Here it is:
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Friday, November 18, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
An Open (Albeit Anonymous) Letter
Dear Mrs. PTA President,
I'd like to write this letter to address your numerous Facebook posts begging for assistance. With everything, probably to include wiping your big ass. Actually, I would hope that your husband would handle that for you. I am beginning my fourth year in elementary school (3rd grade daughter) and my second year in elementary school (1st grade daughter), plus the five years I spent myself in elementary school, which should have been six years, but the school system I transferred into was still 20 years later trying to put itself together after the MRI. That would be Massive Resistance Incident. Actually, that school system is about at the 50+ year mark and it's still not got it's act together, but that's a whole other issue.
I appreciate the time and effort that you and the other mothers put into the PTA. I especially appreciate your weekly newsletters and how many trees you must contribute to killing on a yearly basis. However, it's not even November and I've had just about enough your perkiness. Here's a list of all of the shit that the PTA has orchestrated thus far this year, along with what I've done.
* Back-to-school picnic. This should have just been called "Take your kid's supplies to school and get roped into picnic on the playground". Well, I wouldn't have even gone, but since the school requires about $150.00 worth of supplies at the beginning of the year, it was more shit than my kids could carry on the bus. I opted not to help, mainly because I don't like the PTA moms (more on that later), and because I just didn't fucking feel like it. We also didn't buy dinner at the picnic because I didn't want to eat cold pizza or the local chicken shack. And, I was crabby that day, too.
* September Chicken Shack night - nope, didn't do this, but we never do this one. Thank God, the older daughter doesn't like Chicken Shack, and besides, why would you do a monthly fundraiser for a school with an enrollment of 1000 at an establishment that can't possibly seat more than 78? Per the occupancy code the last time I was in there. Nooooo thank you.
* Back to School Teacher Breakfast - nope, I didn't volunteer to help with that, either. I have a j.o.b. and have to work on weekdays. Plus, I find teacher conversation to be quite boring unless it's related specifically to my children, and once teacher-type people find out what kind of job I do, they usually try to sidle off because it's not for the faint of heart. I tend to bring my career up to people I don't want to talk to, and then just let them remove themselves.
* PTA meeting and Back to School night for kindergarten and first grade - Yes, I went to this, but I wasn't quite so panicky about missing first grade information this year, especially since I've done first grade once on my behalf and once on my older daughter's behalf. And blissfully, the school has a new principal this year which meant that he didn't start out the PTA meeting by blathering on about the school rules and all of the accolades the county has or has not heaped upon him. The fact that he didn't even wear a tie was comforting, because I'm pretty sure the last principal thought she was a Neiman Marcus model, but that's what happens when your husband is a Hall of Famer. NFL, that is. And guess who didn't show up? That's right, baby daddy didn't show up. He's pissed me off so much and disappointed MY children so much in the past week he's getting ready to lose his capitalization.
* Back to School night for second and third grades - I did this one too, and even sat through another PTA meeting that was put on for the parents that missed the one held at kindergarten and first grade night. I withheld my vote that night, and you should have remembered to tell parents if they already voted that they should withhold their votes, too. Baby daddy was there for this one, sitting next to his next door neighbor whom I hate with a passion of all passions. May her hair fall out for her continuing to dye it all shades of brown, red and blond and then claiming that each is her natural color. Bitch, I'm not stupid. And, I know you didn't get your boobs done because no boob job sags like that eighteen months after the alleged surgery. You just got some fancy bras from Victoria's Secret and hiked those old worn out puppies up under your chin.
* Back to School night again, Bageezus Christ! But not for me because it was just fourth and fifth graders. If I'd been thinking ahead though, I would have gone and snuck into a fourth grade class and hung back and acted like someone's aunt so I would know what to expect for next year.
* County-wide donate denim stuff at the mall - didn't do this either because I didn't know what it was until you kindly took the time to explain on the Facebook page two days before the whole thing was over. And no, at that point I wasn't going to dig through my jeans to crucify myself about what doesn't fit so I could donate it. Dammit, those jeans will fit again! Sometime. I hope. But my boyfriend keeps telling me how much he likes my ass, so maybe I'll just stay the way I am.
* Boxtops - Yes, yes, yes, I do this, but if my kids and I make it through elementary school and neither of them wins the drawing for the big summer boxtop collection prize, I am going to be pissed. I spent months and months clipping boxtops, strongarming coworkers and family members, and guess who won the drawing this year? The older daughter's archnemesis. I shall spend this school year trying to figure out how to either fix the drawing so that one of my children wins, or just sabotage the whole damn thing.
* Join the PTA - Yep, I did this, too, although I don't know why because membership comes with no rewards and you're still going to kill trees and send all that shit home with my kids whether I'm a member or not.
* Kid's concert by some Wiggles-like singing group at the local mall - I actually thought about going to this, until I realized the tickets were $17.00 A PIECE. Wha?!?!?!?? Uh, I don't have that kind of money, and for that price, you need to have an open bar. So we didn't go and I elected to let the more affluent families of the school pick up that tab. And pick it up they did, because our school had the most number of tickets purchased and won a free concert at the school! Go rich families of my kid's school! You rock!
* Blurb on facebook about the PTA needing to borrow carnival games. I thought about being a complete asshole and purchasing a bunch of carnival games, and then having the athletic association reimburse me. And then, I was going to email you, Mrs. PTA President, and let you know that the athletic association has carnival games that you can rent for a small fee. Which would be half of the purchase price. I think that would have been completely fair, since you refused to loan the school mascot costume to the athletic association without a deposit check last school year. I must say, I giggled when I saw the athletic association represented at the Back to School picnic in their newly purchased mascot costume, just like a big, giant FUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!
* Fall after school program - Yes, I signed my kids up for this. They like it and I pretend like the cost doesn't hurt.
* Order pizza online from a certain pizza place and a percentage goes back to the school! - Wow! Except I don't like this pizza place and am pretty sure it's just baked throw-up. So, no, not doing that one.
* My Coke rewards - Holy fuck, whoever is chairing the fundraising committee needs to take a fucking break. I drink a lot of Coke and you shall get none of the codes. Nor shall I enter them for you.
* Fall fundraiser - I probably would have ordered something, except it all appeared to be complete crap. I don't need any wrapping paper, thanks though. The athletic association had a better fundraiser and that's where I spent my money. You should call the cheer director for tips, which I am sure she will give you but only after she makes a passive-aggressive comment about the mascot costume-deposit-issue from last year.
* Jogging Club - Okay, this is a good idea, especially because it's free, except I have a j.o.b. and can't get my children to school 15 minutes after I'm supposed to be at work to run around the bus loop for 25 minutes. The older daughter is still complaining about not being able to participate in this, but since I've found a neighboring athletic association that offers summer track and field, she might get her run in after all. If I can't convince her to go for swim team this year.
* Monthly jumpy house fundraiser - That's the baby daddy night with the kids and he's damn sure not going to spend any money on that, nor would he spent time jumping around in the jumpy houses with them. Two points to my super-fabulous boyfriend for jumping his heart out last time we went there.
* Skate night - I had to work late and my kids had homework. Maybe next month.
* Pizza joint night - Football and cheerleading practice, and we probably won't go next month because you've managed to find yet another TINY restaurant that we can all cram right into.
* Fall dinner and pumpkin night at school - Yes, I got your numerous emails pleading for volunteers to serve food and do other stuff. I'm not volunteering because I don't want my kids running around willy-nilly for an hour unsupervised, but mainly because I volunteered last year and most of you bitches wouldn't speak to me once you figured out I didn't live in your neighborhood. Mighty high falutin' considering I've run into Mrs. PTA Vice President in the nail salon a time or two completely bombed out of her mind and the last time she was so fucking drunk she couldn't hold her head up and had to prop it up on the nail drying station (a little problem there, Mrs. Vice President?), and Mrs. PTA Treasurer has an older son with absolutely no manners, breasts that hang down to her belly button, a deeper voice than my boyfriends AND a unibrow, and Mrs. Spirit Wear Committee chomps on bubble gum like she's getting her jaw ready for a home version of Deep Throat. The movie, not the Washington Post informant.
* Fall book fair at the local big-box bookstore - I volunteered for this a couple of years ago and really just wanted to spend the two hour time slot reorganizing and straightening up the entire store, not making small talk about what teacher wants what book. But I will go next month and buy a few books.
All in all, you do a great job. But please consider that some of us have a career that involves leaving our houses every Monday through Friday, and that some of us don't make the kind of money that I suspect your husband makes. And also consider that some of us are involved in the athletic association, and so we know what kind of little dirty games you play. Oh, yeah, and stop being so perky. Your ass is too big for that.
Best,
A Nearby Parent
I'd like to write this letter to address your numerous Facebook posts begging for assistance. With everything, probably to include wiping your big ass. Actually, I would hope that your husband would handle that for you. I am beginning my fourth year in elementary school (3rd grade daughter) and my second year in elementary school (1st grade daughter), plus the five years I spent myself in elementary school, which should have been six years, but the school system I transferred into was still 20 years later trying to put itself together after the MRI. That would be Massive Resistance Incident. Actually, that school system is about at the 50+ year mark and it's still not got it's act together, but that's a whole other issue.
I appreciate the time and effort that you and the other mothers put into the PTA. I especially appreciate your weekly newsletters and how many trees you must contribute to killing on a yearly basis. However, it's not even November and I've had just about enough your perkiness. Here's a list of all of the shit that the PTA has orchestrated thus far this year, along with what I've done.
* Back-to-school picnic. This should have just been called "Take your kid's supplies to school and get roped into picnic on the playground". Well, I wouldn't have even gone, but since the school requires about $150.00 worth of supplies at the beginning of the year, it was more shit than my kids could carry on the bus. I opted not to help, mainly because I don't like the PTA moms (more on that later), and because I just didn't fucking feel like it. We also didn't buy dinner at the picnic because I didn't want to eat cold pizza or the local chicken shack. And, I was crabby that day, too.
* September Chicken Shack night - nope, didn't do this, but we never do this one. Thank God, the older daughter doesn't like Chicken Shack, and besides, why would you do a monthly fundraiser for a school with an enrollment of 1000 at an establishment that can't possibly seat more than 78? Per the occupancy code the last time I was in there. Nooooo thank you.
* Back to School Teacher Breakfast - nope, I didn't volunteer to help with that, either. I have a j.o.b. and have to work on weekdays. Plus, I find teacher conversation to be quite boring unless it's related specifically to my children, and once teacher-type people find out what kind of job I do, they usually try to sidle off because it's not for the faint of heart. I tend to bring my career up to people I don't want to talk to, and then just let them remove themselves.
* PTA meeting and Back to School night for kindergarten and first grade - Yes, I went to this, but I wasn't quite so panicky about missing first grade information this year, especially since I've done first grade once on my behalf and once on my older daughter's behalf. And blissfully, the school has a new principal this year which meant that he didn't start out the PTA meeting by blathering on about the school rules and all of the accolades the county has or has not heaped upon him. The fact that he didn't even wear a tie was comforting, because I'm pretty sure the last principal thought she was a Neiman Marcus model, but that's what happens when your husband is a Hall of Famer. NFL, that is. And guess who didn't show up? That's right, baby daddy didn't show up. He's pissed me off so much and disappointed MY children so much in the past week he's getting ready to lose his capitalization.
* Back to School night for second and third grades - I did this one too, and even sat through another PTA meeting that was put on for the parents that missed the one held at kindergarten and first grade night. I withheld my vote that night, and you should have remembered to tell parents if they already voted that they should withhold their votes, too. Baby daddy was there for this one, sitting next to his next door neighbor whom I hate with a passion of all passions. May her hair fall out for her continuing to dye it all shades of brown, red and blond and then claiming that each is her natural color. Bitch, I'm not stupid. And, I know you didn't get your boobs done because no boob job sags like that eighteen months after the alleged surgery. You just got some fancy bras from Victoria's Secret and hiked those old worn out puppies up under your chin.
* Back to School night again, Bageezus Christ! But not for me because it was just fourth and fifth graders. If I'd been thinking ahead though, I would have gone and snuck into a fourth grade class and hung back and acted like someone's aunt so I would know what to expect for next year.
* County-wide donate denim stuff at the mall - didn't do this either because I didn't know what it was until you kindly took the time to explain on the Facebook page two days before the whole thing was over. And no, at that point I wasn't going to dig through my jeans to crucify myself about what doesn't fit so I could donate it. Dammit, those jeans will fit again! Sometime. I hope. But my boyfriend keeps telling me how much he likes my ass, so maybe I'll just stay the way I am.
* Boxtops - Yes, yes, yes, I do this, but if my kids and I make it through elementary school and neither of them wins the drawing for the big summer boxtop collection prize, I am going to be pissed. I spent months and months clipping boxtops, strongarming coworkers and family members, and guess who won the drawing this year? The older daughter's archnemesis. I shall spend this school year trying to figure out how to either fix the drawing so that one of my children wins, or just sabotage the whole damn thing.
* Join the PTA - Yep, I did this, too, although I don't know why because membership comes with no rewards and you're still going to kill trees and send all that shit home with my kids whether I'm a member or not.
* Kid's concert by some Wiggles-like singing group at the local mall - I actually thought about going to this, until I realized the tickets were $17.00 A PIECE. Wha?!?!?!?? Uh, I don't have that kind of money, and for that price, you need to have an open bar. So we didn't go and I elected to let the more affluent families of the school pick up that tab. And pick it up they did, because our school had the most number of tickets purchased and won a free concert at the school! Go rich families of my kid's school! You rock!
* Blurb on facebook about the PTA needing to borrow carnival games. I thought about being a complete asshole and purchasing a bunch of carnival games, and then having the athletic association reimburse me. And then, I was going to email you, Mrs. PTA President, and let you know that the athletic association has carnival games that you can rent for a small fee. Which would be half of the purchase price. I think that would have been completely fair, since you refused to loan the school mascot costume to the athletic association without a deposit check last school year. I must say, I giggled when I saw the athletic association represented at the Back to School picnic in their newly purchased mascot costume, just like a big, giant FUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!
* Fall after school program - Yes, I signed my kids up for this. They like it and I pretend like the cost doesn't hurt.
* Order pizza online from a certain pizza place and a percentage goes back to the school! - Wow! Except I don't like this pizza place and am pretty sure it's just baked throw-up. So, no, not doing that one.
* My Coke rewards - Holy fuck, whoever is chairing the fundraising committee needs to take a fucking break. I drink a lot of Coke and you shall get none of the codes. Nor shall I enter them for you.
* Fall fundraiser - I probably would have ordered something, except it all appeared to be complete crap. I don't need any wrapping paper, thanks though. The athletic association had a better fundraiser and that's where I spent my money. You should call the cheer director for tips, which I am sure she will give you but only after she makes a passive-aggressive comment about the mascot costume-deposit-issue from last year.
* Jogging Club - Okay, this is a good idea, especially because it's free, except I have a j.o.b. and can't get my children to school 15 minutes after I'm supposed to be at work to run around the bus loop for 25 minutes. The older daughter is still complaining about not being able to participate in this, but since I've found a neighboring athletic association that offers summer track and field, she might get her run in after all. If I can't convince her to go for swim team this year.
* Monthly jumpy house fundraiser - That's the baby daddy night with the kids and he's damn sure not going to spend any money on that, nor would he spent time jumping around in the jumpy houses with them. Two points to my super-fabulous boyfriend for jumping his heart out last time we went there.
* Skate night - I had to work late and my kids had homework. Maybe next month.
* Pizza joint night - Football and cheerleading practice, and we probably won't go next month because you've managed to find yet another TINY restaurant that we can all cram right into.
