Homework Hatred...You'll Thank Me Later.

I am an adult now. I have been for, oh, about a while. However, there is one thing I have never grown out of...


HATING HOMEWORK

Lest you think I'm lazy, which I'm not, I'm going to give you some very good reasons why homework is a complete waste of time. All of these reasons have been proven with research into child education. (I just didn't want to dredge up my old college and workshop papers to cite references.)


Feel free to tell your child's teacher these reasons the next time your second grader is given an assignment to do a five page report on a country, or do thirty math problems, or fill out a grammar worksheet.

Are you ready?


1) READING:
The only homework EVER to have proven that it improves the way your child thinks is READING. And I'm not talking a little bit here. Thirty to forty minutes is minimum, and I'm not kidding. Of course, this includes you reading aloud to them and talking about what you read and them reading on their own. So if they are little, you read more, if they are older they read more. That's it. It is the ONLY kind of homework that has been proven with research to actually do something for your child. Got it? The only thing!


2) MATH:
Math is only improved by doing lots of problems if your child is getting them perfect every time. If a child is long dividing wrong, doing thirty problems only ingrains the wrongness in their brains and makes them do it wrong forever. In fact, it has been proven that if a child can show they get five problems right, in a row, without any help at all, they know how to do that kind of math. They shouldn't need to do any more than that. In my opinion, teachers just assign that many to make themselves look like they are teaching a lot, but I'd like to know, if you assigned my child forty-five problems, and there are forty-five problems on the page, which problems did they do with the teacher? Hmmmm...think about that for a minute.

3) WRITING:
The reason that writing homework is so dumb is that teachers don't teach the child how to do the assignment before they assign it. Do you know how frustrating it is when my child comes home, says they have to write a two page report on something, and then has no clue on how to do it? I equate it to teaching someone how to build a house by handing them a hammer and a saw and saying, "You have a hammer and saw right? Good luck!". It makes no sense, but often a teacher hands my child a pencil and a piece of paper and says, "Create an essay. You have the paper and pencil right? Good Luck." I'm not against you assigning it. You just better teach them how to do it first. Because, you see, a parent's job is to support and help. A teacher's job is to teach. End of story.


4) HUMONGOUS PROJECTS:
Okay, this is my number one pet peeve. Once again, they are something a teacher assigns and never teaches. If you are going to assign my child to make a diorama, you better show them how that is done AND give them the materials to do it. If you want them to make a paper mache of a state, you better teach them how to mix paper mache and mold it into something. If you want them to write a song in honor of a past president, you better have taught them the musical notes, poetry, and rhythm. Do you see what I'm saying? This kind of homework is homework for parents, not kids. And if you as a teacher can not explain the educational benefit "the child" gains by doing this project, then it isn't a worthwhile project. I am busy enough in my life. I have to jump through hoops all day. I don't need more busy work. I've got enough going as it is.
*Note:Parent led projects are a product of nineteen fifties education. The problem is that back then we were training them to work in a factory. Part of what they needed to learn was to jump through stupid hoops and shut up so they wouldn't get fired. Now we are competing globally. They should be doing things that make them marketable--which would be becoming better readers, writers, and users of oral language. Enough said.


Above all else, my problem with meaningless homework is that it is given to "force" parents into supporting their children in school. I don't need to be coerced into helping my child with things that will really improve the way they think and the way they problem solve. I care about that. I care about things that have been proven to make my child a better student. You don't need to "Make" me do it. Because if you do, I will hate your guts when I'm running to the supermarket at one o'clock in the morning to pick up posterboard to make a collage of things that start with the letter 'A'.


Bonus Bad? The parents who don't really care about what is happening at school don't help their child with the crazy homework. Then their child doesn't ever do the homework, and the child is blamed because their "parent" didn't do their homework. That doesn't make sense. Don't assign it if a child can't do it themselves without a minimum amount of support.


