'm still trying to figure out the "no grapes" suggestion. Remember, they're only kindergartners.

The Lawyer's Language Arts class is reading about low-wage farm workers and unions to prepare for their Cesar Chavez assembly and parade on Friday. The Lawyer made a sign for the parade that reads "Yes, we can!" a chant often used by Chavez and his fellow protesters. On it he drew in marker a "no guns" sign, a no hurting animals sign (a real stick figure gem featuring a wound and a pool of blood!), a backwards dollar sign and a backwards cents sign and a picture of my "heart protector," a nickname he uses the bold tribal necklace I'm wearing right now over my dorky Wal-mart bought "Hug a tree" shirt.

When asked to make a sentence using the word "all," my little "no guns" man proudly said to the class, "All the F-22s are lining up on the runway for a bombing mission." A huge smile unzipped across his face. He must have felt accomplished. "What's an F-22?" the teacher's aide asked. "Well, have you heard of the Thunderbirds?" The Lawyer said. "It's a long story. You'll have to go up to the Navy base my uncle works at to see some for real." He went on and on about the historic World War II planes he's been watching with his daddy and brother from our yard. They're in town for a charity event. Our friend, Nick, flew in one the other day for a cool $400. I think it was a B25, if such a plane exists. Of course, you'd have to ask The Lawyer.

"Mama, why do some people have to pick fruit all day when other people are rich and could just share their money?" Tough question. "Are we gonna' have World War III, mommy?" Worse question.

Mind dump complete.