Ten years old

My little man is ten years old today.

Swimmer.  Baseball player.  Hockey lover.  Mathematician.  Music lover.  Comedian.  Empathetic.  Sensitive.  Inquisitive.  Intelligent.  Cuddly.  Loving.

Mom loves you very much!  Happy Birthday, Captain!

Clever father, clever daughter; clever mother, clever son.  ~Russian Proverb

Time Flies

I’m back from my wee hiatus.

I am back mostly because…wait for it….

It’s BLOGGY CARNIVAL GIVEAWAY WEEK!  I will be posting my my giveaway later.  I figured I should actually, you know, write a post about what’s been happening ’round these parts.  It’s going to be a bullet post, just to keep it short and simple.

• We battled infections here at Casa Loca for about 3 weeks
• Both my father and P-Man’s father were hospitalized, and have now both returned home
• My parents started looking for houses closer to me after my father’s hospitalization
• The Captain had a palette spreader put in place.  It sucks and I feel like the worst mother in the world every time I have to turn it.  Only 11 turns to go.
• I, along with several other parents, thought about storming a school board meeting then decided that would not be the most effective way to get what we want.
• I, along with several other parents, have been ignored by the school superintendent.
• The Red Sox blew it
• Oh…and along the way, we got this:

I will write about some of those topics more in depth at a later time.

Check back for my giveaway later!

When a puppy takes fifty catnaps in the course of the day, he cannot always be expected to sleep the night through.  ~ Albert Payson Terhune

Overheard

In the car today, the Captain and I were discussing the living arrangements of one of his friends.  The friend’s sister is away at college, and she has left her baby with her mother while she pursues her college education.

Captain:  You would never let me go off to college and leave my baby with you.

Me:  That’s why you aren’t going to be having any babies before you go to college.  No babies until after college when you have a good job to support them.  So when you’re seventeen, you wrap that little thing.

*cricket, cricket*

Him:  When I’m seventeen, it won’t be so little.

I almost drove off the road.

Now, if groups like Moral Majority have their way, there won’t be any sex education at school, and our kids will be the dumbest in the world when it comes to sex…. But our parents are sexually retarded too…. Fear and primitive morals are creating a sexual pressure-cooker in this country and soon the top will blow…. Only in the U.S. do we find children drawing a picture of a baby coming from the clouds or from under a cabbage leaf.  ~Floyd Martinson

12 days

That’s how far we were into the school year before I requested a conference with my son’s teachers.

My son is in a new school where, historically, there have only been 5th and 6th graders.  My son’s 4th grade class was moved to this school because of space issues.  His teachers were looping teachers, meaning they taught 5th grade one year and then taught the same class in 6th grade the next year.  Last year they were 6th grade teachers.  They were informed they would be taking the new 4th grade class this year.  They have gone from teaching a group of 12 year olds, to teaching a group of 9 year olds.  That’s a big difference in maturity level and readiness.

My son has had some difficulties with learning – specifically with reading and spelling.  (He is a whiz at math though!).  Homework assignments are supposed to be written on a white board, and it is then up to the students to transfer that information to their homework assignment books.  In addition, homework is posted on the school website so parents can check to make sure everything is accounted for.

Because my son has some difficulties, I am super diligent about checking the website and matching it to what he has written in his assignment notebook, and then making sure he completes his work.  Two days ago, on the homework blog, there was a message that some students weren’t getting their homework done.  I didn’t spend much time thinking about it because I know how much time we spend at home making sure everything is done. 

When my son arrived home today, he immediately wanted to talk to me “in private” – no sister, no Postman, no friend (who is spending the night and had arrived here before my son).  His lip was quivering as he showed me a letter, dated today, stating that my son had not completed the attached homework and was therefore getting a zero.  IF he completes it by Monday, he will get HALF credit.  The letter was made out “Dear parents” and was very generic, not at all specific to my son.  It was a very condescending note, telling parents THEY are responsible for modeling good study habits and suggesting we sit with our children to make sure they complete their homework. 

Bitch, please. 

If you only knew how many hours and occasional tears of frustration are shed over homework in this house, you wouldn’t DARE send home a letter suggesting I am not encouraging good study habits.

I asked him what exactly I was looking at in regards to the work, and he told me it was something they were handed in class.  His name and the date 9/10/08 were written on it so I had that as a starting point.  I looked in his assignment notebook – nothing.  I looked on the homework blog – nothing.  However, there was another note on the homework blog stating OVER HALF of the students did not complete their homework.  It was in regards to the letter my son (and apparently several other students) was sent home with.

I am crazy mad.  I have already e-mailed the teachers asking for a meeting at their earliest convenience.