Last, I want you to know I'm not just an angry parent spouting off my beliefs. I am an educator. I taught fifth grade in public schools for nine years and am currently a Literacy Specialist for my school district. My main fight is always about homework and how it really benefits the child doing it. Most of the things teachers still assign at school are products of nineteen fifties (or earlier) beliefs. The world has changed and so should the homework...that's all I'm saying.


So the next time your child is given some whacked out school assignment to build a working replica of a Native American settlement, feel free to print off this blog post. Or at the very least, ask the teacher what educational benefit your child is gaining from doing this asinine busy work, and what they (as the teacher) have taught the students about Native American villages and how they ran. (Because you can know how a Native American settlement worked, ran, and looked without ever having to build one.)



         (Now that is a twenty-first century thinker)

What about you? Do you hate homework? Like it for the bonding time you get with your child? Or are you just happy you are out of that faze of your life?

Signing Off,

Margie

To play along in our visit through the alphabet...go to Jenny's...

The Hugeness of my Hatred

Abhore. Detest. Loath. Can't Stand. Dislike Intensely. Opposite of Love. Hatred to the ninth power. Etc. Etc.

These are all words I would use to describe having to cook or bake. Speaking of which. What's the difference? I've never understood it. Either way, a stove is involved, and you get hot and sweaty. Then people come in and devour it in fifteen minutes flat. To me, it is akin to laundry, dishes, and cleaning toilets.

Once is never enough.
You make a big breakfast. As soon as it's cleaned up, you have to start thinking about lunch. You make a decent lunch. As soon as it's cleaned up, you have to start thinking about making dinner. Then you slave away making an awesome dinner, and by the time it is eaten and done, it's time for bed.

I SERIOUSLY don't understand why people love it. It sucks. And I'm not even kidding.

Given this, you will see why I am so proud of myself. I just made this...


ALL

BY

MYSELF
And they were delicous...and made my house smell yummy...and everyone loved them...and it was fabulous.

AND!

I won't be doing it again for probably another five years (which was the last time I made cinnamon rolls).

So you if want yummy food and someone who doesn't cuss and swear under their breath while they create something delicious for you to eat, all the while cursing heaven above for god creating us so we have to eat three times a day.

DON'T

COME

TO

MY

HOUSE.
:-D The End

Opinionated?. . . Me?. . . Never.

My husband often tells me I'm opinionated. Shaw right. I AM NOT OPINIONATED . How dare he belittle my true gift? There isn't even a category large enough. I guess the only way I would describe it is as ULTRAOpinionated. Or Opinionated to the eighth degree.

I recognize it in myself. HOWEVER...

Why should we not have an opinion about things? Isn't it our right as people in the human race to think whatever we want about the goings on of the world? Do people honestly see news stories, weird behaviors, or get treated a certain way and NOT think SOMETHING about that? This is why, when I saw MamaKat's latest writing prompt 'Go to the Today Show website and write an opinion article about one of the news stories' I jumped on it.

But just one?

Not Me.

Never.

Instead, I'm going to spout my opinions about as many of those news articles as possible. Sound Fun? For me...well...yes.

I can not miss such a golden opportunity.

SO. ARE YOU READY? Good.

Here Goes. . .

BRISTOL WILL WEAR CAROLINA HERRERA; CAMO FOR LEVI AND TRIPP.

Who cares? Bristol is a nobody redneck from the back country of Alaska. She's only famous because her mom ran for Vice President. The man she's marrying is a pin-up model. They fight all the time. The poor baby has to be involved. One month after they marry there will be another news headline on the Today website talking about their divorce. Seriously. This was the top headline of the page. The only thing that interested me was that her plan was to have her husband-to-be wear camouflage. Maybe she's hoping he'll blend into the background, masking the fact that she is making a HUGE mistake.

DO MEN HAVE A BIOLOGICAL CLOCK TOO?

One word. NO. The end.

