Journal Assignment - April 18, 1984

If I could have any animal in the world, I would choose a zebra. They are big and pretty and their stripes trip me out. They are totally unique and I just think it would be neat to have one that I could ride to places on. Its almos as good as showing up in a limo.

I'm about to fall asleep. I know you care but anyway. I stayed up (couldn't get to sleep) until 2:00 am this morning. Woke up at 7:00 am (dead to the world) I'm still trying to wake up.


Oh 14-Nisa... I still think that sounds fun. I NEVER dreamed I'd be driving a Mom-mobile back in those days. I had a poster of an electric blue Porsche 911 ragtop. It was beautiful! Now I drive a powder blue Nissan Quest minivan! Woo hoo! Not quite a zebra or a Porsche. But I don't think I've compromised too much as a Mom. There was that year I spent with a 5-yr-old and a 2-yr-old and had blue hair (electric blue wasn't available, so I went with midnight blue). I DO have electric blue toenails, though! There are the rockin' flames on the minivan - and the bumper sticker that implies we are all going to hell in a handbasket. There are my numerous t-shirts covered in skulls... I think I still show my zebra stripes from time to time, but I guess nowadays I do it in a more muted fashion. 39 is a long way from 14, but I still understand my 14-Nisa's idea about standing out in a crowd and stickin' it to "da Man." I just do it in a quieter way in my old age I guess!

Zooey's Haircut

I'm taking a break from the journal today to share my 9-year-old's journey with you. If you don't know Zooey, she is an old soul, full of life, and a joy to be around. We both got our hair cut yesterday. We both had rather long hair, and she wanted hers cut short. We both have curly hair, and she had these long spiral locks. They are gone now, and she loves it! Here are some photos from the day.

Here she is before - excited about what's to come!




We decided it was enough hair to make a large WebKin (or a small poodle.) And here she is after - drumroll please...








Sylist Cindy Herrera did an amazing job with both of us! She was extremely friendly and professional - and obviously, she knows what she is doing. She really enjoyed Zooey's joie d'vivre, and really talked to her at length before she did any cutting, just to make sure Zooey understood what she was going to do. I think we found our hair-stylist! By the way, she works with straight hair too! If you are in the Austin area, and interested in seeing her, just contact me for her info. I'm happy to recommend her!

Journal Assignment - April 9, 1984

If I could choose today's journal topic, I would write about summer vacation. I would write about sleeping until noon and stayin' up until 6 am. I would write about soap operas and swimmin' pools. And I'd write about guys and goin out to have fun. I'd write about life in the fast lane and so-on so forth, and music in the punk world. I'd write about the 4 things I believe in: Music, World Peace, War and guys.


Ahhh, life as a 14-year-old... I can even picture 1984, but when I do, it is MTV style. I can hear what it sounded like and I can see the neon colors. 14 Nisa, although they are four very good things, you won't always believe in just those things. Eventually, life gets a little more complicated. Music ends up being about the business of Music. World Peace ends up being about age-old turf wars, religion and foreign relations. War ends up being about oil, security, and feeling safe. And guys end up being about pain, self-image, dieting, game-playing, exasperation, and finally/hopefully love. Enjoy being 14... I think 14 was my last fun and truly kid-like year. I wanted to be older so badly, but I just wasn't mentally equipped to be. Thankfully, I was allowed to be a kid when I was 14.

Now... back to my MTV daydreams - remember when they still played music videos and music videos only? The dancing astronaut on the moon? The MTV theme music? Sting's voice singing, "I want my... I want my... I want my MTV."

Journal Assignment - Jan. 25, 1984

If I were to write a book, it would be about life at Goddard Jr. High. It would be so massive and then it would be made into a movie. The movie would be a Box Office Smash. I would be the main character and so would Jennifer. I'd envite everyone to playthere own part in the movie. Especially you Mrs. Biggs. No-one could depict (vocab word) you as well as you do. Some of the teachers might be hard to believe though. (Mrs. Sigmon!!!)