* Fall dinner and pumpkin night at school - Yes, I got your numerous emails pleading for volunteers to serve food and do other stuff. I'm not volunteering because I don't want my kids running around willy-nilly for an hour unsupervised, but mainly because I volunteered last year and most of you bitches wouldn't speak to me once you figured out I didn't live in your neighborhood. Mighty high falutin' considering I've run into Mrs. PTA Vice President in the nail salon a time or two completely bombed out of her mind and the last time she was so fucking drunk she couldn't hold her head up and had to prop it up on the nail drying station (a little problem there, Mrs. Vice President?), and Mrs. PTA Treasurer has an older son with absolutely no manners, breasts that hang down to her belly button, a deeper voice than my boyfriends AND a unibrow, and Mrs. Spirit Wear Committee chomps on bubble gum like she's getting her jaw ready for a home version of Deep Throat. The movie, not the Washington Post informant.
* Fall book fair at the local big-box bookstore - I volunteered for this a couple of years ago and really just wanted to spend the two hour time slot reorganizing and straightening up the entire store, not making small talk about what teacher wants what book. But I will go next month and buy a few books.
All in all, you do a great job. But please consider that some of us have a career that involves leaving our houses every Monday through Friday, and that some of us don't make the kind of money that I suspect your husband makes. And also consider that some of us are involved in the athletic association, and so we know what kind of little dirty games you play. Oh, yeah, and stop being so perky. Your ass is too big for that.
Best,
A Nearby Parent
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Cranky
I am feeling pret*ty goddamn cranky tonight. Perhaps it's because it's 10:51pm and I'd like to be reading a trashy book in bed but instead I'm waiting on the clothes to finish washing because I need to pack up football and cheerleading stuff for the weekend, perhaps it's because I haven't sorted through the shit on my desk in a week, maybe even it's because The Ex deemed himself an involved enough parent to sign off on parental shit from the school tonight. My football picks from last week sucked complete ass, my house is a mess, but I'm really trying to look at the bright side of things. Here goes:
* I've decided that I will start calling everything old 'throwback'. So when my girlfriends hook back up with old hook-ups, I'm just going to call that a throwback hook-up. Maybe when I get a bill for something that happened last year (like medical companies like to do), I'll call that a throwback bill, which is different than when you just don't pay the bill and they keep sending you notices. Which has never happened to me. American Express.
* Despite a major fuck-up at work in the spring and a couple of minor fuck-ups, along with several panic attacks, I still got a great yearly evaluation. I straight up told my boss she was being overly generous. But, since my evaluation doesn't get me any more money, it's just generous in the most verbal of all senses. She told me, correctly, that I am my worst critic. I guess cheers for being accountable and being willing to publicly blame myself for my screw ups.
* I am spanking several different asses on Words with Friends. Want some of this? What what!?! Hit me up on superfreak929. Yep, that's me.
* After this week, cheerleading will slow down. If either one of my kids don't want to do cheerleading next year, it's no skin off of my ass. I'm quite disillusioned after figuring out that the cheer director (I'm pretty sure, but not sure enough to straight make the allegation to anyone in authority) most likely falsified the ages of some of the girls on the cheerleading squads for the competition, and when I almost painted her into a corner about it, she then had to go back and do double cover-up lies to make things right. Except they aren't right with me, and you can't go back and fix that, as far as I'm concerned. But next week we only have football practice, thank god, and I'm hoping that might get rained out.
* I'm working on an open (and anonymous) letter to Mrs. PTA President in my head. Expect to see it in writing within about a week or two.
* I finally got my children scheduled to see the eye doctor. My insurance only covers every two years, so I am hoping my older daughter's placement YET AGAIN in remedial reading club is strictly related to the fact that she can't see the words, not my suspicion that there's a slight reading disability in there somewhere. But the good news about that is that she's been placed in reading club before the parent-teacher conferences this year, which means I can find out what in the hell is going on a little bit earlier in the school year. And, there's a new reading specialist this year, so I am going to pursue again trying to get her tested without me having to take her to a private tutoring company for the tests.
* She and I had a good talk last night, and what I thought was anxiety about her father's wedding is actually fear about her upcoming tonsillectomy. She's upset that she won't be able to talk for a week. I love my children with all of my heart, but I can actually do with half the chatter, and besides, that's one week she won't be able to argue with her sister. I hope. God only knows what will come out of that week.
* Lots o' quality time with Guy #1 this weekend. Definitely looking like a highlight of the week.
* I've decided that I will start calling everything old 'throwback'. So when my girlfriends hook back up with old hook-ups, I'm just going to call that a throwback hook-up. Maybe when I get a bill for something that happened last year (like medical companies like to do), I'll call that a throwback bill, which is different than when you just don't pay the bill and they keep sending you notices. Which has never happened to me. American Express.
* Despite a major fuck-up at work in the spring and a couple of minor fuck-ups, along with several panic attacks, I still got a great yearly evaluation. I straight up told my boss she was being overly generous. But, since my evaluation doesn't get me any more money, it's just generous in the most verbal of all senses. She told me, correctly, that I am my worst critic. I guess cheers for being accountable and being willing to publicly blame myself for my screw ups.
* I am spanking several different asses on Words with Friends. Want some of this? What what!?! Hit me up on superfreak929. Yep, that's me.
* After this week, cheerleading will slow down. If either one of my kids don't want to do cheerleading next year, it's no skin off of my ass. I'm quite disillusioned after figuring out that the cheer director (I'm pretty sure, but not sure enough to straight make the allegation to anyone in authority) most likely falsified the ages of some of the girls on the cheerleading squads for the competition, and when I almost painted her into a corner about it, she then had to go back and do double cover-up lies to make things right. Except they aren't right with me, and you can't go back and fix that, as far as I'm concerned. But next week we only have football practice, thank god, and I'm hoping that might get rained out.
* I'm working on an open (and anonymous) letter to Mrs. PTA President in my head. Expect to see it in writing within about a week or two.
* I finally got my children scheduled to see the eye doctor. My insurance only covers every two years, so I am hoping my older daughter's placement YET AGAIN in remedial reading club is strictly related to the fact that she can't see the words, not my suspicion that there's a slight reading disability in there somewhere. But the good news about that is that she's been placed in reading club before the parent-teacher conferences this year, which means I can find out what in the hell is going on a little bit earlier in the school year. And, there's a new reading specialist this year, so I am going to pursue again trying to get her tested without me having to take her to a private tutoring company for the tests.
* She and I had a good talk last night, and what I thought was anxiety about her father's wedding is actually fear about her upcoming tonsillectomy. She's upset that she won't be able to talk for a week. I love my children with all of my heart, but I can actually do with half the chatter, and besides, that's one week she won't be able to argue with her sister. I hope. God only knows what will come out of that week.
* Lots o' quality time with Guy #1 this weekend. Definitely looking like a highlight of the week.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
What It Do, Part 1
This is very possibly a several part update of what's been going on with me. In no specific order...
1. First of all, if you like my stuff, and you're on facebook, go to your search bar and type in "Curls & Stuff" and my page will pop up. There's only one Curls & Stuff on there, which is, yes, you guess it - me! So help a sister out and give me a like or two. Feed my narcissism. Actually, not, but let's get me up over that 25 mark so I can have my own web address or whatever it's called. And send me to your friends! Pass me around! Uhhh, trust me, that really is the first time I've ever said that.
2. Also, even if you don't like football, still check me out on Armchair Linebacker, which is a blog I have been invited to contribute to weekly. Fridays, to be specific. A homeslice of mine from high school does it with some friends of his, and they've come up with this weekly pretend gambling and commentary thing. This was the first week of us doing this, and I have to admit, I've enjoyed it so far. Me contributing to a football blog is about the equivalent of my homeslice contributing to a blog about The Real Housewives, so my commentary and weekly picks have more to do with team colors and graphics and other girly kind of pick stuff, but it does break up the monotony of three football geeks blathering on about actual football stuff like players and stats. Four of my five picks won this week, but because of the point spread (which I still don't freaking understand) I only won pretend money on three of the games. So my buddy told me when I emailed him to ask about it. Goddamn Indianapolis. That was $600 pretend dollars I could have used to get a pretend Brazilian and a real life roof repair. I don't know what's going to happen if I gamble all of my pretend money away and the season's not over. I guess I start pretend hooking with the other three players to get some more? Anyway, it's www.armchairlinebacker.com
3. The trip to Indiana and Chicago was great this summer. I survived the ride there, survived meeting the family, and survived the plane trip back.
Special notes:
* Driving through Indiana on a stormy night and using the lightening to look for funnel clouds really is scary as shit. In fact, it was the same night the stage thing collapsed at the Indiana State Fair.
* There's a lot of damn corn up there.
* Guess who won $60 buckaroos playing bingo at the American Legion hall? That's right, yo' girl did!
* One of Guy #1's aunts cornered me the second night there and wanted to know when he and I are getting married. That was a little awkward and it was hard trying to explain I really want The Ex to get his third divorce before I have my second marriage, especially whilst pinned up against pool table.
* The biggest trainwreck on the trip wasn't me or the dog, it was most likely his teenage daughter. Whew! for me.
* I feel a swelling of pride that I successfully navigated O'Hare. I know I can do anything now.
* I didn't understand why the flight attends in Chicago kept talking about flotation devices, and so I didn't pay attention. Jesus, we weren't going over any water! And then, when we'd been up in the air for about fifteen minutes, I made the mistake of looking out of the window. Oh my god, what is that? Uhhh, we were supposed to fly AROUND Lake Michigan, not OVER it. The only pilots authorized to fly me over water are the guys who do their thing on Air Force One, and Capt. Sully. I was pretty pissed that US Airways did not clear this with me in advance. So needless to say, the window shade came down and I pretended like I had never seen that huge blue expanse.
* My layover on the way home was in Philadelphia, and I got off the plane at Terminal B. My connecting flight was a Terminal F. Logically and alphabetically, that should have been a fairly short walk. Instead, it was a long walk to a shuttle bus, a long ride to another airport (it seemed like), and then another long walk. Holy fuck, Philadelphia, can all the terminals be in the same fucking jurisdiction?
* And finally, the biggest freak show in the Philadelphia airport? Got on the Richmond flight. Shout out, VCU!
4. The school year is off to a great start for my little angels. My older daughter got a teacher that she didn't know much about, but Mrs. Third Grade Teacher seems awesome in my book. She seems professional and somewhat detached, and all about using her website for parents to get information they need every night. My daughter likes her and Mommy is happy. And for some reason, third grade seems easier than second. My younger daughter likes her teacher, though she didn't know a lot of kids in her class. But she's enjoying the year so far and it's good for her to step outside of the friend box and make some new ones.
Next up: What It Do, Part Deux. We shall cover cheerleading, football, The Ex and maybe Guy #1.
1. First of all, if you like my stuff, and you're on facebook, go to your search bar and type in "Curls & Stuff" and my page will pop up. There's only one Curls & Stuff on there, which is, yes, you guess it - me! So help a sister out and give me a like or two. Feed my narcissism. Actually, not, but let's get me up over that 25 mark so I can have my own web address or whatever it's called. And send me to your friends! Pass me around! Uhhh, trust me, that really is the first time I've ever said that.
2. Also, even if you don't like football, still check me out on Armchair Linebacker, which is a blog I have been invited to contribute to weekly. Fridays, to be specific. A homeslice of mine from high school does it with some friends of his, and they've come up with this weekly pretend gambling and commentary thing. This was the first week of us doing this, and I have to admit, I've enjoyed it so far. Me contributing to a football blog is about the equivalent of my homeslice contributing to a blog about The Real Housewives, so my commentary and weekly picks have more to do with team colors and graphics and other girly kind of pick stuff, but it does break up the monotony of three football geeks blathering on about actual football stuff like players and stats. Four of my five picks won this week, but because of the point spread (which I still don't freaking understand) I only won pretend money on three of the games. So my buddy told me when I emailed him to ask about it. Goddamn Indianapolis. That was $600 pretend dollars I could have used to get a pretend Brazilian and a real life roof repair. I don't know what's going to happen if I gamble all of my pretend money away and the season's not over. I guess I start pretend hooking with the other three players to get some more? Anyway, it's www.armchairlinebacker.com
3. The trip to Indiana and Chicago was great this summer. I survived the ride there, survived meeting the family, and survived the plane trip back.
Special notes:
* Driving through Indiana on a stormy night and using the lightening to look for funnel clouds really is scary as shit. In fact, it was the same night the stage thing collapsed at the Indiana State Fair.
* There's a lot of damn corn up there.
* Guess who won $60 buckaroos playing bingo at the American Legion hall? That's right, yo' girl did!
* One of Guy #1's aunts cornered me the second night there and wanted to know when he and I are getting married. That was a little awkward and it was hard trying to explain I really want The Ex to get his third divorce before I have my second marriage, especially whilst pinned up against pool table.
* The biggest trainwreck on the trip wasn't me or the dog, it was most likely his teenage daughter. Whew! for me.
* I feel a swelling of pride that I successfully navigated O'Hare. I know I can do anything now.
* I didn't understand why the flight attends in Chicago kept talking about flotation devices, and so I didn't pay attention. Jesus, we weren't going over any water! And then, when we'd been up in the air for about fifteen minutes, I made the mistake of looking out of the window. Oh my god, what is that? Uhhh, we were supposed to fly AROUND Lake Michigan, not OVER it. The only pilots authorized to fly me over water are the guys who do their thing on Air Force One, and Capt. Sully. I was pretty pissed that US Airways did not clear this with me in advance. So needless to say, the window shade came down and I pretended like I had never seen that huge blue expanse.
* My layover on the way home was in Philadelphia, and I got off the plane at Terminal B. My connecting flight was a Terminal F. Logically and alphabetically, that should have been a fairly short walk. Instead, it was a long walk to a shuttle bus, a long ride to another airport (it seemed like), and then another long walk. Holy fuck, Philadelphia, can all the terminals be in the same fucking jurisdiction?
* And finally, the biggest freak show in the Philadelphia airport? Got on the Richmond flight. Shout out, VCU!
4. The school year is off to a great start for my little angels. My older daughter got a teacher that she didn't know much about, but Mrs. Third Grade Teacher seems awesome in my book. She seems professional and somewhat detached, and all about using her website for parents to get information they need every night. My daughter likes her and Mommy is happy. And for some reason, third grade seems easier than second. My younger daughter likes her teacher, though she didn't know a lot of kids in her class. But she's enjoying the year so far and it's good for her to step outside of the friend box and make some new ones.
Next up: What It Do, Part Deux. We shall cover cheerleading, football, The Ex and maybe Guy #1.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Feeling More Optimistic
I am going to make it through these last three weeks with my children. I just know it, and I'm not even going to collapse from exhaustion prior to them going to their father's house for the summer. The light at the end of the school year tunnel (for me) is shining a little more brightly with each passing day. I got up this morning and realized that I have exactly two more Wednesdays until the only person I have to be in charge of on a full time basis for almost three months will be me.
My older daughter has her last appointment this upcoming week with her child psychologist, and what I've gotten out of that whole thing has been my sweet little girl back. My baby (okay, not really a baby) has returned to me. She's the sweet little girl that she was years ago, before things between The Ex and I got really dysfunctional, and with lots of love, affection, attention, consistency and me doing my level best to not badmouthdouchebag her father in front of her, along with removing TV and it's Disney teen attitudes, she's come back to me. She's more affectionate, she laughs so much more, she's open to conversation, hell, she has conversations with me, and she's just come such a long way for such a little girl. I am really proud of her. My greatest fear is that spending the summer with her father will set us back to where we started in September of last year, which was hostility, a nasty attitude, anger, blame, confusion, and generalized upset. But I can't worry about what might or might not happen in August tonight. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow night, but not tonight.