DICK CHENEY 'DOING WELL' AFTER LIFE-SAVING SURGERY

Honestly. Who is Dick Cheney? Isn't he that Vice President who shot someone? Why does anyone who doesn't really know him need to know this? I know I breathed a sigh of relief when I read this...NOT. I didn't even know he was having surgery. And frankly, since I am not a member of his immediate family or his best friend, it's none of my business. Case closed.

'BLISS REMEMBERED' RECALLING LOVE IN A TIME OF WAR; Frank Defords new novel...blah blah blah

My only opinion on this? I hope that when my book is published there will eventually be a news story about me in the Today Show Headlines. I really could care less that Frank Deford is a sportswriter and now he's written a book that is totally different from what he usually writes. Good for him.

RECOVER FROM THE HEALTH SINS OF YOUR YOUTH

This actually interested me. I watched the whole video segment. How disappointing. Until they can tell me how to recover from stretch marks and sagging "girls" without major surgery I might want to listen.

MATCHMAKER MOM FIELDS DATES FOR SON ON TODAY

Okay...Bwahaahahahahaaa. Sorry. Had to let that out. All I have to say is "good luck, dude." As if your mom trying to find a date for you isn't bad enough, let's publicize it. Does he know what this is telling the female population? Well I'll tell you. 'I'm such a loser that even my mom can't stand me. She can't stand me enough that she is actually pleading with people to get me away from her.' Sad. Really Sad. But you want to know what is MORE sad? That girls actually took up the offer. Come on women. Be strong. You don't want a relationship with a man who has 'mommy issues'. Trust me on this one. That woman sounds like a meddling mother-in-law waiting to happen. Run away. Far Far Away. There is no happily ever after with this. :-)

THE MEL GIBSON TAPES

Oy. What the? Who the? Holy crap. May I just say 'Why Mel? Why?' How come you couldn't have just stayed the hot hollywood celebrity you used to be? You are officially a freak. Which brings another question to my mind. Why does anyone want to be a hollywood celebrity? It seems like, if you stay there long enough, hollywood destroys you. You know, I was talking to my friend the other day about how I wish I were young because there are so many cute, young actors out there right now. And I realized something. Those cute, young actors (the Taylor Lautners, Nick Jonases, and Zac Effrons of the world) are Mel Gibson and Brad Pitts waiting to happen. I truly think something in the 'being famous' water destroys your insides. And I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that you can't even pee without someone asking for your autograph. You can't have a breakup without everyone in the world spouting their opinion about it. You can't have open-heart surgery without it making a headline. So if you want to be famous...good luck to you. Oh, and Mel? You are an a**.

DOZENS FEARED DEAD IN CHINA LANDSLIDES

And finally, All The Way At The Bottom Of The Page, is a true news story. This is sad. It is tragic. For the people who live there, it is life-altering. AND It is buried at the bottom of a news page about crazy celebrities, redneck weddings, famous surgeries, and meddling moms.

This is the problem with America, people. Fame, fortune, money, power, and politics are more important than people. Than caring about the lives of others world-wide. Wow. I didn't realize this was going to turn into a spouting of the problems in the world.

So, I'll clear my throat. Shut up. And go back to listening to Mel Gibson rant like the raving lunatic he his.

Man, I really wish I would have stuck with my original post about the Awkward pet photos...

The caption that came with this was, 'If you love your hen, don't be afraid to shout it from the haystacks'.

Yep, definitely should have stuck with the pet photos. :-)

Over and Out.

Hook up at MamaKats.

THAT Moment.

You know how sometimes you are just going about your day when suddenly something jumps right out at you and stops you in your tracks? I had that happen to me today.

This requires a little back-story. Forgive me if you've heard it.

About six months ago. Maybe November-ish. I went into to the doctor for a routine checkup. They took some blood work and found out that my blood platelet count was low (about half of what it should be). I wasn't worried. Platelets just, you know, make you scab and not bruise as easily. I went back a couple more times. Still low. They got worried. I totally didn't. They told me I needed to see a hematologist. I said, "okay, sure, whatever". NO BIG DEAL.