Here are my points:

1. There is nothing in my son’s assignment notebook.  I asked him if verbal instructions are ever given and he said they were sometimes given.  I asked him if he had trouble writing down the verbal instructions and he said he sometimes did.
2. There is nothing on the homework blog.  If verbal instructions are given, I think it would be reasonable to state those “extra” homework assignments on the blog.  Otherwise, how are we parents supposed to know what to help with?
3. Theses kids are nine years old.  I understand the teachers are not familiar with teaching this age, so maybe we ALL need to adjust?
4. Over half the class didn’t get this particular assignment done.  Um…just a suggestion, but maybe, JUST MAYBE, the instructions were not clear?
5. As far as I know, this is the first assignment my son has not completed.  If there are others he has not completed, I want to be notified individually.  I want a call or a note home from his teachers stating there is a problem and asking me what we can all do to correct it.  This feels like they have decided to make an example out of this situation, regardless of each child’s completion record up to this point.
6. OVER HALF THE CLASS, Y’ALL.  Something just isn’t right and this is not sitting well with me at all.

So, twelve days in and Big Momma is going to make her presence known.  I think it might be a long year.

Education aims to give you a boost up the ladder of knowledge.  Too often, it just gives you a cramp on one of its rungs.  ~Martin H. Fischer

My inner snob

The Diva’s school pictures are tomorrow.  She has been putting outfits together, deciding what she will wear, and picking the pose she wants.

The Captain, caught up in the madness, asked when HIS school pictures are.  I told him and then said “I’d like you to wear the black shirt with the pony on it.”  I walked into the other room to see the Postman smirking and shaking his head.

Him:  He’s not a Polo kind of kid, Buffy.

Me:  Yeah, but it’s black and he’ll probably be sporting a mohawk.  It’s called compromise.

In my defense, he picked out the shirt himself the day we went school shopping, and I don’t even think he knows who Ralph Lauren is.

But it still made me a little happy.  Is that wrong?

What a strange power there is in clothing.  ~Isaac Bashevis Singer

And we’re off!

Another school year begins:

Middle school might be the death of me.  I had some pretty big milestones in 7th grade.  For example, I had my first kiss.  His name was Corey, and we were at a birthday party for my friend Amy.  The kiss took place in her laundry room, and it may have been part of Truth or Dare.  The details are fuzzy.  We also went to the fancy pants end-of-year dance about a month later.  We were “going out”.

My daughter will not be “going out”, kissing, or dancing.  Period. 

Next up:

Fourth grade.  My wee baby boy is almost a grown man, for the love of god!

I am seriously getting old and I don’t even realize it as it’s happening.  I used to have a three year old and a newborn, like, last week.  Honestly. 

Now is a good time for a glasss of wine.  I’ll be the one crying over mine.

Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.  ~Elizabeth Stone

Carnies and Disney

The fair is in town.  Do you know how much I HATE the fair?  No?  I would rather have my eyes gouged out with a hot poker than attend then fair.  The kids LOVE the fair.  So I, as their mother, dutifully haul my ass down to the fairgrounds with them.

As we are walking in, they are pointing skyward at all the thrill rides they are going to go on.

Me:  No.

Them:  WHY NOT, MOM?

Me:  Have you SEEN the people who erect these rides?

I used to love fairs, amusement parks, and thrill rides.  Then I became a mother and started paying attention to my surroundings so I could protect my young.  And I realized all the dangers that come with those activities.  From the attendants on the kiddie rides with the cigarettes dangling from their lips as they offer to strap my child in (“Touch my child, dude, and I WILL cut you.”), to the young attendants running the thrill rides.  I use the term “running” loosely as they are too busy checking out the girls walking around with short shorts and tank tops.

This is what our day looked like:

Sure, you can go on this ride

Over my dead freakin body

My kids love when I get all anxiety ridden.

I leave you with this:

I’ve seen this transfer on at least two vehicles around town.  Do you think Tink looks just a wee bit like a porn star here?  No?  It’s just me?  Ok then.

Tinkerbell: Every time someone says ‘I do not believe in fairies’, somewhere there’s a fairy that falls down dead. (Hook)

Bad mood

Dear Jackass,

The handicapped spaces at the post office are for HANDICAPPED drivers, or people who are driving handicapped persons.  Their cars are registered with plates or hangtags making it clear who needs those spaces.  Parking in one and staying in the car while your wife walks in to the post office is NOT OK.

If a driver needs that space while you are sitting there in your airconditioned glory listening to NPR, what are they to do?  They can’t exactly get out and ask you to move, now can they?  I know you saw me stop, look at your plate and then look through your windshield to see if I spotted a hangtag – which you know I did not.   Next time I will walk up to the window and knock and tell you it might be nice of you to leave those spots for people who need them, because you know what?  It’s just not right.  And you know it.  I know you realize this because you hung your head when you saw me looking at your car.

Sincerely,

The person you pissed off today.

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Dear Captain and Diva,

I am really glad I’m going to be seeing you today, but I am dreading it also.  I have to tell you something and I know it is going to make you very, very sad.  I will try to hold it together when I tell you – I have cried every day since last Thursday and now I will let you be in your grief while I try to comfort you. 

I love you both very much,

Mom

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Dear Postman,

I know you have been very sad yourself, but you turn away or choke it down before I see too much.  No sense both of us being hysterical, right?