I keep seeing "Jennifer" in this journal, and sadly, I have NO idea who that is... I wish 14-Nisa would have given me more clues. Now, onto more important things - Mrs. Sigmon!!! Gosh, I haven't thought about her in a long time! This skinny, pale white, dyed-red curly haired goof-ball was completely, certifiably, crazy and my science teacher in 8th grade. She had also been a belly-dancing student of my mother's. (Yes, Mom was a belly-dancer... but that's a different blog entry all together!) Because she knew my mother, I guess she expected me to be a perfect student...? But as we all know, I was the class clown and way too bored in that class to behave myself. I tried though, I really DID try - but all my favorite "fine guys" were also in that class, and took pride in getting me into trouble with the White Carrot Lady.

At one point, during a geology section lesson (this is how well I remember it) Donnie began talking to David Nickel and they both were laughing right behind me. The Siggy looked up and said "Nisa! To the Office!" Well... I was confused and asked why, and she said not to argue, that she had heard me laughing and she was tired of it. The whole class was stunned that David's deep-toned laughter could be mistaken for mine, but I shrugged my shoulders, gathered my stuff, and off I went to the office.

When I arrived and explained my story, the vice-principle smiled and said, "She is a little crazy, isn't she?" And I was so releived that he understood and believed me, that I blurted out, "a LITTLE?!?" And he laughed and laughed and told me to help out in the attendance office until the next period. From then on, if Siggy sent me to the office, I went willingly, and it never made a difference "ON MY PERMANENT RECORD".

Now, if I could just remember who Jennifer was!

Journal Assignment - Feb. 8, 1984

Its been a long time since I've written to you and a long time since you've taken this up to read. I am an alien mutant. Not really, I'm a spy from another planet. You may have heard of it, Venus. I am here to prove that there is no intelligent life on earth. I haven't been able to prove it here in Texas yet but my report about Washington D.C. is promising. When the other spys and I collect enough data, we will attack and envage the Earth! Venician for ever. Peace - granola.


Eighth grade must have been pretty boring to me. I can see from just flipping through this journal that many of the things I wrote were out of boredom, just to entertain myself. Mrs. Biggs, my 8th grade English teacher was phenomenal. Everyone had said she was the toughest in the Junior High, and that she could be really mean, but I never saw that. Many of these journal entries are written directly to her. She was smart, I remember that, and she was really interested in us doing our best work, never content with any of us slacking off and just passing through. Toward the end of the Spring, she stopped coming to classes, and we were told she was very ill. She came in about once a week, to check on us and let us know she was still reading our work, so there was no room for laziness. Then she stopped coming, and my parents let me know that she was dying of cancer. I did get to see her once more, at a restaurant with her family. She was quite frail and I hugged her and told her I loved her. She died that Summer. I don't think of her all that often, what with being involved in my own family and such, but she was ONE on that handful list of teachers who really knew what they were doing. She really liked my "Peace - Granola" sign-off, and even started using "Granola" as a nickname for me - which I LOVED, given the extraordinary lack of hippiness in Midland, Texas in the 1980s! Oh, and I STILL always always always feel like an alien... which is a good thing, as my children are definitely aliens as well!

Your Fondest Dream Assignment - April 13, 1984

One day I woke up, looked into the mirror, and saw that I had turned into a giant beach ball. I just couldn't believe it. "A giant beach ball?" I said, who thought that up? I just couldn't believe it. It was such a dumb idea. Someone has just gone out of their brain. I mean me a beach ball I couldn't believe it. Then this really fine guy picked me up, and put me in a jeep. We went to the beach and he started throwing me to all these other fine guys. It was my lucky day. Someone likes me now. Gosh I believe it. Someone loves me now cause that was my fondest dream.