So they give me the address and the directions (because I totally suck at finding places when people just give me an address) and I head out.

I was a bit taken aback when I show up at the place and a large glass-plated sign reads across the door... "Huntsman Cancer Instititute". I walk inside to the waiting room with an open door to about eight people receiving chemotherapy.

CANCER? What the EFF? I think I seriously had an internal panic attack right at that moment. Cancer never occurred to me. What followed was a few months of giving blood and tests and ultrasounds and tests and more tests.

NOT Cancer. Whew. However, I did find out that I have a condition called ITP. Technical term- "You have low blood platelet counts and we can't figure out why."
Anyway, because of this, every so often I have to go and have my blood drawn and tested to be sure the counts don't stoop too low.

Fast forward to TODAY.

I go to my usual appointment. I'm grumpy and tired and annoyed and still a bit panicky. That stinking 'cancer' word always makes my heart accelerate. I wait. The doctor isn't there. (That is a whole other story--believe me.) So then I'm really annoyed. And I want to yell at somebody. But I don't.

As I turn around to leave, my eyes sweep the room and catch. There is a little old lady with a chemo drip in her arm. She's bald, frail, and tiny. She is also smiling. Smiling. I couldn't believe it. Then I glance to the side of the door and read the sign they have hanging there.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain.

That sign has been hanging in that office since I started going there. I've never noticed it before. I've heard the saying many times. It's never meant that much. But quite out of the blue. This lady and that sign meshed and made me stop to think. This cute, little old grandma. Who is probably dying. Was dancing in her own personal rain.

And I wasn't.

It got to me. You know? Right then and there I changed my attitude. AND I have a new, personal mantra...Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain. Even when lightning strikes your house, or a huge wind blows away the brand new trampoline you just spent $500 on. You pick yourself up and you start dancing. WOW. I hope I don't forget that moment any time soon. I hope I remember to keep dancing. If someone with a storm raging as high as that little old lady can do it, I think I can too.

What about you? Have you ever had "One of THOSE moments?"

Dear Diet Coke,

I miss you. I know we broke up a week ago, but I can't get you out of my mind. Your bubbly goodness and semi-sweet taste really brought something to my life. I loved the way you burned my throat as I swallowed you down, and didn't get sticky when I spilled you on the kitchen floor. I wish we could get back together. The headache is killing me.

BUT

We can't.


I know. It's sad. Believe me, it's me. Not you. I am far too addicted to you. And you and the fifteenpoundsI'vegainedinthelastyear's personalities clash. You make me crave sweet things and sweeter things and the things that are sweetest. The fifteen pounds makes me crave being thin and beautiful and the kind of person that people look at and say "wow that girl is hot i wish i could be her." Not Good.

So.

I'm Sorry.

We won't be making up anytime soon. Don't hate me. I'm being strong. I'm eating carb-free. I'm exercising. I'm taking vitamins. And don't worry. Some day soon, I'll be breaking up with those fifteenpoundsigainedeventhoughididn'trealizeituntilitwastoolate, too.

Unfaithfully yours,
Margie

Written for MamaKat's Writer's Workshop. Want to Link up...go here

May I Vent For a Moment?

This is Me (Yes, it is the tiniest swimsuit picture I could find)This is what the world says I should beDoes anyone see anything wrong with this?

Okay. So I went for my first full on bikini/leg wax today. What the EFF? Do we women honestly do this stuff to ourselves on purpose? Is it some greater conspiracy of self torture and mutilation? An ends to make sure others are in more pain than the rest of us? These are all questions I had as I sat in the waiting room, contemplating getting my hair pulled out follicle by follicle.

This is what I decided.

Mankind, in general, is against anything that is natural. Let me explain.

HAIR.
WE HAVE HAIR! WE are BORN with it. There must be some purpose for having it. Maybe protection from the elements, proof that we are part animal, or something. So what does society tell us is wrong?

