A few evenings ago I took my 9 and 11-year old to see a screening of the “Diary of a Wimpy Kid.” The movie was quite entertaining with more than a fair share of references to boogers, moldy cheese and bathroom bombs. What made me laugh the most, though, was the chaotic household of this “wimpy” kid. He and his older brother defined sibling rivalry. They physically fought, verbally tortured each other and pranked one another constantly. At one point, one brother even peed on the other in retaliation. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Category: Reflecting
I Want My Mullet Back
As a 10-year old in the heart of the 80s, proudly sporting the fashionable mullet, life was pretty simple. From what I remember, the only thing that plagued my high-top wearing and neon-clad self was homework and friend woes. However, memories have a way of getting cloudy as we get older and the good times override the bad times in our minds. We induct ourselves into sainthood and wipe away any recollections of mischief. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Do You Hear the Words That are Coming Out of My Mouth?
The other morning I was jolted out of bed by the sound of my daughter singing in her room. The sound of her voice was not disconcerting at all – in fact, it was beautiful. It was the lyrics that jolted me after hearing an 11-year old sing about getting “crunk and drunk.” I pulled myself out of bed after I heard: “Before I leave, I’ll brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack.” A few seconds later … “Erbody getting crunk (crunk), Boys try to touch my junk (junk), Gonna sock ‘em if he gettin too drunk (drunk).” Thank you, Ke$ha. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
GLEE-fully Reminiscing
High school was a turbulent time for me. Freshman year, I transferred to a high school where I knew only one person in a sea of 2,000 students. I had to leave my grade school friends and struggle to find my way, and more importantly, myself. As most high schoolers find, it is a time where you have no idea how to act, how to fit in and how to invent yourself. I wasn’t sure where I belonged – I wasn’t an athlete, I wasn’t in a clique, I wasn’t an honor student, I wasn’t a stoner and I wasn’t a cheerleader. I was just an ordinary student wandering around the halls, lost, until I entered the choir room. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
A Mother’s Intuition: My Kids Know Me the Best
I’ve always heard about and truly do believe in a mother’s intuition. My mother could always tell when something was wrong based on my tone of voice or my facial expressions, no matter how hard I tried to mask the pain or anguish I was feeling. She just knew something wasn’t right. She wasn’t a magician or a superhero – she was a mother. Now that I have two children of my own, I have the same gut feeling in my stomach when my daughter’s voice is low or my son turns his head so I won’t see his expressions. As a mother, you feel what your kids feel. You hurt when your kids hurt. Ironically, though, I think that we underestimate how much intuition our kids have. Children have a keen sense when it comes to someone they care about. Just as I can detect when my son or daughter has had a bad day at school, my children can sense the same from me. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
20,000 Pennies
We all have told a white lie, a fib or even exaggerated events or stories at some points in our lives. We fluff up the drama of a story, we embellish our job descriptions and paint a picture perfect image of ourselves. We call ourselves optical illuminator enhancers instead of window cleaners, underwater ceramics technicians instead of dishwashers, refuse and recyclable material collectors instead of garbage men and freelance writers instead of out-of-work journalists. It’s natural. We all exaggerate in order to prime our egos and feel bigger than who we really are – more accomplished and more successful. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Proud to Sweat the Small Stuff
If you know me well, you know how I fret over the little things. It irritates me when wet towels are left on the floor, when dishes are in the sink and my counters are cluttered. It irritates me when my newspaper students don’t even the text off at the end of each story or leave half-empty soda cans next to brand new Macs in the newsroom. It irritates me when periods are outside of quotation marks, when story leads don’t have a hook and when text is bold or italics within an article. I sound neurotic already, but in my mind, the little things really do matter, no matter how much I get irritated. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Stretchy Pants Make You Fat
When I was younger, I was fortunate enough to live next door to a very wise and patient lady. Each day after school I would make my way over to Joan and Jim’s house and soak up the advice she gave me on a regular basis. Joan never preached to me and never intentionally pushed advice on me, but her words stuck with me throughout my entire adolescence. She was very wise and one of the most influential women I’ve ever come into contact with. I was convinced that Joan knew something about everything (and still do). I would plant myself in her kitchen or at the piano in the dining room while she prepared dinner and would tell me about what she was cooking. I would run errands with her and listen as she patiently would tell me why she purchased the items she did. I would take walks with Joan and listen to her talk about her Weight Watchers meetings and the exercises we should try. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Miss Independent
I love music for its obvious reasons – it helps to trigger memories, it livens up a really dull party and it seems to alter our moods and make us feel something real. Most of all, I love the lyrics. There is nothing more powerful than words that speak directly to your heart accompanied by a melody that soothes the soul. Sometimes, though, the lyrics are too real, so real that the words sung make us uncomfortable and distressed, terrorizing the soul with the truth. These brutally honest words make us see who we really are despite who we really want to be. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Howdy Neighbor
After spending two weeks listening to my children fight with each other about anything and everything possible, we resorted back to a plan we adopted last summer. They became neighbors, not siblings. As odd and unconventional as the plan sounds, it has worked for us in the past and evolved out of desperation. My son and daughter are at ages (9 and 11) where they both want independence, they don’t want to be bothered with a younger brother or older sister, and they don’t seem to mesh as well as they did when they were younger. Read the rest at http://www.shannonphilpott.com
Shannon Philpott-Sanders 