The younger daughter has recovered from her latest bout of strep throat. I've gotten strep throat exactly once in my life, when I was 23, and I thought I was going to die. So far this year, my children have had it five times, between the two of them. I need the older daughter to go ahead and get it one more time before November because then they will finally take out her tonsils. And strangely, even though they live together, are are therefore in each other's faces ALL OF THE TIME, they never catch it from each other. So when the younger daughter got sick last week, all I could think was, "Wrong kid, dammit, wrong kid. I need the other one to get this shit." How the hell do they keep catching strep throat and I never had it as a child? I don't get that at all, other than these are some super-germs floating around the schools now. The older daughter also got lice again, but I'll say that the second time around wasn't that traumatic for me. I was still quite grossed out, of course, but I'm determined that a tangential mission in life has been to make sure that everyone knows that clean kids get lice. The younger daughter has never caught it from her, so I don't understand that, either. Nor did the cat or I catch them, thank god, because I don't know what I would have done if the cat got them. That would have been a real fucking mess.
Knock on wood.
I got a ticket last week, on the way to the pediatrician's office, no less, for my expired inspection sticker. Yes, I knew the damn thing was expired the day after it expired, and I've let it float. I had a couple of different lies worked up in my head for The Man should the time come, but opted not to use them. Lies, you ask? What kind of lies? Oh, and these were pretty good. Lie #1 - "But, sir, I just got divorced (truth) and my ex-husband always took car of my car (lie) and he told me the inspection was good until October of 2011 (and not November of 2010)." That one might have worked since the two boxes say 10 and 11 respectively, at least from my perspective inside the car. Lie #2 - "My inspection is expired? My ex-husband told me that inspections were good for two years! That SOB!" But I didn't do it. How can I expect my children to be honest if I can't even do it? So I just fessed up and told him that yeah, I knew it was expired and I didn't have the money to fix what was wrong with it, being that I'm spending $75.00 a week in gas just to run around Richmond and Chesterfield (okay, I didn't bitch about the gas part even though I wanted to). And so I got to press hard when I signed my name on the triplicate form. I can't fault The Man for doing his job. The docket's in August so that means I've got a little wiggle room. I've formulated my argument for the judge when I go to court to have it dismissed, even though the judge won't ask for my argument and won't care.
"Your Honor, I'd like to plead guilty to the infraction. Yes sir, I've gotten the car inspected and here's the proof. But I'd like to respectfully note for the record that the Commonwealth's state inspection statute does not serve any purpose in keeping the citizens of the Commonwealth safe on the roadways. This is because the inspection is conducted once per year, and immediately after having a vehicle inspected, any number of mechanical failures could occur which would normally result in the vehicle not being passing an inspection. However, the inspection isn't due again for another eleven months, effectively leaving a vehicle on the roadways of the Commonwealth that would be found to be unsafe for travel. For the state inspection process to work effectively in maintaining safe vehicles within the Commonwealth, the Commonwealth must begin to impound vehicles immediately upon failing an inspection or having found to have an expired inspection. At this point in time, a vehicle can be inspected and fail that inspection, and then immediately driven out of the mechanic's shop back onto the roadways that it has been deemed to be unsafe to be on. Without the immediate impoundment of such vehicles, the Commonwealth will never be able to reasonably ascertain that the roadways are safe from vehicles that are mechanically fit to be driven. Additionally, inspections should be conducted once every six months."
Ha! How you like me now? Logical but yet so very farfetched. I think the state inspection process is bullshit. BULLSHIT. It's bullshit. Did I mention it's complete bullshit? I figured this out when I bought a car brand new in 1994 and then the damn thing failed the inspection the following year. I've had a car fail almost every fucking year since I've been driving. And no, they haven't all been hoopties. I'm no slouch in the mechanics department, but I pretty much have to take them at their word unless I'm going into the garage and getting under the hood myself. The state inspection serves to keep mechanics in business. That's all it does. Shystie-ass mechanics who are legit only because they're working in a building with a state inspection plaque somewhere on the property and not under a shade tree. So this weekend, I'm going to Wal-Mart to get new tires. And some tampons and a couple of frozen pizzas.
Yes, indeedy, I am feeling more optimistic. Who doesn't love a place where I can get tires, tampons, pizzas and my favorite $4.00 wine?
My older daughter has her last appointment this upcoming week with her child psychologist, and what I've gotten out of that whole thing has been my sweet little girl back. My baby (okay, not really a baby) has returned to me. She's the sweet little girl that she was years ago, before things between The Ex and I got really dysfunctional, and with lots of love, affection, attention, consistency and me doing my level best to not badmouth
The younger daughter has recovered from her latest bout of strep throat. I've gotten strep throat exactly once in my life, when I was 23, and I thought I was going to die. So far this year, my children have had it five times, between the two of them. I need the older daughter to go ahead and get it one more time before November because then they will finally take out her tonsils. And strangely, even though they live together, are are therefore in each other's faces ALL OF THE TIME, they never catch it from each other. So when the younger daughter got sick last week, all I could think was, "Wrong kid, dammit, wrong kid. I need the other one to get this shit." How the hell do they keep catching strep throat and I never had it as a child? I don't get that at all, other than these are some super-germs floating around the schools now. The older daughter also got lice again, but I'll say that the second time around wasn't that traumatic for me. I was still quite grossed out, of course, but I'm determined that a tangential mission in life has been to make sure that everyone knows that clean kids get lice. The younger daughter has never caught it from her, so I don't understand that, either. Nor did the cat or I catch them, thank god, because I don't know what I would have done if the cat got them. That would have been a real fucking mess.
Knock on wood.
I got a ticket last week, on the way to the pediatrician's office, no less, for my expired inspection sticker. Yes, I knew the damn thing was expired the day after it expired, and I've let it float. I had a couple of different lies worked up in my head for The Man should the time come, but opted not to use them. Lies, you ask? What kind of lies? Oh, and these were pretty good. Lie #1 - "But, sir, I just got divorced (truth) and my ex-husband always took car of my car (lie) and he told me the inspection was good until October of 2011 (and not November of 2010)." That one might have worked since the two boxes say 10 and 11 respectively, at least from my perspective inside the car. Lie #2 - "My inspection is expired? My ex-husband told me that inspections were good for two years! That SOB!" But I didn't do it. How can I expect my children to be honest if I can't even do it? So I just fessed up and told him that yeah, I knew it was expired and I didn't have the money to fix what was wrong with it, being that I'm spending $75.00 a week in gas just to run around Richmond and Chesterfield (okay, I didn't bitch about the gas part even though I wanted to). And so I got to press hard when I signed my name on the triplicate form. I can't fault The Man for doing his job. The docket's in August so that means I've got a little wiggle room. I've formulated my argument for the judge when I go to court to have it dismissed, even though the judge won't ask for my argument and won't care.
"Your Honor, I'd like to plead guilty to the infraction. Yes sir, I've gotten the car inspected and here's the proof. But I'd like to respectfully note for the record that the Commonwealth's state inspection statute does not serve any purpose in keeping the citizens of the Commonwealth safe on the roadways. This is because the inspection is conducted once per year, and immediately after having a vehicle inspected, any number of mechanical failures could occur which would normally result in the vehicle not being passing an inspection. However, the inspection isn't due again for another eleven months, effectively leaving a vehicle on the roadways of the Commonwealth that would be found to be unsafe for travel. For the state inspection process to work effectively in maintaining safe vehicles within the Commonwealth, the Commonwealth must begin to impound vehicles immediately upon failing an inspection or having found to have an expired inspection. At this point in time, a vehicle can be inspected and fail that inspection, and then immediately driven out of the mechanic's shop back onto the roadways that it has been deemed to be unsafe to be on. Without the immediate impoundment of such vehicles, the Commonwealth will never be able to reasonably ascertain that the roadways are safe from vehicles that are mechanically fit to be driven. Additionally, inspections should be conducted once every six months."
Ha! How you like me now? Logical but yet so very farfetched. I think the state inspection process is bullshit. BULLSHIT. It's bullshit. Did I mention it's complete bullshit? I figured this out when I bought a car brand new in 1994 and then the damn thing failed the inspection the following year. I've had a car fail almost every fucking year since I've been driving. And no, they haven't all been hoopties. I'm no slouch in the mechanics department, but I pretty much have to take them at their word unless I'm going into the garage and getting under the hood myself. The state inspection serves to keep mechanics in business. That's all it does. Shystie-ass mechanics who are legit only because they're working in a building with a state inspection plaque somewhere on the property and not under a shade tree. So this weekend, I'm going to Wal-Mart to get new tires. And some tampons and a couple of frozen pizzas.
Yes, indeedy, I am feeling more optimistic. Who doesn't love a place where I can get tires, tampons, pizzas and my favorite $4.00 wine?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Updates
I swear, I really have some updates coming soon. Summer school, The Ex, Guy #1, house stuff and spotting a snake under a landscaping timber, which then resulted in me frantically ripping them all out, stupid signs for the stupid athletic association, and maybe a meta-analysis of The Real Housewives of All The Places I Watch (except the meta part will be me, myself and I researching bullshit on the internet and then the analysis will be the three of myselves making up some bullshit formula about how intelligence is directly proportional to breast size and how both are impacted by hair color), and maybe something about how I realized tonight that there really is a do-over in life. It's called System Restore. If it weren't for my children, I'd want to do a System Restore on my life, right back to February 28, 1996, which was the exact day before I met The Ex. I also intend to write a good little piece about the nasty habit I have of either disappearing out of people's lives or making them disappear out of mine, though not a la the Jimmy Hoffa way. Yes, I am absolutely positive that was not grammatically correct, but you get the drift. I might also discuss my most recent traffic ticket for an expired inspection sticker, which is really just more bullshit and I'll give you my libertarian slant on the whole thing and how it doesn't serve any purpose other than the guv keeping a whole lot of halfway shystie (my improved word for shyster) mechanic shops in business. And yes, I know the damn inspection ran out in November of 2010. If I had money to buy new tires then I would probably also have money to pay my bills on time, and I can't seem to do that either, except for daycare, mortgage and utilties.
Be patient, young grasshoppers.
The good shit is coming.
Be patient, young grasshoppers.
The good shit is coming.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Back On Track
Okay, so I am really trying to pull myself away from The Ex bashing track I was headed down last week. I took uber aunt's words to heart and am really trying to pull myself together.
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
But let me first offer an explanation. Last week was really hard for me. It was an impossible week that just wouldn't end, and... I had not seen enough of Guy #1. Vertically or horizontally, which can end up with me being a really hateful person. I got called out at work on Wednesday for something I neglected to do, and got myself all in a dither about that, but then when my boss (who did not do the calling out) left early on Wednesday afternoon for her vacation after reading the calling-out email without saying a word to me about it, I decided that that was probably indicative that she didn't really care and so I decided to be neglectful for a little bit longer. Sorry, I couldn't do that work because I was busy doing all the other work you've heaped upon me. Obviously, my mistake. I was so pissed off and burnt out by this past Friday morning, I just decided, fuck it, I need a mental health day. And by 9:18am, I was in Guy #1's bed. With him. Since he was off from work and all. By 11:49am, I was sitting in a restaurant eating the biggest omelet I think I've ever seen and my attitude had improved greatly. And then, back to bed for the afternoon. My attitude continued to improve. Friday evening and it was not my weekend with the children, thank God, so off to the softball field with Guy #1 and a good book. I was *sparkling* at this point. Friday night, back in the bed. This is the first sleepover we've had since his teenaged daughter moved in with him a month and a half ago, and I refuse to have him spend the night with me, or vice versa, unless she's spending the night with one of her friends. It seems she only wants to spend the night with her friends when I have my kids and am not available for sleepovers.
Have I ever mentioned that kids are cockblockers? And it doesn't even matter how old they are. They.are.just.cockblockers.
My other reason for being so shitty is that The Ex continues to annoy me, but I think my own lack of getting laid was the bigger culprit last week. And it really was the never-ending week. I was home alone all Saturday morning and all Saturday afternoon and I realized I haven't been alone in my house, alone-alone, for any period of time for a month or so. I've spent all of my alone time either running around doing shit for other people or... doing shit for other people. I need to learn how to say no. I need to come to a place of NO. No, I can't clean out your attic. No, I can't clean out your garage. No, I can't make yet another sign for the cheerleading and football sign ups, and no, I can't make signs for the carnival either. Nope, I can't take any children to a birthday party. No, I can't dogsit. No, I can't help you with a catering event. No, I can't switch nights because everything else is more important than your children. No, I can't do a goddamn thing because my ass will be planted in front of the TV for at least five hours. No, I can't even be bothered to clean my bathroom. And, um, no. Just because. This is the place I need to be at. I'm working on it.
But while I'm working on not being so angry, it doesn't help that the younger daughter came home from her weekend with her father and announced that she had to wear the same pair of underwear for the whole weekend because she forgot to pack them in her suitcase. Well, this was obviously my mistake for letting her pack her own suitcase, and then for not double checking the suitcase after I told her three times on Friday morning to put at least three pairs of underpants in her suitcase. I suppose that Mommy will be packing her up the next time she goes for the weekend. But come on. She tried to blame me and I just simply told her that Daddy should have gone and bought her some if he didn't have any extra. What a fucking douchebag, but I guess he figured he had bought her a new pair of Crocs so she was good to go and he had spent all the money he was going to spend. I want to blame this whole thing on him exclusively, because really, he's a man. And men are nasty and gross when it comes to underwear. I know this. I've worked with men for years. And I was married to his sorry ass for years, so I know how he is. I also tried to explain to the younger daughter that I've sent extra underwear in the past for him to keep for the children, and he just sends them right back at the end of the weekend. Whatever. Shitbag.
Wednesday night I got a summer school referral for the older daughter in her bookbag. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the house in complete shambles because Mommy was just a few inches away from a nervous breakdown, comparing the summer school referral to the report cards for the year, and then I heard it. "The Wedding March" being hummed in the hallway of the house whilst the children practice walking up and down the aisle rehearsing their flower girl parts for The Ex's upcoming Bethrothal. Can anyone say surreal? All I could think was... this is not happening to me. These children are not practice for his third wedding in my hallway. Oh my god. And then, they asked for my dried flower petals from the roses that Guy #1 got me a few months ago to practice with. Nope. Sorry, but you are not playing with those. Then the children wanted to know if I would buy them flowers for the wedding. Nope, Daddy will buy those for you. Just like he'll buy you some really fancy dresses which I will immediately turn into paint smocks the weekend following the wedding. Actually, I wouldn't do that. Not the following weekend. Nah, I wouldn't even do that. I know that whatever the children have will be purchased by The Girlfriend, and she's been really good to my kids. So I won't mess with her. My knowledge of what her sex life is really like is satisfaction enough for me.
I'll write more about summer school later, but I will say that both children will be attending. Not to move on to the next grades, but because it'll be a good booster shot for them this summer. Four weeks left until I pack my little princesses off into the great summer sunset until the end of August. The countdown is on!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Blah Blah Blah
That's me tonight. Blah blah blah, because writing in my blog will help me to procrastinate better when it comes to paying my bills. This is more fun, anyway. Day two of the TV ban, and I'm not jonesing quite as bad as I was yesterday. Not quite, but almost. Fuck. I am glad my children will be at their father's house this weekend, because I need some mindless Cake Boss in my head. Since I haven't been able to either make it work at all for part of the month (thanks conference, flu, and strep throat) or make it to work on time or work an entire day (thanks orthodontist, dentist, child psychologist, and after school arts program), I had planned on working late tomorrow night to try to make up for some of that time, and besides, Guy #1 has to work tomorrow night, so I might as well be productive at work, too. But now... I'm thinking I am going to come home and lay my ass right on the sofa with remote in hand. Even if I haven't read that much this week, I've written some, and that counts, right?
Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent extra homework home with the older daughter today, and gave us the whole weekend to get it done. Yay! So now I can send that homework over to her father's house where it won't get done. And we will get to do tons of homework on Sunday night. Really, I need to figure out where this woman lives and go shit on her front porch. Seriously. With copious amounts of liquor this can happen. Actually, I'm such a lightweight these days it would only take a couple of shots. And I would do it naked, too, because liquor makes me take off my clothes. This would go back to why I'm a lightweight, which is because I've learned that I can't just be randomly getting drunk and undressing. And the whole stretch mark thing.
I am also now annoyed with Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher, because I paid money to get a class photo of the younger daughter's class. Pictures came home this week and the older daughter got her class photo, but nothing for the younger daughter. I very nicely wrote a note to Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher and asked her to send the class photo home this evening in the bookbag. I get home, open the bookbag and nothing. No class photo and no return note. Unorganized bitch. As I was writing the note this morning, I wondered if Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher are friends, but decided they can't be lunch buddies because they go to lunch at different times, unless Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher goes down to the Teacher's Lounge to eat lunch during kindergarten resource time, which is probably pretty close to second grade lunch period. The intricacies of being a bitch to one teacher without it rubbing off on her teacher friends is working out to be somewhat complicated. At any rate, if I don't get a class photo after tomorrow, then I will be moving Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher up on my shit list.
My shit list, you might ask? Ahhhh, the ever-evolving shit list. Currently, here are the standings. If I were a math geek and could keep track of all of my shittiest interactions, I would attach some statistics to this, but I took remedial math all the way through college, so there won't be any statistics. Here goes:
1. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - have you read my blog?
2. The Ex - just general principle on this one.
3. My former neighbors, but not my Other Mother - imagine me singing the word assholes, because that's how I like to describe them. The Ex and the next door husband had hooked up routers and connected to each other's Limewires a few years ago, and so we could see what each other was downloading. The Ex and I were downloading music and concert videos (U2 at Red Rock is THE BEST!) but the husband next door? Porn, porn and more porn. What a freak show. I came to the conclusion that he.does.not.get.any.ass. which I thought was awesome, because if I were that guy's wife, I wouldn't give him any either. I am NONE TOO HAPPY that The Ex has arranged for the children to have a slumber party as their house tomorrow night because he's got some stupid band thing. Way to arrange your life around your children, dickface. I am confident the band thing will end up being gay and at the end of the night, after a successful set list and a bunch of half-drunk forty-something women panting all over The Ex, he and I will both know his dick is still small and he won't take his cholesterol medication. Okay, that even made me laugh.
4. A couple of people at work I don't like who won't quit sending me emails about shit I haven't taken care of. Really, the more you bug me the longer it's going to take me.
5. The elementary school room mothers for both of my daughters - Would you please stop being so fucking chipper. It's grating.
6. YMCA summer camp people - I am still pissed off from last summer. It's a slow burn.
7. Estranged family members - I suppose they wouldn't be on my shit list if they weren't estranged, now would they?
8. Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher - Either I need a class photo pronto or my eleven dollars back. That eleven dollars can buy me 2.3 gallons of gas, dammit. She might still be mad that I pretty much ran her off the road a couple of months ago, but jesus, lady, learn how to merge. It didn't help that my younger daughter was in the backseat frantically waving at her as I saw her out of the corner of my eye white knuckling her steering wheel as she was forced onto the side of the road.
And there we have it. Today's shit list. I wish I could figure out how to do the little up and down arrows beside each one, like they do on the music charts in magazines and such. Maybe I'll make this a weekly thing. Or maybe not. I'll probably forget in a week, or maybe next week I'll do the Not Shit List.
Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent extra homework home with the older daughter today, and gave us the whole weekend to get it done. Yay! So now I can send that homework over to her father's house where it won't get done. And we will get to do tons of homework on Sunday night. Really, I need to figure out where this woman lives and go shit on her front porch. Seriously. With copious amounts of liquor this can happen. Actually, I'm such a lightweight these days it would only take a couple of shots. And I would do it naked, too, because liquor makes me take off my clothes. This would go back to why I'm a lightweight, which is because I've learned that I can't just be randomly getting drunk and undressing. And the whole stretch mark thing.
I am also now annoyed with Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher, because I paid money to get a class photo of the younger daughter's class. Pictures came home this week and the older daughter got her class photo, but nothing for the younger daughter. I very nicely wrote a note to Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher and asked her to send the class photo home this evening in the bookbag. I get home, open the bookbag and nothing. No class photo and no return note. Unorganized bitch. As I was writing the note this morning, I wondered if Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher are friends, but decided they can't be lunch buddies because they go to lunch at different times, unless Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher goes down to the Teacher's Lounge to eat lunch during kindergarten resource time, which is probably pretty close to second grade lunch period. The intricacies of being a bitch to one teacher without it rubbing off on her teacher friends is working out to be somewhat complicated. At any rate, if I don't get a class photo after tomorrow, then I will be moving Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher up on my shit list.
My shit list, you might ask? Ahhhh, the ever-evolving shit list. Currently, here are the standings. If I were a math geek and could keep track of all of my shittiest interactions, I would attach some statistics to this, but I took remedial math all the way through college, so there won't be any statistics. Here goes:
1. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - have you read my blog?
2. The Ex - just general principle on this one.
3. My former neighbors, but not my Other Mother - imagine me singing the word assholes, because that's how I like to describe them. The Ex and the next door husband had hooked up routers and connected to each other's Limewires a few years ago, and so we could see what each other was downloading. The Ex and I were downloading music and concert videos (U2 at Red Rock is THE BEST!) but the husband next door? Porn, porn and more porn. What a freak show. I came to the conclusion that he.does.not.get.any.ass. which I thought was awesome, because if I were that guy's wife, I wouldn't give him any either. I am NONE TOO HAPPY that The Ex has arranged for the children to have a slumber party as their house tomorrow night because he's got some stupid band thing. Way to arrange your life around your children, dickface. I am confident the band thing will end up being gay and at the end of the night, after a successful set list and a bunch of half-drunk forty-something women panting all over The Ex, he and I will both know his dick is still small and he won't take his cholesterol medication. Okay, that even made me laugh.
4. A couple of people at work I don't like who won't quit sending me emails about shit I haven't taken care of. Really, the more you bug me the longer it's going to take me.
5. The elementary school room mothers for both of my daughters - Would you please stop being so fucking chipper. It's grating.
6. YMCA summer camp people - I am still pissed off from last summer. It's a slow burn.
7. Estranged family members - I suppose they wouldn't be on my shit list if they weren't estranged, now would they?
8. Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher - Either I need a class photo pronto or my eleven dollars back. That eleven dollars can buy me 2.3 gallons of gas, dammit. She might still be mad that I pretty much ran her off the road a couple of months ago, but jesus, lady, learn how to merge. It didn't help that my younger daughter was in the backseat frantically waving at her as I saw her out of the corner of my eye white knuckling her steering wheel as she was forced onto the side of the road.
And there we have it. Today's shit list. I wish I could figure out how to do the little up and down arrows beside each one, like they do on the music charts in magazines and such. Maybe I'll make this a weekly thing. Or maybe not. I'll probably forget in a week, or maybe next week I'll do the Not Shit List.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
What Did I Do?
Oh my god. My brain is aching. I need some TV sounds in my head. A mere 24 hours since I imposed The Moratorium and I'm freaking dying here. This no TV thing might just be harder on me than it is on the children, but dammit, if I am going to force them to go cold turkey I guess I have to do it too.
We came home this evening and the girls elected to play outside while I got dinner ready. Awesome. They weren't all up under my feet arguing who's turn it was to stir. I enjoyed the sounds of childish laughter floating in through the front door, and I was glad that they were outside doing something halfway creative like creating an obstacle course in the driveway. I looked out at them at one point and the older daughter was teaching the younger daughter how to hold a bat. And they were getting along, which was even more amazing. I'll assume they decided to become one in their loss of the box that fills their head with complete shit.
I explained over dinner that this isn't a punishment, but this is us making a decision to live a better life. They both looked at me doubtfully, and I thought to myself, fuck, I don't even believe that drivel. And then I said that when the reading improves, then I'll look at maybe watching a very little bit of TV. The younger daughter pointed out that she can't read yet. I told her that she'll be learning soon and that's more important than watching TV. The older daughter asked if I was still going to watch TV. I told them, no, I'm not going to watch TV in front of them. And I'm not. But I am sure as hell going to watch it when they aren't here and when they're sleeping. Then they asked about Survivor, which we usually watch on demand on Friday nights. I said that if I thought the reading and school work had improved, maybe, just maybe, we could watch it next Friday night on demand. What I didn't tell them is that I plan to watch it this Friday night on demand because I can't wait until next Friday night. Then they asked if they could still watch TV at The Ex's house, and smiled sneaky little smiles at each other when I explained that was up to their father. Whatever. The children are with me for the majority of the time, until the summer, and we're not going to watch TV. Even if it kills me. And I am thinking tonight it's going to kill me.
As the evening wore on and we did homework and read, I felt the urge to hear the electronic voices drifting out of the TV, now shuttered in the entertainment center. I could feel the magnetic pull of the TV, calling me, Steph... Steph... turn me on. Did I mention I've got a headache now, probably from resisting the call of HGTV, the Food Network, Bravo, Style, Tru, Discovery, even Anderson Cooper? I'm fucking dying here. But I can do this. One day at a time. I have to be the one to be firm on this, dammit, since I imposed The Moratorium. The Ban.
The book the children selected to read tonight, before we got started with homework? Of all the books in the house, they wanted to read the Bible. Oh my god. Are you kidding me? Their father would be so proud and I could hear his passive-aggressive comment about maybe Mommy could learn something by reading the Bible. I could hear this because I actually have heard this before. But I sucked it up, because reading is reading at this point. I'm not going to be choosy about what they read. My younger daughter had to stop in the middle and say a prayer about Noah and the rain. I opened one eye and watched her during the prayer and didn't even know what to think, other than the church stuff The Ex is doing with the children on his weekends must really be sticking.
Reading is reading. This what I'm trying to remember.
We came home this evening and the girls elected to play outside while I got dinner ready. Awesome. They weren't all up under my feet arguing who's turn it was to stir. I enjoyed the sounds of childish laughter floating in through the front door, and I was glad that they were outside doing something halfway creative like creating an obstacle course in the driveway. I looked out at them at one point and the older daughter was teaching the younger daughter how to hold a bat. And they were getting along, which was even more amazing. I'll assume they decided to become one in their loss of the box that fills their head with complete shit.
I explained over dinner that this isn't a punishment, but this is us making a decision to live a better life. They both looked at me doubtfully, and I thought to myself, fuck, I don't even believe that drivel. And then I said that when the reading improves, then I'll look at maybe watching a very little bit of TV. The younger daughter pointed out that she can't read yet. I told her that she'll be learning soon and that's more important than watching TV. The older daughter asked if I was still going to watch TV. I told them, no, I'm not going to watch TV in front of them. And I'm not. But I am sure as hell going to watch it when they aren't here and when they're sleeping. Then they asked about Survivor, which we usually watch on demand on Friday nights. I said that if I thought the reading and school work had improved, maybe, just maybe, we could watch it next Friday night on demand. What I didn't tell them is that I plan to watch it this Friday night on demand because I can't wait until next Friday night. Then they asked if they could still watch TV at The Ex's house, and smiled sneaky little smiles at each other when I explained that was up to their father. Whatever. The children are with me for the majority of the time, until the summer, and we're not going to watch TV. Even if it kills me. And I am thinking tonight it's going to kill me.
As the evening wore on and we did homework and read, I felt the urge to hear the electronic voices drifting out of the TV, now shuttered in the entertainment center. I could feel the magnetic pull of the TV, calling me, Steph... Steph... turn me on. Did I mention I've got a headache now, probably from resisting the call of HGTV, the Food Network, Bravo, Style, Tru, Discovery, even Anderson Cooper? I'm fucking dying here. But I can do this. One day at a time. I have to be the one to be firm on this, dammit, since I imposed The Moratorium. The Ban.
The book the children selected to read tonight, before we got started with homework? Of all the books in the house, they wanted to read the Bible. Oh my god. Are you kidding me? Their father would be so proud and I could hear his passive-aggressive comment about maybe Mommy could learn something by reading the Bible. I could hear this because I actually have heard this before. But I sucked it up, because reading is reading at this point. I'm not going to be choosy about what they read. My younger daughter had to stop in the middle and say a prayer about Noah and the rain. I opened one eye and watched her during the prayer and didn't even know what to think, other than the church stuff The Ex is doing with the children on his weekends must really be sticking.
Reading is reading. This what I'm trying to remember.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Mommy Is Not Happy
Sooooo.... Mommy is not a happy camper tonight. After yet another painful bout of reading with the older daughter, the top of Mommy's head blew off and Mommy took TV away forever. Well, probably not forever, but for the long and forseeable future. That's it! I'm done! There is no more TV in this house, girls! If you get bored and don't have anything to do, READ A FREAKING BOOK!
I should have done this months ago, if not years ago. But I was being lazy, and I blame myself for that. I should have set the priorities a long time ago, and I failed on that. Well, as of tonight, my children can consider their extracurricular activities re-prioritized by me. I've been getting sick of the sound of the TV always being on, other than when we're doing homework and eating, and I'm most certainly sick of the bullshit advertising and the stupid programming. The programming that never says, "Hey, kids, how about you turn the fucking TV off and read a book?" I am sick of at least one child asking every thirty minutes, "Hey, Mommy, can you buy us... Hey, Mommy, can we have.... Mommy, will you get us..." Sick of it, just simply sick and tired of it.
I know that if I don't get this whole reading thing under control now, it's not going to get better next year. In fact, it will get worse, because next year the work will be harder and the reading more complicated, and I'm sorry, but either of my children failing a grade is not an option. Simply, just not an option. Not for me and not for them. If they fail, it's not going to be because TV was the priority. It's going to be for some legitimate reason. Like some kind of learning disability the school system has failed to properly diagnose. But that's a whole other topic.
As my older daughter was laboring through her word list tonight, I was sitting there beside her, halfway tuned out, looking at my bookshelves with all of my favorite books that have been toted around Prospect, Farmville, the southside of Richmond, Glen Allen and two seperate places in Midlothian. Reading isn't my escape, necessarily, but it's certainly my first love. I was reading Stephen King in seventh grade, sitting up late on school nights in my closet with a flashlight, and by tenth grade I was reading James Clavell and I even gave The Gulag Archipelago a go. Didn't finish it, but I thought it was pretty commendable that I gave it an honest effort at the age of 15. I never shied away from literature classes in college, and even went so far as to take an African Literature class at VCU so I would get to read some stuff that wasn't even near my radar. On the weekends when the children are with their father, and I'm not getting laid, I will sometimes go over to Barnes and Noble and wander for hours, and read little blurbs here and there. When I go to someone's house, I always look at their bookshelves to see what we have in common, and to see if they've got any good recommendations. Right now, I'm reading books on love languages (a relationship book, not a book about THE love languages), the effects of social media and marketing on children (hmmmm), a fictionalized book about Mary, Queen of Scots, and the same damn Clive Cussler book I've been working on for about six months. And a whole bunch of articles on the internet, and a few magazines I've stolen from the various doctor's waiting rooms I've been in (National Geographic, Richmond Family, Garden & Gun, Virginia Living), plus a book on motivational interviewing I'm working on sometimes at work when I eat my lunch, AND Wikipedia.