Nonetheless, you are a gigantic puss for bailing on me.  Staying home while I pick up the kids is a chickenshit move and you know it.  I’m not telling them in the car.  Going 65 down the highway is not going to be condusive to comforting them in the backseat, now is it?  So I will tell them when we get home before we come in the house and you will probably have to deal with us anyway.

So there, jackass.

I love you more (even though you are not as tough as you’d like everyone to believe),

Me

Do not teach your children never to be angry; teach them how to be angry.  ~Lyman Abbott

Overheard at Casa Loca

The Captain (while perusing Discovery.com sharkweek pages):  Mom, I’m going to name a shark after you.

Me:  I get it, Freud.

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Me:  Honey, there’s a bug on the blanket over here.

P-Man:  So kill it.

Me (taking a half-hearted swat at it):  I can’t.

P-Man:  It’s a moth, not a python for god’s sake!

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A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother.  ~Author Unknown

Oh hi! I’m right here, come on in!

How does nearly a week go by without my even realizing it?  About twenty times a day I think “I need to go write something….” and then the thought is gone as quickly as it came.

So….the field trip.  From hell.  It wasn’t all bad – I will get to the good part in a minute – but it was too L-O-N-G.  The whole point of leaving so early, as I understood it, was to prevent the feeling of being rushed through the day – but it didn’t work.  We raced through our day and had a busload of tired, cranky kids (and parents!) on the way home. 

The best part of the day was this:

Our tour of Fenway Park.  Unfortunately, there was no chance I’d actually *see* Varitek since the team was in Baltimore.  But still.  We had a super tour guide named Ed.  Although we were not allowed on the field level, we still had a nice tour of the Right Field Roof deck, the luxury suites, the press box, the Green Monster, and the grandstand.  While in the press box, we were able to sit and listen to Ed tell us a lot of history about Fenway Park.  He would ask questions, and I knew almost every answer – he stopped picking me to answer after the first couple.  The only answer I didn’t know was the date Ted Williams hit his record home run.  I thought it was 1947 – turns out, it was 1946.  When the tour was over, I shook our guide’s hand and thanked him and he said “Stay such a good fan – you know everything!”  Of course, the Diva rolled her eyes dramatically which made him laugh.

Two new facts I learned about Fenway:  The color of the Green Monster, literally named Green Monster Green, is trademarked and not available for purchase by anyone outside of a handful of Fenway employees.  Although there is a color available for general purchase that comes close, Fenway Green, it is not exactly the same.  Fact number two:  Tom and Jean Yawkey had their initials in morse code painted on two of the vertical white lines on the scoreboard.  I tried taking a picture of them but since I’m not allowed to use the “good camera” unless surrounded by mattresses and pillows (due to my um, lack of grace), I had to use the old outdated model that doesn’t zoom for crap.  So it really just looks like I was taking a picture of the scoreboard.  I can see the little dashes and dots on the white lines but only because I know what to look for and where.  Anyone else?  Not so much.

Here is the Diva (the blonde one) looking less than thrilled to be sitting on the Green Monster:

Sometimes I wonder how this non-baseball lover could be my child?!  I mean, I WAS under general anesthesia when she was born…and because there was no coaching to be done under the circumstances, her dad wasn’t in the delivery room either.  If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s like me IN EVERY OTHER WAY, I think I might have a case against the hospital.

After Fenway, it was on to The Museum of Science.  This is when our scheduling took a turn for the worse.  Eat lunch on the bus.  Have about 45 minutes in the museum before all meeting up for the electricity show.  Have another hour or so before meeting up again for the show in the Omni Theater.  Then about another hour before boarding the bus for the return trip home.  It just wasn’t enough time to see all there is to see in the museum.  I was in charge of two girls – the Diva and one of her friends – and they wanted to see it all!  We raced here and there and back to here – until I suggested that perhaps it would be a better use of their time to see everything they wanted to on one floor before moving on to the next.  When we got back on the bus, I heard conversations between the kids consisting of alot of “DId you see…?”  “No, but did you see…?”  “No, where was that?”.  It made me realize just how much EVERYONE seemed to miss, but they were so pressed for time that there was no avoiding it, I guess.

In  other news:  The Captain got his first little league hit.  His first hit not pitched by a coach in Farm League.  His first hit that got him on base.  Where was I, you ask?  Doing my time in the snack shack.  Every parent has to do 6 innings in the concession stand.  Our team chooses to do 3 innings at a time so we don’t miss a whole game.  I did the first three innings of the game, and got back to my chair at the top of the 4th, to see my son standing on first base.  Jokingly I said “Oh no – my kid’s on base – did he get hit again?”  I was assured by the other parents that he did not, but no one gave me any other information.  In fact, MY SON didn’t even tell me until later that evening.  He had waited so long to tell me, and he is somewhat of an imp, that I didn’t even believe him at first!  His coach, our pharmacist, did re-tell the story when he saw the Postman in the store the next day so I guess I have to admit that I did indeed miss his big moment.  Yet another example of how I rock.

This is what happens when I don’t write for so long…so I’ll end for now.

Hope all is good in your worlds!

All mothers are working mothers. ~Author Unknown