To HAVE HAIR!

Why?
Why is this?
I don't know. All I know is that I sat calmly by as I was tortured for an hour and ten minutes (yes, that is how long it took) all the while cussing and freaking-freak-freakering in my mind.

SKIN COLOR
I am naturally white. I CAN'T HELP IT. My lineage is from northern Europe. No one in my family--since the beginning of time--has been able to tan. In fact, we are the opposite of tan. We freckle. Not just sprinkles across our nose either. I'm talking full freckle frontal attack. So what does society say I should be?

TAN of course.

Because of this, I went and had my first fake tan ever last year. I stunk. My clothes turned orange. And after a day at the beach, all the fake orange-ness washed off my feet and ankles, making me look like I hung out at the beach in tube socks most days. It wasn't fair. I can't help it if I DON'T TAN.

Yet I paid the money, I exfoliated, and stook with my arms out like a scarecrow for fifteen minutes as a woman I'd never met sprayed liquid onto my nakedness.

WEIGHT
Look back through my family tree. I'm talking clear back to my Great Greats. They were all chubby (at least the women were). Even my grandmother who starved and practically died crossing the plains was a bit on the plump side. Spare tires, chunky cheeks, thunder thighs. . . it's all there baby. YET. What am I supposed to be? That's right.

A SIZE ZERO. ZERO!

I don't think this is possible. I think that even if all I had left were skin clinging to bone that I could wear a size zero.

And so I say-- IT IS FRUSTRATING!

Why must I be skinny, tan, and hairless when it is entirely against my genetic makeup to be so?

I do not have the answer to this question. I'm just saying. . . IT SUCKS!

There.

POINT MADE.

I guess I'll go eat some leafy greens, while getting fake baked, and having my face tweezed. Because this is my way of RAGING AGAINST THE MACHINE. I conform to it.

But what about you?

What do you do to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE?

Does This Manuscript Make My Butt Look Big?

There are several things I've learned since becoming a writer.
1. Sometimes less is more (usually most of the time).
2. Characters have more than just eyes and a face.
3. It's okay to break grammar/usage rules to get a point across.
4. Prologues are somehow a no-no (who knew?)
5. Just because a character is something doesn't mean they always have to act like it.
AND
6. Your a** grows in congruence with your manuscript.

Yes, I said it. I swear that every page written adds another piece of cellulite to the butt and thighs.


Before I started writing, this was me:


After a year and half, this is me:

Okay, so neither one are actually ME. But you get the idea. I swear it is scientifically accurate. I wonder if I measured the height of all the pages I've written and compared it to the growth of my bedonkadonk if it would be in proportion? I might have to do that some time. (Add to list of experiments I'd like to try)

I guess my hang up with all of this is balance. I am a full time mom and I have a full time job. This writing thing is consuming every extra ounce of free time I possess. It's amazing to me, because I truly love writing, but a small part of me resents it for taking my life away. It has given me one more full time job. The only problem? I don't get paid for it.

All right--RANT OVER! Time to look on the bright side. Some things that I've realized since becoming a writer.

a) Running Sucks! I've forced myself to go out and do it for ten months now . . . and I HATE IT! It never gets easy. In fact, if it does get easy, you aren't trying hard enough. I finally have a reason to quit. I don't have time for it! Thanks manuscript for saving me on that one.

b) My kids can sleep just about anywhere. Really. I'm not lying. Since I began this journey into the world of words, I've found my kids in some really weird places. In front of the bathroom door, sticking out of my closet, in the corner between the bed and the dresser--Completely ASLEEP. I don't know how they do it, but it works for them and we're going with it.

c) Hardly anyone cares about writing, EXCEPT writers. Since I've come out of the "Writing Closet" and admitted that I dabble in novels, everyone asks me about it. However, not a freakin one really cares that I used this verb instead of that one, or made a character with a unique flaw. THEY DON'T CARE. And that's all good. That's what "Writing Friends" are for.

d) My brain does not work like the majority of people. I can't look at a person, a place, or a story in the newspaper without wondering what's behind it. That weird guy at Walmart who sings really loud to himself. Hmmm...I wonder what's up with him? Maybe he was kidnapped my aliens! That old building in my semi-new subdivision, why is it there? Perhaps a secret society meets there on the weekends! (You see what I'm saying) Every conversation overheard becomes a page in a book in my mind.
For most people this is called PSYCHO! To other writers? CREATIVE!