Not loving to read and not having an appreciation for the written word is not an option for my children. Simply, just not an option. And so, until I've determined that we've moved our reading skills along to the next level, or a point where I am satisfied, there's no more TV. Hell, maybe the TV will just stay off forever. For them. When they're awake. I still need to watch The Real Housewives and Survivor. But for my children, the TV is OFF. Closed up in the entertainment center so they won't be tempted. I am looking forward to the silence, and the sounds of puzzles being constructed on the kitchen table, the sounds of Barbies being played with in bedrooms, and the sounds of pages of books being turned. I should have done this months ago, but it's done now. Let the reading begin.
I should have done this months ago, if not years ago. But I was being lazy, and I blame myself for that. I should have set the priorities a long time ago, and I failed on that. Well, as of tonight, my children can consider their extracurricular activities re-prioritized by me. I've been getting sick of the sound of the TV always being on, other than when we're doing homework and eating, and I'm most certainly sick of the bullshit advertising and the stupid programming. The programming that never says, "Hey, kids, how about you turn the fucking TV off and read a book?" I am sick of at least one child asking every thirty minutes, "Hey, Mommy, can you buy us... Hey, Mommy, can we have.... Mommy, will you get us..." Sick of it, just simply sick and tired of it.
I know that if I don't get this whole reading thing under control now, it's not going to get better next year. In fact, it will get worse, because next year the work will be harder and the reading more complicated, and I'm sorry, but either of my children failing a grade is not an option. Simply, just not an option. Not for me and not for them. If they fail, it's not going to be because TV was the priority. It's going to be for some legitimate reason. Like some kind of learning disability the school system has failed to properly diagnose. But that's a whole other topic.
As my older daughter was laboring through her word list tonight, I was sitting there beside her, halfway tuned out, looking at my bookshelves with all of my favorite books that have been toted around Prospect, Farmville, the southside of Richmond, Glen Allen and two seperate places in Midlothian. Reading isn't my escape, necessarily, but it's certainly my first love. I was reading Stephen King in seventh grade, sitting up late on school nights in my closet with a flashlight, and by tenth grade I was reading James Clavell and I even gave The Gulag Archipelago a go. Didn't finish it, but I thought it was pretty commendable that I gave it an honest effort at the age of 15. I never shied away from literature classes in college, and even went so far as to take an African Literature class at VCU so I would get to read some stuff that wasn't even near my radar. On the weekends when the children are with their father, and I'm not getting laid, I will sometimes go over to Barnes and Noble and wander for hours, and read little blurbs here and there. When I go to someone's house, I always look at their bookshelves to see what we have in common, and to see if they've got any good recommendations. Right now, I'm reading books on love languages (a relationship book, not a book about THE love languages), the effects of social media and marketing on children (hmmmm), a fictionalized book about Mary, Queen of Scots, and the same damn Clive Cussler book I've been working on for about six months. And a whole bunch of articles on the internet, and a few magazines I've stolen from the various doctor's waiting rooms I've been in (National Geographic, Richmond Family, Garden & Gun, Virginia Living), plus a book on motivational interviewing I'm working on sometimes at work when I eat my lunch, AND Wikipedia.
Not loving to read and not having an appreciation for the written word is not an option for my children. Simply, just not an option. And so, until I've determined that we've moved our reading skills along to the next level, or a point where I am satisfied, there's no more TV. Hell, maybe the TV will just stay off forever. For them. When they're awake. I still need to watch The Real Housewives and Survivor. But for my children, the TV is OFF. Closed up in the entertainment center so they won't be tempted. I am looking forward to the silence, and the sounds of puzzles being constructed on the kitchen table, the sounds of Barbies being played with in bedrooms, and the sounds of pages of books being turned. I should have done this months ago, but it's done now. Let the reading begin.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Technology Is A Bitch
When I was little, there was no cable TV. There were three channels in the Richmond area on VHF, and then a couple of channels on UHF. If you wanted to change the channel, you got up from the sofa and walked to the TV and turned the dial to whichever of the ten numbers that was on the dial, and then you sat back down and watched the TV show. Most everyone had an antennae attached to the roof of their house so that they could catch the VHF waves floating through the air, and maybe if the weather was just right, you could get a UHF channel on a good day. ABC, CBS and NBC were VHF channels and FOX (before it was FOX) and PBS were the UHF channels, which meant they didn't get much viewing.
Cable came to the Richmond area when I was in third grade, and I remember the girl next door got cable. There was a box about the size of a small shoe box attached to a cord that ran to the box on top of the TV, and there were buttons on the box. This was how you changed the channels, and as long as you didn't trip over the cable running from the box on the TV to the channel changer, you were good. Even then, if I recall, there were only about thirty channels to chose from, and some of those were New York or Chicago stations, so if you got tired of watching the Richmond news, you could quickly switch over to a Chicago channel and watch the news. Then you would just be grateful you didn't live in Chicago.
There were no cell phones. I remember watching Charlie's Angels and such when I was little and they had car phones. There was a box between the front bucket seats, or built into the lower console under the dash, and the phone was corded and ran into the box. Logically, this didn't make sense to me, because there was no cord running out of the car into a phone outlet anywhere, but that's Hollywood for you. The Six Million Dollar Man was never logical, either, but that's a whole other topic. And when I was in high school, Miami Vice burst upon the television, and we all learned that car phones looked like long narrow shoe boxes that didn't need cords. The beginning of the cordless phone, at least in my consciousness.
We all had record players and tape players, and if you were really, really cool, you had a boom box with a double tape deck where you could copy tapes that you borrow from your friends, or *even* make a mix tape for the guy you were "going with". Which makes me wonder if kids even call it that anymore? What's it called now? I remember those little notes that would get passed over in between classes, or would travel from one pubescent hand to the next until it made it to your hand, that would say, "Will you go with me?" And the excitement in the girls bathroom between classes when you would tell anyone who was there to listen and sneak a cigarette, "So-and-so asked me to go with him!!!" Because the only thing left to do was nurture that relationship through hand-holding in the school auditorium, necking in the corner at school dances and make that budding relationship last long enough to get The Class Ring. The Class Ring, to be immediately wrapped with tape so it would fit snugly on your forefinger and sported about. Every girl was sure The Class Ring would immediately be followed by The Engagement Ring, and a few were. None of mine were, and that's fine. I'm where I am because those incredibly intense teenage relationships weren't meant to be, though some have worked out to be incredibly endearing and comforting friendships.
Anyway... technology. I got started on this whole thing because I'm trying to link my damn blog up with my damn page on facebook. I've got the little like button on the side bar of the blog, and I thought that if you clicked the like button it would immediately transfer over to my facebook page, and it would just all be linked together in some mysterious and awesome technological way. Um, it has not worked out like that. For real, when it comes to technology, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I have no idea, and I'm frustrated by that. It should work on the computer like I have it worked out in my head. Because how I have it worked out is really so much easier than the computer is making it. Fucking technology. So if you like my stuff, and really, who doesn't?, then check out my page on facebook and HELP ME GET MORE THAN EIGHT FREAKING FANS.
Cable came to the Richmond area when I was in third grade, and I remember the girl next door got cable. There was a box about the size of a small shoe box attached to a cord that ran to the box on top of the TV, and there were buttons on the box. This was how you changed the channels, and as long as you didn't trip over the cable running from the box on the TV to the channel changer, you were good. Even then, if I recall, there were only about thirty channels to chose from, and some of those were New York or Chicago stations, so if you got tired of watching the Richmond news, you could quickly switch over to a Chicago channel and watch the news. Then you would just be grateful you didn't live in Chicago.
There were no cell phones. I remember watching Charlie's Angels and such when I was little and they had car phones. There was a box between the front bucket seats, or built into the lower console under the dash, and the phone was corded and ran into the box. Logically, this didn't make sense to me, because there was no cord running out of the car into a phone outlet anywhere, but that's Hollywood for you. The Six Million Dollar Man was never logical, either, but that's a whole other topic. And when I was in high school, Miami Vice burst upon the television, and we all learned that car phones looked like long narrow shoe boxes that didn't need cords. The beginning of the cordless phone, at least in my consciousness.
We all had record players and tape players, and if you were really, really cool, you had a boom box with a double tape deck where you could copy tapes that you borrow from your friends, or *even* make a mix tape for the guy you were "going with". Which makes me wonder if kids even call it that anymore? What's it called now? I remember those little notes that would get passed over in between classes, or would travel from one pubescent hand to the next until it made it to your hand, that would say, "Will you go with me?" And the excitement in the girls bathroom between classes when you would tell anyone who was there to listen and sneak a cigarette, "So-and-so asked me to go with him!!!" Because the only thing left to do was nurture that relationship through hand-holding in the school auditorium, necking in the corner at school dances and make that budding relationship last long enough to get The Class Ring. The Class Ring, to be immediately wrapped with tape so it would fit snugly on your forefinger and sported about. Every girl was sure The Class Ring would immediately be followed by The Engagement Ring, and a few were. None of mine were, and that's fine. I'm where I am because those incredibly intense teenage relationships weren't meant to be, though some have worked out to be incredibly endearing and comforting friendships.
Anyway... technology. I got started on this whole thing because I'm trying to link my damn blog up with my damn page on facebook. I've got the little like button on the side bar of the blog, and I thought that if you clicked the like button it would immediately transfer over to my facebook page, and it would just all be linked together in some mysterious and awesome technological way. Um, it has not worked out like that. For real, when it comes to technology, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I have no idea, and I'm frustrated by that. It should work on the computer like I have it worked out in my head. Because how I have it worked out is really so much easier than the computer is making it. Fucking technology. So if you like my stuff, and really, who doesn't?, then check out my page on facebook and HELP ME GET MORE THAN EIGHT FREAKING FANS.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Updates
The Dog - The dog will be here until Saturday morning. No more crapping in the house (yet) and the children are still enjoying her. My older daughter and I were in our usual reading spot tonight on my bed and imagine my surprise when the dog came running into the room with one of the older daughter's stuffed animals and immediately began to hump it. I had to laugh, because I knew what the dog was doing, and my older daughter did not. Whew! That dog went.to.town on that stuffed animal, but it was cool because I understand that level of frustration. Not now (thank you, Guy #1) but I can feel where the dog is coming from. My older daughter asked why the dog kept bouncing around on her stuffed rabbit, and I could only say that she must just want to play (yep, that's what I call it, too). All was fine until the younger daughter started screaming about that was HER rabbit and she did NOT give permission for the older daughter to give the rabbit to the dog. And there we have it. Full blown bedtime drama. Shit. And even more screaming and crying when the younger daughter realized there was some dog spit on the rabbit. And then crying and sobbing from the older daughter claiming that she didn't know the rabbit belonged to the younger daughter and now the younger daughter is blaming her. Oooooohhhh, I have got to get these children in the bed.
Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - This woman has gotten on my last nerve, and then done it one more time. Wednesday = envelope day. Today's envelope was at least better than last weeks envelope grades. Two reading tests - one was scored at 100 (way to fucking go!) and one was scored at 56. Huh? How does that work? Does the teacher not see the freaking dichotomy here? Does the teacher even know what dichotomy means? What the hell is going on in that classroom anyway? And then some kind of rubric assignment on Ancient Egypt, which accompanied the Ancient Egypt test. The test score was 83, so that was good. The rubric score was a 70-something. Apparently the class worked on this booklet of information about ancient Egypt, and two of those days were when my older daughter was out sick. I asked my daughter about it and she said that the class worked on the booklet when she was out sick and she didn't get a chance to finish it because she wasn't given extra time. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher's name is about to become Mrs. Trick Ass Bitch Teacher. If that's true, if my older daughter was graded down because she was OUT SICK and wasn't given an opportunity to finish the work, then I have a huge fucking problem of the "I need to meet with this bitch's supervisor because that is just fucked up" sort. Honestly, the more notes I write this woman and the more phone calls I have with this cunt (yes, I know that's an extreme word to use here, but I have had it), the worse it gets. I'm beginning to think some of this grading is retaliatory in nature. I actually started to think that in January, but I didn't want to make that claim because I know that my perception of this woman is incredibly skewed. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Again. Apparently that was my mistake. So another note will be sent to the teacher tomorrow requesting yet another phone call and if I don't like what comes out of the phone call (and I'm sure I won't) then I'm just going to call someone fucking else.
The Ex - I sent him an email last week letting him know that the older daughter has her follow up appointment with the orthodontist tomorrow. We went last March, and were given a one year pass of the wait and see variety. Well, a year has passed and the child has not lost one additional tooth. In fact, her teeth look like they've shifted into an even more uncomfortable position. The older daughter will need braces, because she got my teeth. By the time I was in fourth grade, I could have eaten corn through a tennis racket. Yes, it was really that bad. But my older daughter has it worse, because she has a cross bite and an over bite. Anyway, the email I got back from the The Ex asked where the orthodontist office was because he forgot. I mean, he was only there in person last year when the older daughter went. Of course he forgot. I emailed back and said it was at the dentist's office, adjoining. He emailed back and asked where that was. Holy fuck, are you kidding me? It's the same goddamn dentist he goes to. I guess that means he hasn't had his teeth cleaned since I moved out last April and stopped nagging him to take care of himself and make use of the dental insurance we had. I am so glad not to be in charge of his health anymore. He wouldn't go to the doctor for a checkup until I begged, and then wouldn't get the prescription for the high cholesterol medication filled until I begged, and then wouldn't take the medication unless I reminded him every day. Fine. Have a fucking heart attack. He wouldn't go to the dentist unless I begged, and blamed it on his childhood exposure to Navy dentists. Fine. Have all your teeth fall out. Ironically, he wanted to go to marital counseling about two years (or maybe it was three or four years, who knows?) before I dropped the bomb and I refused. I said it wasn't worth the co-pay and wasn't worth me taking time off of work for. He insisted again after I dropped the divorce bomb that we should go to counseling, and I said again it wasn't worth the co-pay or my effort, but he could feel free to go and see a therapist on his own. Enter The Girlfriend. Who is now dating someone with clogged arteries and not-so-clean teeth. Have at it, Girlfriend. Literally. But it will be interesting to see what the orthodontist has to say. I predict oral surgery to remove some teeth and then wait and see what happens.
Mrs. Second Grade Teacher - This woman has gotten on my last nerve, and then done it one more time. Wednesday = envelope day. Today's envelope was at least better than last weeks envelope grades. Two reading tests - one was scored at 100 (way to fucking go!) and one was scored at 56. Huh? How does that work? Does the teacher not see the freaking dichotomy here? Does the teacher even know what dichotomy means? What the hell is going on in that classroom anyway? And then some kind of rubric assignment on Ancient Egypt, which accompanied the Ancient Egypt test. The test score was 83, so that was good. The rubric score was a 70-something. Apparently the class worked on this booklet of information about ancient Egypt, and two of those days were when my older daughter was out sick. I asked my daughter about it and she said that the class worked on the booklet when she was out sick and she didn't get a chance to finish it because she wasn't given extra time. Mrs. Second Grade Teacher's name is about to become Mrs. Trick Ass Bitch Teacher. If that's true, if my older daughter was graded down because she was OUT SICK and wasn't given an opportunity to finish the work, then I have a huge fucking problem of the "I need to meet with this bitch's supervisor because that is just fucked up" sort. Honestly, the more notes I write this woman and the more phone calls I have with this cunt (yes, I know that's an extreme word to use here, but I have had it), the worse it gets. I'm beginning to think some of this grading is retaliatory in nature. I actually started to think that in January, but I didn't want to make that claim because I know that my perception of this woman is incredibly skewed. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Again. Apparently that was my mistake. So another note will be sent to the teacher tomorrow requesting yet another phone call and if I don't like what comes out of the phone call (and I'm sure I won't) then I'm just going to call someone fucking else.