Oh dear sweet 14-year-old Nisa... you are a silly little twit! I do love the use of the word "fine" over and over again, though! 14 Nisa, I need to tell you that having someone like you and even love you is so much better than having fun on the beach - its totally as if one of these fine guys stops throwing you around, and actually keeps you, introduces you to his family and buys you pretty things! For sure, I'm not yanking your chain!!! You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, sweetheart, but it is clear that We need to discuss a woman's sense of self-esteem at some point. Don't settle for being tossed around by fine guys!!! There is so much more to life than being colorful and full of air, a plaything for fine guys. Remember, YOU control your destiny, not some silly beach game.

Harsh Reality

I DO intend to blog more than once every month... but alas, I've been failing at that task. Here is a Prose piece I recently wrote which is appearing in the December 2008 issue of Parent:Wise Austin magazine. This is the original piece, the one in the magazine has been touched-up by editor extraordinaire, Kim Pleticha. The magazine also features a great illustration by the insanely talented Aaron Romo, Illustrator-at-Large for P:WA. - Nisa

Harsh Reality:

“It took some doing, but I finally yanked that pesky toof out!” My daughter plops a giant, bloody molar into my hands and throws herself down next to me on the couch. She grins from ear to ear, pink toilet paper shoved into the left side of her smile.

“Wow! Cool…” I mock enthusiasm for the thing now sitting lop-sided and bloody in my hand.

Who would have thought when that wondrous first tooth came through, on Mother’s Day, of all days that after nine years and with two kids that teeth would finally bore me? Having a bloody bone bit plunked into my hand time and again, just because I am the Mom, well… that’s the kind of thing that is never boring and always disgusting. Makes me wonder what they would do should a toe suddenly fall off…

“I guess you’ll have more tooth-fairy money for the weekend, huh?”

The bloody grin becomes very serious, and my nine-year-old confesses: “Um, Mom – about that… see I don’t think the tooth-fairy is, you know, real and stuff.” She winces as she says it, and so do I, but the difference is my experienced poker face reveals no guilt, no shock, and no disappointment, though I’m feeling them all in spades.

“Oh?” I ask, a little too curiously, I think it gives me away.

“Yeah…” she’s obviously hiding something.

“Why is that, Honey? Did someone at school say something?” I could just strangle that one girl with the teenage older sister who is always telling the kids what is what!

“Yes, but also, I did a test.” (My logician) “See, I lost a tooth last week and didn’t tell you.” (I’m nodding, still revealing no shock at this sneaky girl) “And the tooth-fairy never came, so now I don’t believe in her.”

“But… what about all those times she DID come… don’t those count?”

“Of course, it felt good to think about earning money for my lost teeth.” (She is her father) “But really, thinking about some sort of human-bug thingy flying around my room is kinda creepy. And I have figured out that it was you coming in and putting money under my pillow.”

She has a dead-pan face. She’s always been older than her years. She once told me that she sometimes felt that she was the Mom and I was the daughter. Right now, I’d like to trade, because while she is handling this with such poise, I’m a blubbering gelatinous mass inside, ready to shake her back into innocence.

“Hmmm, so that’s it then? You just don’t believe?” She nods her head. “Okay, but just so you know, I confess to nothing – oh, and if you don’t believe in the tooth-fairy, then she doesn’t believe in you, which means no more money.” The wise one bites her bottom lip a bit.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” She really IS growing up.

“And I want all the tooth-fairy money you HAVE earned back!” I say, poking her in the ribs.

“MOM!” she sing-songs, letting me know I’m being ridiculous. Then she grabs my face, “Mom, you seem sad, do you need a hug?”

As we are squeezing it out, my husband comes in. “Hey girls, what are you two talking about?”

“Oh,” says my daughter, in a completely casual way, “I was just telling Mom that I’m too old to believe in the tooth-fairy.” My wonderful man looks at her, then me, then back to her.

“Okay – well… I guess you have to grow-up sometime.” He checks my face once more.

“And just so both of you know,” the girl stands to make a big announcement, “I know all about Santa Claus, too – and don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for my brother.”

I mock a huge faint into the couch with a loud squeal of disbelief!

“Are you happy now?” Her Daddy hugs her with tiny tears in his own eyes, “You’ve just killed your Mother.”