Yes, my rear might get larger until I figure out how to balance the creative juices and the nectar of life, but I can deal. Because I know someday, someone, somewhere is going to publish my book, and someday, someone, somewhere is going to read it. So until then, I'm going to pull up my size 50 pants proudly. Because. . .


I AM A WRITER!

The B-Day/M-Day Combo

It was by birthday yesterday. Yes, on Mother's Day.


Now most people would not know this about me, but I am a major Birthday Diva. What can I say? I love having a day that celebrates the fact that "I" am on the earth. A day all about me? Well, heck ya...bring on the worshiping of moi. I'm worthy of celebrating. (More people should develop this philosophy if you ask me.)


ANYWAY...my big day was upstaged this year by none other than Mother's Day. WHAT! All mothers can not steal a day that is meant for having a fiesta over me. It is so wrong on so many levels.


Level number one: Laying Around Like a Slug. This year I only got ONE day to be a lazy, good-for-nothing. Most years I can milk it for my birthday and Mother's Day. Not this year. Therefore, I tried my hardest to be as lazy as possible yesterday, but still didn't feel that I achieved the true laziness that could come from two days of playing video games and sleeping on the couch. Or in other words...being a man. It's so not right.


Level number two: More gifts. Need I say more? I could usually make a haul on both days, but this year didn't receive the amount deemed worthy of a double celebration day. Okay, this is only partly true. I FELT spoiled until my younger sister came over and told me everything she had received for Mother's Day. Her gifts upstaged mine. YES...I am bitter about it. Now I don't even get the extra day to make up for it.

Level number three: The Facebook Thunder steal. Everyone got to get on their facebook pages and say "Thanks Honey, for the awesome mother's day! It was the best!" And I did too. BUT they will also get to brag one more day about their Birthdays...and I won't. Isn't Facebook solely for bragging about how your kids/husband/car/bad weather/school degree is better than everyone else's? Yeah, I thought so too. Now my extra bragging day is totally ruined.


See...even my own daughter is trying to steal my birthday thunder by blowing out MY candles. SO wrong!

There you have it. My rant over only getting one day for me is over...until of course, my birthday falls on Mother's Day again. I guess I'll go cry in my left over cake with buttercream frosting. (Man, I totally forgot to complain how everyone got breakfast in bed, and not just me. I guess I'll save it for a later posting.) So HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY you BIRTHDAY STEALING freaks! :-) Hahaha...


P.S. Don't comment how you are worse off than I am, because I will never believe you. ;-0 And I do hope you realize how sarcastic I'm being with all this--except of course the day of celebrating me, that's all real baby.


P.S.S. I'M EXTENDING THE CONTEST UNTIL FRIDAY...SO IF YOU HAVEN'T SUBMITTED YOUR HORRIBLE RECESS STORY YET, THERE IS STILL TIME!


Happy Writing.

Shank You Very Much Mr. Woods

*NOTE* I found this in the editing pile of my old blog. It's a little late, but since I am a person who can't seem to give things up...here it is.