The Ex - I sent him an email last week letting him know that the older daughter has her follow up appointment with the orthodontist tomorrow. We went last March, and were given a one year pass of the wait and see variety. Well, a year has passed and the child has not lost one additional tooth. In fact, her teeth look like they've shifted into an even more uncomfortable position. The older daughter will need braces, because she got my teeth. By the time I was in fourth grade, I could have eaten corn through a tennis racket. Yes, it was really that bad. But my older daughter has it worse, because she has a cross bite and an over bite. Anyway, the email I got back from the The Ex asked where the orthodontist office was because he forgot. I mean, he was only there in person last year when the older daughter went. Of course he forgot. I emailed back and said it was at the dentist's office, adjoining. He emailed back and asked where that was. Holy fuck, are you kidding me? It's the same goddamn dentist he goes to. I guess that means he hasn't had his teeth cleaned since I moved out last April and stopped nagging him to take care of himself and make use of the dental insurance we had. I am so glad not to be in charge of his health anymore. He wouldn't go to the doctor for a checkup until I begged, and then wouldn't get the prescription for the high cholesterol medication filled until I begged, and then wouldn't take the medication unless I reminded him every day. Fine. Have a fucking heart attack. He wouldn't go to the dentist unless I begged, and blamed it on his childhood exposure to Navy dentists. Fine. Have all your teeth fall out. Ironically, he wanted to go to marital counseling about two years (or maybe it was three or four years, who knows?) before I dropped the bomb and I refused. I said it wasn't worth the co-pay and wasn't worth me taking time off of work for. He insisted again after I dropped the divorce bomb that we should go to counseling, and I said again it wasn't worth the co-pay or my effort, but he could feel free to go and see a therapist on his own. Enter The Girlfriend. Who is now dating someone with clogged arteries and not-so-clean teeth. Have at it, Girlfriend. Literally. But it will be interesting to see what the orthodontist has to say. I predict oral surgery to remove some teeth and then wait and see what happens.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Updates
Okay... So.... Ummm.... WHO THE FUCK DOESN'T LOVE VCU RIGHT NOW????? Yep, headed to the Final Four, after winning over top-seeded Kansas this afternoon by ten points. The game today wasn't as climactic as the game on Friday night, which was won by one point in overtime with about ten seconds remaining. So now there's all this chitter-chatter on facebook, of which I have contributed, VCU! Rams! There's all kinds of post-game analysis of what did VCU do right (they won) and what did Kansas do wrong (they lost), predictions of the VCU-Butler match-up, how long it'll be until Head Coach Shaka Smart moves on, what this means to Richmond, blah blah blah. Of all the pre-game predictions that I came across, the smartest and most succinct was from a blogging homeslice of mine who basically said that the Kansas team has a tendency to implode at the most inopportune time and today was that day.
I'm somewhat annoyed about the discussion of the bandwagon fans. If you're alumni, you're not a bandwagon fan. Either you or one of your relatives paid dearly in the form of tuition to be a fan, whether it's a diehard or sometime fan. Or maybe VCU paid your way in the form of a scholarship, or maybe the Feds paid your way in student loans that have since been defaulted on. Who knows and who cares? My little birthplace has a spot in the Final Four and I don't think that's ever happened before. We've seen almost-major-league baseball and hockey come and go, arena football teams float around (does Richmond even have one anymore?), a short stint with the women's pro basketball league, and we've watched all the Northsiders charge mad money every May and September to all the Nascar fans for the right to park in their front yards. Other than that, Richmond hasn't been represented much. So yeah, lots of bandwagon fans who aren't bandwagon at all - they just like seeing one of their hometown teams go big. And mad props to everyone on Friday night who at the end of University of Richmond game pulled off their UR t-shirts to reveal a VCU t-shirt.
After a consultation with the older daughter's psychologist, I'll be seeking an outside educational assessment from someone, yet to be determined, to figure out what's going on with her reading. He agreed that I probably can't count on the school system to step up at this point, and I understand that. They have to deal with the worst case scenarios first, and then work their way down. I have a feeling that my older daughter's reading issues are pretty minor in the grand scheme of the enrollment at her elementary school, which is about 990-ish students. But that's fine, because my personal enrollment is exactly two, so I'll step up where the school system can't. I haven't bothered to tell The Ex this yet, but since he can afford a new sports car to go with his new mid-life crisis, he should be able to pay for half. The only thing missing from his mid-life crisis is a baby, and I doubt he'll bother to get his nuts untied for that.
And, on the same vein, The Ex reported tonight when he dropped the children off that there was a problem this past Friday with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher having to address the older daughter twice in class for playing with an arts and crafts kind of thing she snuck into school. Apparently Mrs. Second Grade Teacher told the older daughter that she needed a note from her parents regarding the matter so that she would know that the older daughter told us about it. Here is the type-written note to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher from the douchebag that I married. Obviously I have replaced real names with my special little nicknames I use in my blog. Obviously.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
My older daughter told me about an incident that happened in your class on Friday. It is my understanding that she was playing with some "arts and crafts stuff" during instructional time and that you took it away. I further understand that it was returned to her and that older daughter said she would not play with it any more. Older daughter stated that she broke her promise and continued to play with the "arts and crafts stuff" during class and that it had to be taken away again.
Older daughter and I talked extensively about how important it is to pay attention in class and also how important it is to keep a promise not to do something, especially after she was given a second chance. I believe older daughter has a full understanding that her behavior was unacceptable, and that by reneging on her promise she was actually lying. She understands that she made poor choices and that her behavior must be corrected immediately.
Please feel free to contact me if my discussion with her about this poor behavior choice is not immediately corrected.
Thank You,
Dickface"
And here is my hand written fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher that will accompany his type-written letter on the printer that I let him keep.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
As you can see, it's March and this is the first communication you've received all school year from older daughter's father. Upon reading the letter, you will probably note that he is trying way too hard. I disagree with his claim that reneging on a promise is actually a lie, but he still has issues with the fact that I decided after taking my vows that he was really a complete dickhead and I really didn't want to be married to someone who would randomly demand that I perform oral sex upon him. But that's his issue and I pretty much told him that fact. I have also spoken with the older daughter, and probably in a more effective manner than her father, since he doesn't bother to get involved in much of what she's doing other than playing Wii, and she understands that she cannot take her "arts and crafts stuff" to school anymore, which she snuck in to begin with. Since you are such a shitty teacher, I've decided that just speaking with her is enough of a punishment, as the real punishment for her is having to deal with you day after fucking day. If you review her father's letter, you'll notice he's provided no contact information for you to get in touch with him. This is because he really doesn't care to be involved other than providing lip service, and because I haven't listed any of his information down on any of the repetitive school paperwork I've filled out. This is because I know he's not going to do shit. So if you have any other issues with older daughter, you can reach me in the normal fashion, which is to press Speed Dial #1. And upon reaching me, I will give you hell like I do every other time you've reached me.
Sincerely,
Mommy Extrodinaire"
Yep, that's my fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher. However, instead of sending in my fantasy letter, I will simply send his letter in with a sticky note from me on top that says "You can reach me on my cell at 123-4567 if you have any other issues. Mommy." Despite all else, Mrs. Second Grade Teacher knows who is actively involved in the older daughter's school work and school issues. A sticky note will suffice.
Had a great weekend with Guy #1. It was very rudely interrupted by reality, which came at about 5:20 this evening when I had to come back home and wait for my kids to get back from their weekend with The Ex. The Ex has started having The Girlfriend spend every weekend with him, even if the children are with him. And no, I'm not okay with this, but I've talked about it with the child psychologist and he's basically said that I can raise hell and go back to court and demand this and demand that, or I can just roll with it and continue to be the responsible adult in the children's lives. I've decided to just roll with it, because I don't want to deal with whatever The Ex might say to the children if I take him back to court, and because I don't think anyone would emerge victorious. All in all, I'm just having a really hard time of not falling into whiny mode of "it's not fair", because for real, it's not. The Ex doesn't miss anytime with The Girlfriend, but because I have not introduced Guy #1 to the children (and because they don't even know about him), I get to go for about nine or ten days without seeing Guy #1 and goddamnit, it's just not fair. I think I have done really well not falling into the pity party that lives in the back of my head, but it's been extra hard today. I'm so pissed that I'm the one who has to be responsible and has to be concerned about the children all the time. I'm pissed that I can't squeeze a little extra time in with Guy #1, and I'm pissed that Guy #1 also gets the short end of the stick. But I have to keep remembering that the children are the priority right now, and at the end of the nine or ten days will be Guy #1, waiting with a big hug. I can make it, I swear I can.
I'm somewhat annoyed about the discussion of the bandwagon fans. If you're alumni, you're not a bandwagon fan. Either you or one of your relatives paid dearly in the form of tuition to be a fan, whether it's a diehard or sometime fan. Or maybe VCU paid your way in the form of a scholarship, or maybe the Feds paid your way in student loans that have since been defaulted on. Who knows and who cares? My little birthplace has a spot in the Final Four and I don't think that's ever happened before. We've seen almost-major-league baseball and hockey come and go, arena football teams float around (does Richmond even have one anymore?), a short stint with the women's pro basketball league, and we've watched all the Northsiders charge mad money every May and September to all the Nascar fans for the right to park in their front yards. Other than that, Richmond hasn't been represented much. So yeah, lots of bandwagon fans who aren't bandwagon at all - they just like seeing one of their hometown teams go big. And mad props to everyone on Friday night who at the end of University of Richmond game pulled off their UR t-shirts to reveal a VCU t-shirt.
After a consultation with the older daughter's psychologist, I'll be seeking an outside educational assessment from someone, yet to be determined, to figure out what's going on with her reading. He agreed that I probably can't count on the school system to step up at this point, and I understand that. They have to deal with the worst case scenarios first, and then work their way down. I have a feeling that my older daughter's reading issues are pretty minor in the grand scheme of the enrollment at her elementary school, which is about 990-ish students. But that's fine, because my personal enrollment is exactly two, so I'll step up where the school system can't. I haven't bothered to tell The Ex this yet, but since he can afford a new sports car to go with his new mid-life crisis, he should be able to pay for half. The only thing missing from his mid-life crisis is a baby, and I doubt he'll bother to get his nuts untied for that.
And, on the same vein, The Ex reported tonight when he dropped the children off that there was a problem this past Friday with Mrs. Second Grade Teacher having to address the older daughter twice in class for playing with an arts and crafts kind of thing she snuck into school. Apparently Mrs. Second Grade Teacher told the older daughter that she needed a note from her parents regarding the matter so that she would know that the older daughter told us about it. Here is the type-written note to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher from the douchebag that I married. Obviously I have replaced real names with my special little nicknames I use in my blog. Obviously.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
My older daughter told me about an incident that happened in your class on Friday. It is my understanding that she was playing with some "arts and crafts stuff" during instructional time and that you took it away. I further understand that it was returned to her and that older daughter said she would not play with it any more. Older daughter stated that she broke her promise and continued to play with the "arts and crafts stuff" during class and that it had to be taken away again.
Older daughter and I talked extensively about how important it is to pay attention in class and also how important it is to keep a promise not to do something, especially after she was given a second chance. I believe older daughter has a full understanding that her behavior was unacceptable, and that by reneging on her promise she was actually lying. She understands that she made poor choices and that her behavior must be corrected immediately.
Please feel free to contact me if my discussion with her about this poor behavior choice is not immediately corrected.
Thank You,
Dickface"
And here is my hand written fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher that will accompany his type-written letter on the printer that I let him keep.
"Dear Mrs. Second Grade Teacher,
As you can see, it's March and this is the first communication you've received all school year from older daughter's father. Upon reading the letter, you will probably note that he is trying way too hard. I disagree with his claim that reneging on a promise is actually a lie, but he still has issues with the fact that I decided after taking my vows that he was really a complete dickhead and I really didn't want to be married to someone who would randomly demand that I perform oral sex upon him. But that's his issue and I pretty much told him that fact. I have also spoken with the older daughter, and probably in a more effective manner than her father, since he doesn't bother to get involved in much of what she's doing other than playing Wii, and she understands that she cannot take her "arts and crafts stuff" to school anymore, which she snuck in to begin with. Since you are such a shitty teacher, I've decided that just speaking with her is enough of a punishment, as the real punishment for her is having to deal with you day after fucking day. If you review her father's letter, you'll notice he's provided no contact information for you to get in touch with him. This is because he really doesn't care to be involved other than providing lip service, and because I haven't listed any of his information down on any of the repetitive school paperwork I've filled out. This is because I know he's not going to do shit. So if you have any other issues with older daughter, you can reach me in the normal fashion, which is to press Speed Dial #1. And upon reaching me, I will give you hell like I do every other time you've reached me.
Sincerely,
Mommy Extrodinaire"
Yep, that's my fantasy letter to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher. However, instead of sending in my fantasy letter, I will simply send his letter in with a sticky note from me on top that says "You can reach me on my cell at 123-4567 if you have any other issues. Mommy." Despite all else, Mrs. Second Grade Teacher knows who is actively involved in the older daughter's school work and school issues. A sticky note will suffice.
Had a great weekend with Guy #1. It was very rudely interrupted by reality, which came at about 5:20 this evening when I had to come back home and wait for my kids to get back from their weekend with The Ex. The Ex has started having The Girlfriend spend every weekend with him, even if the children are with him. And no, I'm not okay with this, but I've talked about it with the child psychologist and he's basically said that I can raise hell and go back to court and demand this and demand that, or I can just roll with it and continue to be the responsible adult in the children's lives. I've decided to just roll with it, because I don't want to deal with whatever The Ex might say to the children if I take him back to court, and because I don't think anyone would emerge victorious. All in all, I'm just having a really hard time of not falling into whiny mode of "it's not fair", because for real, it's not. The Ex doesn't miss anytime with The Girlfriend, but because I have not introduced Guy #1 to the children (and because they don't even know about him), I get to go for about nine or ten days without seeing Guy #1 and goddamnit, it's just not fair. I think I have done really well not falling into the pity party that lives in the back of my head, but it's been extra hard today. I'm so pissed that I'm the one who has to be responsible and has to be concerned about the children all the time. I'm pissed that I can't squeeze a little extra time in with Guy #1, and I'm pissed that Guy #1 also gets the short end of the stick. But I have to keep remembering that the children are the priority right now, and at the end of the nine or ten days will be Guy #1, waiting with a big hug. I can make it, I swear I can.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Are You Kidding Me?
I'll start this whole thing out with a completely random sidebar about Lent. I don't get the whole Lent thing. I mean, I get it in a textbook kind of way, but not a religious kind of way. I suppose that means I understand it theoretically, but I'm still foggy on the concept figuratively or maybe it's the other way around. This could be for two reasons: I was raised as a sometimes-Methodist, which meant that sometimes we went to church and sometimes we didn't. But when we did go, it was always to a Methodist church. I don't ever remember the Methodists giving anything up for Lent. I don't know why we never did that, other than maybe it required more than a sometimes-kind of dedication. I think it's to prove that we love Jesus or something about the resurrection. Again, we attended only very randomly so my knowledge is sketchy. I guess I started hearing people at work talk about what they were giving up for Lent. I think you're supposed to give up something that means a lot to you, or something that will be a real sacrifice. Guy #1, who is Catholic, told me he was giving up sex. Note to Guy #1: that was one quick epic failure. I've been a little disappointed no one has asked me what I'm giving up for Lent. Either these people really know me well or... they know me really well. I've got my answers all prepared. For Lent, I have decided that I will give up organized religion and proselytizing. I also plan to give up smoking crack, The Ex, and Suduko. Because that's how a sometimes-Methodist would roll with the Lent thing. We would only sacrifice the shit we don't do in the first place.
