My kids will not be attending a kindergarten graduation

Clearly this assumes something HUGE about me and kids in the first place, because as you may or may not know, the thought of actually birthing a baby is...not something I get excited about (you're welcome for that edit)...but if that day comes, or if I snatch up someone else's baby pre-kindy,  my kids will not be attending a kindergarten graduation.

That was a little too long for the title, but that's what I mean.

Here's the situation.  There are going to be a lot of things I need to say to set this up, but I promise that at the end, it will come together.   

-As far as I can tell, they started having kindergarten graduations around the time that the last few incoming classes of college freshmen were in kindergarten, because it's recently that I've started seeing photos of tiny kids in their graduation caps and gowns as a part of their applications to college (different post). 

-These last few years of applicants have been the most entitled students ever.  Giant disclaimer--certainly not all of them.  I have worked with some true gems every year.  But in general, many students I meet at college fairs, take calls from, etc. have a bit of a heightened sense of "I am the best, and everything I do is a huge accomplishment, you're welcome."

-Kindergarten isn't hard

-Basically everyone, ever, finishes kindergarten.

-Parents already spend a GOOD amount of time telling their kids they can do ANYTHINGTHEYWANTEVERANDTHATTHEYARETHEBESTATEVERYTHINGEVER!

I think you see where I'm going.

Kudos to kids for finishing kindergarten, really.  I'll take mine out to Pizza Hut buffet and we'll have Cinnastix (is that still how kids like to celebrate?). 

But having a ceremony tantamount to high school or college graduation??  It just cheapens the actual accomplishments of finishing 13 years of education, or getting a degree...and makes kids think they've actually wrapped something up.  Sorry kids--prepare to be disappointed.  You have finished the best/easiest part of your education, and it will never be as fun as that sand table you got to play with from 2:15 to 3:20.  From that ceremony through the next 12 years, no one will care at all that you finished a year of school.  You may get a Word document certificate, but that's only if your teacher has recently attended a seminar that encouraged him/her to "be a beacon of support in the lives of your students."

Just tell your kid "Nice work on wrapping the school  year up.  Get ready for more of this until you get your PhD.  Let's go get some Cinnastix."

Final disclaimer--I don't have kids, so I'm pretty sure that I have no idea what I'm talking about.  If this seems overly callous, just assume that I'll flip flop if I ever have kids.

 

These high school grads are so pissed to be in the same photo as these kids. I get it, you guys.  You worked a lot harder, and just having a pink sash to differentiate is bs.

Reasons I think I can do anything

1.  I scooted to work today in a freaking pencil skirt.
2.  We have this jar opener at home that will literally open ANY JAR.
3.  Things just usually work out.

I CAN DO ANYTHING.

I didn't think I would love The Avengers...

...but I did.  See that shiz!  It's good, even for people like me who definitely don't understand comic books.

NOTE FOR WHEN I DIE

I'm assuming this blog will be the longest living thing about me for these reasons:
--the internet is forever (if it can survive that tsunami a while back, it's set)
--there aren't a lot of other people with my name being born (I Google it all the time)
--the OTHER thing I want to be remembered about me for a long time, bringing snacks to our weekly staff meetings, has a solid end date when humanity stops eating meals and we all revert to eating super vita-filled meal pills (note: if I am not already dead at this point, I will be soon after the pill thing happens.  Don't judge.)

So obviously, this blog will be the longest living thing about me.  That's why I need this blog to know the following things:

Hey Blog,

If you're reading this after I died, I've died.  I need you to be sure the decision makers in my life (likely still Cousin) know some things.  I'll say three things, but it might end up being more, and you (you of all people, Blog) KNOW I'm not going to come back up here to edit this.

1.  I want to be cremated.  I've given this like 11 seconds of thought, because it didn't need any more thought because I am POSITIVE about this.  If there is ever any question about the circumstances surrounding my death, I want everyone to be left wanting just a little more.  Who was it that said "Always leave them wanting more."?  Marie Antoinette, I think.  Anyway, once those questions arise, I want there to be absolutely no body to exhume.  Burn me up, and scatter my ashes at the first place you go after you pick them up.  I have no preference, because other than Victorville, I kind of like everywhere for one reason or another.
"But what about El Centro?"
I know...but I even kind of like it there, because I always think "I'm 1/4 of the way to Phoenix already!!!" or "I'm 3/4 of the way home from Phoenix already!!" when I'm there.

2.  I want ALL of my journals cremated with me, unread.  I've kept them since I was in 3rd grade, have saved them all, and let's be honest, if they were read by anyone but me, I would no longer be remembered for this blog.  In all the worst ways.  Just burn them.  My friend LeAnn has strict instructions to make this this happens.  I swear to everything, if anyone reads them, if there's a chance that my spirit can come back, even if it means giving up on eternal Taco Bell served at the Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas's Wicked Spoon with thousands of bite-and-pee-less puppies (heaven), I will come back and make your life the worst.  Every time you try to "get intimate,"  I'll be there singing Muppets songs.  You will HATE it.  And I know ALL of the Muppets songs, in all the voices, and don't get tired of them. 
"But what about me?  I can read them, right?"
No.  No.  No.  Unless you are no one ever, ever, you can't read them. 

3.  Here's who my stuff goes to.  I might change this later, but I found this in an iPhone note on my phone titled "Last will and testament" that I (apparently) wrote one night.  I don't remember this, but it was pretty good, so I want to make it more perma here.
-LeAnn W gets all my journals on the condition that they're burned immediately, unread (consistent even when I don't know what's going on!)
-My brother and sister in law get all of my cash money (not much...maybe more when I kick it...unless I never mature [possible]) and computer (sell it)
-My parents get all my insurance money (sorry about the student loans)
-Cousin gets all of my music and furniture (because forcing her to sell one half of the couch, two kitchen table chairs, etc. is redic), and my car (if I actually own it at that point)
-Aiko gets all of my clothes (because giving them to her makes me feel like I'm not giving them away at all, because they're still in the family)
-Ashley gets all of the baby clothes you'll find in my closet (because I have been stocking up for my nephew to an embarrassing extent)
-Andra gets my nail polishes (because I know she'll use them)
-Darrin gets the chair (this was in the note, so I wanted to keep it real here, but I do not know to what this is referring)
-Melinda gets my jewelry (just in case I ever get real jewelry, because I know she will take the best care of it, ever)
-Catharine gets all of my shoes (I think they'll fit, but if they don't, she'll know who to share with)

I think that about covers it, Blog.  Thanks for keeping this safe.