Ah fundraising. The time of year every parent dreads as after all family members have been hit, children need to be escorted from door to door. Such is the case with my fifth grader who is trying to raise money for a class trip to Washington, DC.

The grade takes this trip every year, so we’ve known our turn at basically begging for cash would come ever since we moved to this school district back in the first grade. The kids did it year after year, so it seemed as if it would be easy enough. But somewhere over the course of the past five years, the same folks must have been approached over and over again as they’re not as eager to buy now that my kid is out selling. They’re certainly not as generous as Aunt Kim or Granddaddy Leroy – go figure.

No, my son is learning the valuable lesson that “work” is just that – work. And not everything is handed to you on a silver platter. It’s a life lesson, but a bitter pill to swallow just the same.

And it’s dangerous to be friends with me this year because in addition to class fundraising, my son will also be selling popcorn for the Cub Scouts. Neighbors are beginning to cringe when they see us out. :) When the PTA comes calling for us to sell holiday wrap, I think we will have to decline (insert friends and family rejoicing and breathing a sigh of relief here).


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Why you should never send your husband for birthday balloons:
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It was a gorgeous summer day. The humidity was noticeably lower and there was a breeze. Far from the computer and the cell phone, I was enjoying the quiet of a leisurely drive. I had my car windows open for the first time in a long while as I stopped for gas.

The station was quite busy; many people were out enjoying the weather. As I pulled in, I noticed the deafening sound of someone's car stereo cranked up beyond the limits of most eardrums. The vulgarities being broadcast from that stereo were so offensive -- and so frequent -- that I couldn't believe anyone would listen to that (no to mention inflict their choice of "entertainment" on everyone else).

I had my baby in the car and was grateful that he slept through the ordeal. Others weren't as lucky: an elderly gentleman cleaning his windshield was clearly taken aback by the language, and the woman pumping gas next to me had a carload full of children (she was NOT pleased). Everyone was turning to see what kind of person would cause such a stir, only to learn that there was no one even in the vehicle! The driver was apparently in the store, but left his million-decibel gansta' tunes for all to enjoy. How thoughtful.

Now I'm the first to defend your right to watch or listen to whatever you want -- but when it involves "slappin' your b___" around, "puttin' a cap" in their posterior, or "f___in'" someone up, I tend to draw the line. If you want to listen to that kind of crap, please do so within the comforts of your own home, with earphones, or at least have the courtesy to turn the volume down and your windows up. I'm just sayin' ...


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