Today is Wednesday, which means that "the" envelope comes home in the older daughter's book bag with all of the stupid notices from the PTA on how they like to kill trees and send multiple notices home about the same thing, and all of the tests and quizzes from the last week, along with anything else that's graded. If my daughter gets a good grade, I am allowed to keep the test/quiz/whatever it is and file it in a three-ring binder so the younger daughter will get the benefit of studying for the tests and quizzes with the actual tests and quizzes. I felt like a fucking genius when I figured out last month I need to be saving all of that shit. Or, if the test/quiz/whatever it is has a bad grade, I get to sign the paper and send it back in, so the teacher will know that the parent has acknowledged that their child was an educational failure for the week. I know that's not really it, but that's sure what it feels like to me, since the parent is supposed to direct all of the homework and studying for the week. This sending shit back in with a parent signature is actually the school's documentation for when they refuse to pass the child up to the next grade and they can say that the parent knew about the bad grades. Children are not just passed up the food chain, because if they were, my younger would not be in a kindergarten class with the same little boy that my older daughter was in kindergarten with. Yes, it's that child's third year in kindergarten. And there also wouldn't be an EIGHT year old in my younger daughter's kindergarten class.
Last week wasn't a great week for my older daughter - she missed two days of school, one day because I was too sick to help her do homework the night before, and the other day she was legitimately sick. The math unit she was working on was subtraction, and honestly, subtraction sucks like division. I hate subtraction, and I know that it's possible to make it through college with minimal math skills because I've done it. In fact, I did it and still graduated one-tenth of a point off from graduating with honors. So me having this knowledge doesn't really help her, because part of me is thinking, let's just skate through this shit. But the other part of me is thinking, well, if I could actually do basic math maybe I'd have a fucking awesome career right now instead of just doing what I do for the guv. But anyway, educationally, last week was not our best week and I knew that when I opened the envelope full of a week's worth of tests and quizzes. And here's what I found:
Math chapter review - 62. Fail.
Math quiz on subtraction - 42. Fail.
Math test on subtraction - 41. Fail.
Word sort quiz (the new fancy way to say spelling) - 67. Pretty damn close to failing.
Dictation - 84. Holy shit the child got a passing grade.
Keep in mind this a 100 point scale, so anything in the 70 range and below is not good.
Ummm, are you fucking kidding me? By far, this is the worst envelope we've gotten all year. What the fuck happened here? Upon a closer review, it appears that my older daughter didn't even really try and she pretty much admitted this to me. Again, are you kidding me? I don't even know what to do with this, other than explaining to her in my not-so-nice-Mom tone of voice that she better start trying, because NOT trying is NOT an option. Regarding the spelling, she just totally blew four of the words off and didn't even write them down, and then admitted she wasn't paying attention during the test. Are you kidding me? I know they don't have Jersey Shore playing on TV during the spelling test, so where the fuck was her brain?
We have an appointment with her psychologist tomorrow and I'm letting him look at this stuff, because something is just not quite right here. We have struggled our way through second grade, and I'm scared of what third grade will have to offer. I take some solace in knowing that everyone else who's child has gone through second grade has discussed their child struggling too, and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher even admitted during our last parent teacher conference that test taking skills are not taught until third grade. That doesn't even make good sense to me, especially since the second graders take graded tests and quizzes throughout the year. My other issue has been that my older daughter was placed into a remedial reading group in November due to low reading scores, and if her reading is so bad that she has to be placed into a remedial reading group, then how realistic is it to expect her to read the tests accurately?
Something is not right here. When I went to the parent-teacher conference in January and asked about an assessment for a possible learning disability, I think I got a little blown off, but just a little bit. I got the distinct impression that the reading specialist and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher don't think there's a problem, and let's just wait and see. I also got the impression that if the problem were considered to be severe, it would have already been recommended. I'm sorry, but my child is not going to be the one to get blown off. I asked about having an independent assessment done, and that suggestion was immediately pooh-poohed with an "That's really expensive." I think that the issue is that if I get an outside assessment done, and if the outside assessment says something the school doesn't like, I've effectively fucked them because then they will have to acknowledge there's a problem and then they will have to do something. And this isn't one of those Munchhausen situations, which I think most teachers probably assume anyway. I wanted to explain to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher that I don't really want any attention from my child doing poorly. I want them to determine if there is a problem and then work to do something about it. Not wait and see. I just don't know how much longer I can deal with my daughter looking at a word in a book and calling it a whole other word that isn't even in the damn book. I don't know how much longer I can deal with my daughter reading words that aren't there, and how much longer I can deal with her sometime-inability to pay attention in class. I don't know how much longer I can deal with the inconsistent grades, and not knowing if the school is really and truly doing everything they can to make my daughter's education a worthwhile endeavor.
So I'll be talking with the child psychologist tomorrow to see if I can figure out how to get an outside assessment done for reading disabilities, possible ADD and whatever else might be going on in her little brain.
Today is Wednesday, which means that "the" envelope comes home in the older daughter's book bag with all of the stupid notices from the PTA on how they like to kill trees and send multiple notices home about the same thing, and all of the tests and quizzes from the last week, along with anything else that's graded. If my daughter gets a good grade, I am allowed to keep the test/quiz/whatever it is and file it in a three-ring binder so the younger daughter will get the benefit of studying for the tests and quizzes with the actual tests and quizzes. I felt like a fucking genius when I figured out last month I need to be saving all of that shit. Or, if the test/quiz/whatever it is has a bad grade, I get to sign the paper and send it back in, so the teacher will know that the parent has acknowledged that their child was an educational failure for the week. I know that's not really it, but that's sure what it feels like to me, since the parent is supposed to direct all of the homework and studying for the week. This sending shit back in with a parent signature is actually the school's documentation for when they refuse to pass the child up to the next grade and they can say that the parent knew about the bad grades. Children are not just passed up the food chain, because if they were, my younger would not be in a kindergarten class with the same little boy that my older daughter was in kindergarten with. Yes, it's that child's third year in kindergarten. And there also wouldn't be an EIGHT year old in my younger daughter's kindergarten class.
Last week wasn't a great week for my older daughter - she missed two days of school, one day because I was too sick to help her do homework the night before, and the other day she was legitimately sick. The math unit she was working on was subtraction, and honestly, subtraction sucks like division. I hate subtraction, and I know that it's possible to make it through college with minimal math skills because I've done it. In fact, I did it and still graduated one-tenth of a point off from graduating with honors. So me having this knowledge doesn't really help her, because part of me is thinking, let's just skate through this shit. But the other part of me is thinking, well, if I could actually do basic math maybe I'd have a fucking awesome career right now instead of just doing what I do for the guv. But anyway, educationally, last week was not our best week and I knew that when I opened the envelope full of a week's worth of tests and quizzes. And here's what I found:
Math chapter review - 62. Fail.
Math quiz on subtraction - 42. Fail.
Math test on subtraction - 41. Fail.
Word sort quiz (the new fancy way to say spelling) - 67. Pretty damn close to failing.
Dictation - 84. Holy shit the child got a passing grade.
Keep in mind this a 100 point scale, so anything in the 70 range and below is not good.
Ummm, are you fucking kidding me? By far, this is the worst envelope we've gotten all year. What the fuck happened here? Upon a closer review, it appears that my older daughter didn't even really try and she pretty much admitted this to me. Again, are you kidding me? I don't even know what to do with this, other than explaining to her in my not-so-nice-Mom tone of voice that she better start trying, because NOT trying is NOT an option. Regarding the spelling, she just totally blew four of the words off and didn't even write them down, and then admitted she wasn't paying attention during the test. Are you kidding me? I know they don't have Jersey Shore playing on TV during the spelling test, so where the fuck was her brain?
We have an appointment with her psychologist tomorrow and I'm letting him look at this stuff, because something is just not quite right here. We have struggled our way through second grade, and I'm scared of what third grade will have to offer. I take some solace in knowing that everyone else who's child has gone through second grade has discussed their child struggling too, and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher even admitted during our last parent teacher conference that test taking skills are not taught until third grade. That doesn't even make good sense to me, especially since the second graders take graded tests and quizzes throughout the year. My other issue has been that my older daughter was placed into a remedial reading group in November due to low reading scores, and if her reading is so bad that she has to be placed into a remedial reading group, then how realistic is it to expect her to read the tests accurately?
Something is not right here. When I went to the parent-teacher conference in January and asked about an assessment for a possible learning disability, I think I got a little blown off, but just a little bit. I got the distinct impression that the reading specialist and Mrs. Second Grade Teacher don't think there's a problem, and let's just wait and see. I also got the impression that if the problem were considered to be severe, it would have already been recommended. I'm sorry, but my child is not going to be the one to get blown off. I asked about having an independent assessment done, and that suggestion was immediately pooh-poohed with an "That's really expensive." I think that the issue is that if I get an outside assessment done, and if the outside assessment says something the school doesn't like, I've effectively fucked them because then they will have to acknowledge there's a problem and then they will have to do something. And this isn't one of those Munchhausen situations, which I think most teachers probably assume anyway. I wanted to explain to Mrs. Second Grade Teacher that I don't really want any attention from my child doing poorly. I want them to determine if there is a problem and then work to do something about it. Not wait and see. I just don't know how much longer I can deal with my daughter looking at a word in a book and calling it a whole other word that isn't even in the damn book. I don't know how much longer I can deal with my daughter reading words that aren't there, and how much longer I can deal with her sometime-inability to pay attention in class. I don't know how much longer I can deal with the inconsistent grades, and not knowing if the school is really and truly doing everything they can to make my daughter's education a worthwhile endeavor.
So I'll be talking with the child psychologist tomorrow to see if I can figure out how to get an outside assessment done for reading disabilities, possible ADD and whatever else might be going on in her little brain.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sicker Than Dog Shit
I am officially sicker than dog shit. I don't really like dogs, other than a few here and there, and I definitely don't like dog shit, especially in my yard. I mean, there's other stuff sicker than dog shit, but I don't want to compare myself to some of the sick stuff out there, and I don't want to make fun of some of the seriously sick stuff, like radiation or rape-as-a-war-crime. So I'll just go with dog shit.
Bronchitis is what I've been diagnosed with, although Guy #1 has me questioning my doctor now because the doctor didn't take any blood to check any of my levels, only listened to me breathe twice, didn't take a urine sample, so on and so forth. This is the danger of dating an firefighter and EMT, I suppose. Yes, my doctor is Canadian, so there is some stuff that he will probably cut corners on, like my health, but I can get an appointment on the same day with no wait! Where else can you do that in the metro area? And no receptionist triaging on the phone when I call! But I am sure that as soon as Guy #1 reads this, he will point out that there is probably a correlation between the level of care received and the fact that I can always get an appointment right away. I actually feel like this might be pneumonia, which I've had before and thought was going to kill me, but I'm hoping this isn't it. The pneumonia was bad enough, but then I got extra panicky about drowning in myself every time I was drifting off to sleep and that certainly didn't help. I've taken two doses of my medication and don't feel much better. In fact, I feel worse. Chills, horrible body aches and pains, fever, developing the runs (which I think is from the Gatorade I've been drinking because Guy #1 squeezed my fingernails and told me I was a little dehydrated).
But I'm going to make it. Monday the school called and I had to pick up the older daughter because she was sick, and I was headed that way, myself. I was PISSED when we got home and she informed me that Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent homework home to do that night. Okay, if you're too sick to be at school, wouldn't you think you'd be too sick to do homework? So, because I was feeling like dog shit, we didn't do the homework and I let her stay home on Tuesday. I am pretty sure she could have gone back to school with no problems, because she never ran a fever, but we didn't have the homework done. Uber aunt brought dinner over on Tuesday evening and did the homework, and she went back to school today. And Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent home extra homework tonight. I was tempted to staple all the extra homework together with a picture of my ass right on top of it, and circle which dimple on my ass she can kiss. But I'm pretty sure that won't go over well. And the younger daughter had a note in her book bag saying that kindergartners will start having homework next week, too.
Simply fucking awesome. I'm lucky to get two and a half hours of time with my children every night (not counting the Mondays I have to work late and my mom babysits, and every Thursday night when the children are with their father until eight o'clock), and the quality of that is questionable because I'm trying to cook a halfway decent meal, clean up the kitchen, direct the homework without actually doing it myself, back up book bags and lunchboxes, and get everyone into bed by eight-thirty. I know this will get easier as they get older, but damn. Guy #1 is of the opinion that I need to call The Ex and explain to him how fucking sick I am and tell him in no uncertain terms that he needs to step up to the plate, and I absolutely refuse. When we were married and I got sick, I felt guilty that he had to handle everything. This was probably because I knew he wasn't doing the job as well as I would have, and probably because he made me feel guilty by asking shit like, "How much longer are you going to be sick?" or "I would have done such-and-such but I thought it would just be better to leave it for you because you do it so much better than me." So this is the first time I think I haven't actually felt guilty about being sick in years, and it feels good. I am not going to invite this man back into my life to make me feel guilty. I would rather crawl into the kitchen on my hands and knees to pack up lunches than ask for his help.
So maybe an update in the next few days. Love to everyone for their thoughts and offers to help out.
Bronchitis is what I've been diagnosed with, although Guy #1 has me questioning my doctor now because the doctor didn't take any blood to check any of my levels, only listened to me breathe twice, didn't take a urine sample, so on and so forth. This is the danger of dating an firefighter and EMT, I suppose. Yes, my doctor is Canadian, so there is some stuff that he will probably cut corners on, like my health, but I can get an appointment on the same day with no wait! Where else can you do that in the metro area? And no receptionist triaging on the phone when I call! But I am sure that as soon as Guy #1 reads this, he will point out that there is probably a correlation between the level of care received and the fact that I can always get an appointment right away. I actually feel like this might be pneumonia, which I've had before and thought was going to kill me, but I'm hoping this isn't it. The pneumonia was bad enough, but then I got extra panicky about drowning in myself every time I was drifting off to sleep and that certainly didn't help. I've taken two doses of my medication and don't feel much better. In fact, I feel worse. Chills, horrible body aches and pains, fever, developing the runs (which I think is from the Gatorade I've been drinking because Guy #1 squeezed my fingernails and told me I was a little dehydrated).
But I'm going to make it. Monday the school called and I had to pick up the older daughter because she was sick, and I was headed that way, myself. I was PISSED when we got home and she informed me that Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent homework home to do that night. Okay, if you're too sick to be at school, wouldn't you think you'd be too sick to do homework? So, because I was feeling like dog shit, we didn't do the homework and I let her stay home on Tuesday. I am pretty sure she could have gone back to school with no problems, because she never ran a fever, but we didn't have the homework done. Uber aunt brought dinner over on Tuesday evening and did the homework, and she went back to school today. And Mrs. Second Grade Teacher sent home extra homework tonight. I was tempted to staple all the extra homework together with a picture of my ass right on top of it, and circle which dimple on my ass she can kiss. But I'm pretty sure that won't go over well. And the younger daughter had a note in her book bag saying that kindergartners will start having homework next week, too.
Simply fucking awesome. I'm lucky to get two and a half hours of time with my children every night (not counting the Mondays I have to work late and my mom babysits, and every Thursday night when the children are with their father until eight o'clock), and the quality of that is questionable because I'm trying to cook a halfway decent meal, clean up the kitchen, direct the homework without actually doing it myself, back up book bags and lunchboxes, and get everyone into bed by eight-thirty. I know this will get easier as they get older, but damn. Guy #1 is of the opinion that I need to call The Ex and explain to him how fucking sick I am and tell him in no uncertain terms that he needs to step up to the plate, and I absolutely refuse. When we were married and I got sick, I felt guilty that he had to handle everything. This was probably because I knew he wasn't doing the job as well as I would have, and probably because he made me feel guilty by asking shit like, "How much longer are you going to be sick?" or "I would have done such-and-such but I thought it would just be better to leave it for you because you do it so much better than me." So this is the first time I think I haven't actually felt guilty about being sick in years, and it feels good. I am not going to invite this man back into my life to make me feel guilty. I would rather crawl into the kitchen on my hands and knees to pack up lunches than ask for his help.