Golf was never my thing growing up. Frankly, my dad was a farmer, and golf was something 'fer the upper class'. My husband, however, was raised on the golf course. When we were dating, it became a requirement (at least in my mind) to pretend I knew what golf was all about. The bad thing was that golf seemed to come on the television every single Sunday, and so I had to do a lot of lying.
Talk about a sport with a lot of weird lingo. Sometimes my husband would pump his fist and shout 'EAGLE, YES!' I would search and search the skies for some golden eagle soaring through the air, and couldn't understand why he was so excited seeing one. It also seemed that seeing a 'birdie' was a good thing too. I couldn't figure it out, and I didn't even know an animal called a 'bogey'. I thought maybe it was an imaginary being, like the boogey man, that no one could really see. It made sense in my mind because people seemed really upset when one came around. (Plus, give me a break, I'm a blond.)
Eventually, when marriage became an option, I had to come clean and admit I had no idea what he was talking about. What ensued, was ten years of learning the sport of golf. Now, fifteen years since saying "I do", I can actually watch a golf game and tell you exactly what is happening and what the name of the shot is they are making. I think my husband's proudest moment was when we watched Tiger Woods win the Masters and I knew the other guy had to bogey his shot and Tiger had to birdie his. I saw actual love in his eyes that day, and now golf on Sunday is something I love to take an afternoon nap to.
For those of you not acquianted with the fascinating game of golf, a shank is one of the worst shots you can make in golf. Most of the time it happens out of the blue, when you're having one of the most amazing games of your life. You get up to hit, miss the club head, and instead hit the ball with the handle. This causes the ball to fly off into some weird destination.
Now because I have this learned love for the golf game, I can see that Tiger Wood's life is a shank golf hit. His life was going good, he forgot to pay attention to those closest to him, and wham-o, his life goes veering off into the bushes.(I mean look at this picture--we should have known)
To be truthful, I was really disappointed in Tiger when the mistress(es) news hit the airwaves. Okay, that is a huge lie. I was disgusted in him, and even more distressed when he came back to golf and got more publicity than the winner of the match he played in. Frankly, I'm sick of famous cheating men getting pat on the back for being brave enough to return to something they are making millions of dollars off of anyway. Yeah, real noble.
Then I realized something.
I should be thanking Tiger.
You see, if he could sleep around with whomever he wanted and then claim he had an addiction, well what's to stop me from doing the same thing with other various weaknesses I currently have. (Thankfully, racking up notches on my bedpost is not one of them.)
Some of the things I think I would like to use the 'I-couldn't-help-it-I'm-addicted-to' card on are listed below:

The Leaving-items-whereever-you-feel-like-it Addiction
I worked retail and hated when I'd find something that belonged in the clothing section lying in the middle of housewares. Because of this, whenever I realize I don't need something in my cart, I hike back and put it where it belongs. NO LONGER. Now I will leave that bottle of shampoo mixed in with the size 7 shoes and not feel the least bit guilty. I can just say, "I'm addicted to leaving things in weird places."(I bet some of these people have my same addiction--it's very prevalent, you know)

The Hogging-the-closet Addiction
Stacking my clothes in my husband's side of the closet is a current past time of mine. I honestly have a ton of clothes, but nothing to wear. So...I need a little bit more closet space. I can't help it. Sometimes I just have to hang my dress in his polo shirt section. He seriously hates it! BUT I don't have to worry about it anymore because I can just say, "I'm addicted to putting my clothes in your side of the closet."

The Shouting-obscenities-at-stupid-drivers Addiction
I'm not a gigantic swearer (haha)However, when I drive, I cuss a lot. Everyone is going either too fast or too slow or turning in the opposite direction I want them to turn in. I knew it was getting really bad when my nine year old son said, "You do realize they can't hear you." and I instantly thought, well then I better buy a bullhorn. Thank goodness I don't even need to worry about it anymore. Because I can just say, "I"m addicted to calling people &*%)@$^ wearing (%^&%^>?-ers when I drive."(Move you explicative explicative cuss word)

Anyway, you get the idea. For these many weeks I've sat around thinking about how Tiger destroyed the notion that little kids should look up to him, when I should have been thanking him for giving me an out on ever having to be a decent person again. It's all win-win.

I am curious though--what are some of the things the rest of you would like to claim "addiction disability" to?