So maybe an update in the next few days. Love to everyone for their thoughts and offers to help out.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Taxes, Cheerleading (Again) and Some Bullshit With A Potato
Round #3 of taxes with my poor mother. Despite what I would classify as a lack of parenting skills while raising me, my mom can do some taxes. I was all ready to mail my taxes off last week, along with a check that I was trying to figure out how not to bounce, because really, how efficient can the guv be with checks coming in the mail? Will it be deposited the next day or next week? Of course, that's the mystery in paying for anything with a check. I've discovered that with my debit card, there's a function similar to a check payment (which means it won't come out instantaneously), and that is called credit. If I want the money to come out right away, I will use it as a debit card. If I want the money to come out in a few days, maybe four or five days, depending on the store, I will use my card as a credit card. This is all new to me because I never had a debit card when I was married - I used the checkbook of that ill-fated joint checking account. So anyway, taxes. After accidentally stumbling upon a finance article whilst Yahooing this week (hell, yes, I Yahoo), I worked up the numbers in my head of the Making It Work deduction and realized that I just might not have to pay the feds after all. Back to mom's house to actually work it up on paper again this weekend, since I don't have a printer anymore. I am pleased to report that I will now receive a refund from the feds in the exact amount of $15.18. You have probably never seen someone get so ecstatic over fifteen freaking dollars. But whatever, because I don't have to pay with money I don't have. Thank you, Yahoo, for having that article on your finance page flash before my eyes on Tuesday morning. I don't think I can thank you enough.
The end-of-season basketball and cheerleading banquet was this weekend. The Ex sent the kids with his girlfriend since he apparently had to do a karate test or something. There was a movie that I can't remember the name of and one of the main characters always pronounced karate funny, and that's what I always think of when he mentions he's going to test for a belt or something. What I want to tell him is that I could care less about the karate or taekwondo thing, and it doesn't impress me. What would impress me would be if he were to actually show up at a parent-teacher conference or do the potato project (that I will discuss later). So The Girlfriend shows up 25 minutes late with the daughters and being that she doesn't have children, she looks totally mortified at the craziness of this banquet. I was polite, invited her to get something to eat and drink and found her a place to sit. She explained that she was late bringing the girls because she didn't know it would take so much time to round them up from playing and get them ready, although it was obvious to me a hairbrush had not touched their hair in the "getting ready" process. I felt badly for her because it took me about three years to figure out if I want to be somewhere on time with the children I need to start about two hours in advance. I think she's been thrusted into the weekend stepmother role and she doesn't quite know the ropes yet, kind of like taking a kid in middle school and dropping them into a PhD program. I try to remember that it's not her fault she's been lulled by The Ex's bullshit. I was there, too, once. I can empathize. At some point The Ex showed up and I noticed that he's gained some weight, and I felt an immense gratitude that I will never feel his hairy belly rubbing on me again. I didn't have a chance to pull my older daughter aside to talk to her about Friday night, but I asked her tonight what the deal was. She was upset that my younger daughter clocked her in the forehead.
A potato project was sent home in my older daughter's book bag on Wednesday night, and it basically says that the students have to decorate a potato "friend" and then come up with ten descriptive words that they will use later in the week for a writing assignment. Well, this was her weekend with The Ex, so I gave him the project assignment when he dropped the children off on Thursday night. This was for several reasons: I wouldn't have the children this weekend to do the potato project and we won't have time on Monday or Tuesday nights before it's due on Wednesday; The Ex is always saying he wants to be involved in projects and school work (which I know is complete bullshit because he doesn't even open the book bags on the weekends he has the children); and I wanted to see if he could actually rise to the challenge and get the project done. So he knew about the project in advance, had the assignment sheet and would have the children this weekend.
He texted about five minutes before the children were due to be home this evening and said that they didn't have a chance to do the potato project. Can anyone define pissed? That was me upon receiving that text. The older daughter comes bounding up the front porch steps with the potato in a plastic sandwich bag. He explains they didn't have time to get it done because the older daughter needed to learn the words to our national anthem, which was the other assignment I sent home with him on Thursday night. I waited until both the girls were in the house, and basically implied that he's worthless and don't worry, this is yet another thing I will take care of. He didn't even bring the assignment sheet back, so I insisted he go home and get it and bring it back, because I will take care of making sure the project is done. Did I mention that I told him that I would take care of this?
What remained unspoken were all of the other areas he has failed in, too. No need to beat the man to death. With one little brown spud, he's proven yet again that he really doesn't give a flying fuck. So the potato decoration has started, and we'll get it finished in time to be turned in on Wednesday, and I will also get the children's hair cut for picture day on Thursday, since I had asked him to do that, too.
To review, here's what I asked him to do for HIS children this weekend:
* Get their hair cut for picture day on Thursday. NOT accomplished.
* Take them to the cheerleading banquet. BARELY accomplished and wouldn't have been if it weren't for The Girlfriend. He gave me the option of picking them up and taking them to the banquet, but goddamn, it was his weekend and I already had to be there early to help set up for the pie sale. How about you step up, motherfucker?
* Give me a co-pay check for the older daughter's psychologist appointment on Tuesday morning. NOT accomplished.
* Learn the words to the national anthem. We'll review this in the morning on the way to before and after school care to see if she learned the words or not.
* Potato project. NOT accomplished.
* I had also hoped he would feed the girls dinner before bringing them home tonight. Not a requirement, but just kind of, feed your children, dickface, because that's responsible thing to do. NOT accomplished for the younger daughter because she was too busy playing Wii. That's okay, Mommy handled that, too.
And so we will start another week tomorrow. A week where NOT accomplished is NOT an option, at least for me.
The end-of-season basketball and cheerleading banquet was this weekend. The Ex sent the kids with his girlfriend since he apparently had to do a karate test or something. There was a movie that I can't remember the name of and one of the main characters always pronounced karate funny, and that's what I always think of when he mentions he's going to test for a belt or something. What I want to tell him is that I could care less about the karate or taekwondo thing, and it doesn't impress me. What would impress me would be if he were to actually show up at a parent-teacher conference or do the potato project (that I will discuss later). So The Girlfriend shows up 25 minutes late with the daughters and being that she doesn't have children, she looks totally mortified at the craziness of this banquet. I was polite, invited her to get something to eat and drink and found her a place to sit. She explained that she was late bringing the girls because she didn't know it would take so much time to round them up from playing and get them ready, although it was obvious to me a hairbrush had not touched their hair in the "getting ready" process. I felt badly for her because it took me about three years to figure out if I want to be somewhere on time with the children I need to start about two hours in advance. I think she's been thrusted into the weekend stepmother role and she doesn't quite know the ropes yet, kind of like taking a kid in middle school and dropping them into a PhD program. I try to remember that it's not her fault she's been lulled by The Ex's bullshit. I was there, too, once. I can empathize. At some point The Ex showed up and I noticed that he's gained some weight, and I felt an immense gratitude that I will never feel his hairy belly rubbing on me again. I didn't have a chance to pull my older daughter aside to talk to her about Friday night, but I asked her tonight what the deal was. She was upset that my younger daughter clocked her in the forehead.
A potato project was sent home in my older daughter's book bag on Wednesday night, and it basically says that the students have to decorate a potato "friend" and then come up with ten descriptive words that they will use later in the week for a writing assignment. Well, this was her weekend with The Ex, so I gave him the project assignment when he dropped the children off on Thursday night. This was for several reasons: I wouldn't have the children this weekend to do the potato project and we won't have time on Monday or Tuesday nights before it's due on Wednesday; The Ex is always saying he wants to be involved in projects and school work (which I know is complete bullshit because he doesn't even open the book bags on the weekends he has the children); and I wanted to see if he could actually rise to the challenge and get the project done. So he knew about the project in advance, had the assignment sheet and would have the children this weekend.
He texted about five minutes before the children were due to be home this evening and said that they didn't have a chance to do the potato project. Can anyone define pissed? That was me upon receiving that text. The older daughter comes bounding up the front porch steps with the potato in a plastic sandwich bag. He explains they didn't have time to get it done because the older daughter needed to learn the words to our national anthem, which was the other assignment I sent home with him on Thursday night. I waited until both the girls were in the house, and basically implied that he's worthless and don't worry, this is yet another thing I will take care of. He didn't even bring the assignment sheet back, so I insisted he go home and get it and bring it back, because I will take care of making sure the project is done. Did I mention that I told him that I would take care of this?
What remained unspoken were all of the other areas he has failed in, too. No need to beat the man to death. With one little brown spud, he's proven yet again that he really doesn't give a flying fuck. So the potato decoration has started, and we'll get it finished in time to be turned in on Wednesday, and I will also get the children's hair cut for picture day on Thursday, since I had asked him to do that, too.
To review, here's what I asked him to do for HIS children this weekend:
* Get their hair cut for picture day on Thursday. NOT accomplished.
* Take them to the cheerleading banquet. BARELY accomplished and wouldn't have been if it weren't for The Girlfriend. He gave me the option of picking them up and taking them to the banquet, but goddamn, it was his weekend and I already had to be there early to help set up for the pie sale. How about you step up, motherfucker?
* Give me a co-pay check for the older daughter's psychologist appointment on Tuesday morning. NOT accomplished.
* Learn the words to the national anthem. We'll review this in the morning on the way to before and after school care to see if she learned the words or not.
* Potato project. NOT accomplished.
* I had also hoped he would feed the girls dinner before bringing them home tonight. Not a requirement, but just kind of, feed your children, dickface, because that's responsible thing to do. NOT accomplished for the younger daughter because she was too busy playing Wii. That's okay, Mommy handled that, too.
And so we will start another week tomorrow. A week where NOT accomplished is NOT an option, at least for me.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
More Stupid Stuff In My Head
Procrastinating about going to sleep, because, well, if I don't go to sleep then I won't have to get up in the morning and then I won't have to do all that shit that I need to do tomorrow. Like pack a bag to go to a conference and send my children off to my mother's for the night. But I'm only staying one night because the thought of being away from my children on school nights is giving me anxiety. I feel like this routine I've worked so hard to perfect since late August will be totally blown out of the water with if they spend more than one night with my mother. Or anyone for that matter. I'm totally fine with them going anywhere on the weekends, but week nights? School nights? I think not. I also think the separation anxiety I am having from being away for one school night is exacerbated by thinking they will have separation anxiety from me, although, I know realistically that's not it. What's really going on in my head is that I feel like their father has already fallen down on so many promises that if I am not there, they might worry I'm crapping out on them, too.
Taxes. How the FUCK did I go from being married and getting THOUSANDS of dollars back each year at tax time to owing the feds? How did that happen? I have six months of mortgage interest to claim, one child, daycare expenses, medical expenses, sales tax, anything my mother could find to itemize and I STILL OWE????? I am so incredibly pissed at myself for agreeing to let The Ex claim our younger daughter that it's not even funny. Greedy bastard. I guess that's the big fuck you I get for agreeing to him not paying child support, though in his defense (why do I even bother to defend him?) he does pay the younger daughter's child care and some other lightweight kind of stuff. But I'm still mad at myself. I suppose that's what ten years of being mistreated, harassed, stalked and condescended to will do to a person's willpower. I hope he catches gonorrhea.
My mother finished up the taxes yesterday and I signed the paperwork and was getting ready to slide the form in the envelope, seal it up and mail that puppy off. My mother says, "Um, you need to put a check in with that." I was like, "What?" She said I need to mail a check in with what I owe in with the actual tax filings. Huh? That is not how that was working in my head. In my head, I was going to mail the filing in, the guv people were going to review it for accuracy and mail me a bill for what I owed. I was then going to call the 1-800 number on the bill and work out a payment plan with the guv. Kind of like my student loans. I mean, they certainly didn't expect me to pay in full upon my college graduation. Why would taxes be any different? But apparently it is. So fuck again. I just won't mail that one in right now. We're not to the deadline anyway. But I did change my withholdings today. I changed from six exemptions to five, because I've figured in order to have money to feed my children, I'll have to crawl it back each year by one. I don't even know how I ended up with six exemptions to begin with, because I got a copy of my withholding form last week at work that I filled out back in 2005 after the younger daughter was born, and all of the numbers were right. That's the guv for you. Funny math and all where none of it adds up right on one form and all of it adds up right on another form and the two forms don't match when it's time to make the forms match.
I put a profile pic on my blog. It always pisses me off to read a book and I flip to the back cover to see what the author looks like and there's no picture. Hello, I want to know what you look like. Don't be recluse. I guess I need to do that, too. So until I change my mind, freak out and take the picture off, which might be tomorrow, here's what I look like, for that one person who reads my blog who might not actually know me personally.
The suspected East Coast Rapist has been caught. I got a little panicky last week after I saw one of the giant electronic billboards on I-95 with the profile up and I came home and looked it up on the web. I'm still on my news boycott, so I don't know much of what's going on if someone doesn't tell me or I don't see it on facebook. But panicky... I came home and immediately checked all of my windows, because my bedroom windows are low enough that when my children locked me out of my bedroom this past weekend, I ran around the back of the house with a screwdriver, popped the screen off and hoisted my younger daughter through the window to run and open Mommy's bedroom door. Thank god the window itself was already open because that would have required some additional effort on my part. But dropping my child in through the window... I didn't even have to hoist her up on my shoulders, I just lifted her up and dropped her in because the window is that low to the ground. I could have climbed in myself, but the neighbors were in their yard and I didn't want anyone to see how that worked. Of course, if the morons who lived in this house before me hadn't put an actual exterior door knob and locking mechanism on the master bedroom door, this would not have been an issue. My children already know simple lock picking, but we haven't gotten to the exterior locks yet. I was waiting until middle school to teach them about the tumblers.
But after I read about this East Coast Rapist, and I knew that however many victims they know about can probably be multiplied by two or three for the real count, I got a little panicky and rushed around and checked all of my doors and locks. Even though the chances were slim he would select my house, I know that there's another one right around the corner. Maybe literally, but I hope not. Kind of like when people get all riled up about school safety and scanning ID's of people going into the schools and oh my god, it could be a sex offender. Yeah, it could be. Probably won't be, but it could be. I always tell people that they don't really need to worry about a registered sex offender trying to get into a school because there's probably already one with full access to the school WHO HASN'T BEEN CAUGHT YET. But the stay-at-home moms and administrators never really like to hear that and their faces get all tight and squinchy when I say that. That's okay. I know it's true. Jut like all of the parents like to say there are no gangs in Midlothian. Sure. Maybe not like what you see on Gangland, but if there are no gangs in Midlothian, then who put the Gangster Disciple graffiti on the big Electric Company substation box across the street from the fancy new hospital with the bell tower and the marble lobby? Oh, wait, I forgot. GD stands for Growth and Development. My mistake.
And now, I've managed to waste an hour. Time to go pack up for this shindig tomorrow and try to make it through til Friday, when Guy #1 will come over and help me paint the kitchen, which was my big weekend project, except I'm so tired of running around doing shit for cheerleading that I really just kind of want a weekend of nothingness, interrupted only by the cheerleading and basketball banquet on Saturday afternoon that I need to finish making the Pie Sale signs for and bake some desserts. But if I go the painting route, which I won't because I just made up my mind I won't, I'm thinking I can paint and he can sit and watch because I'm kind of anal retentive about painting. Or maybe we'll just hop in the sack at three in the afternoon and see what shakes out. Holla!
Taxes. How the FUCK did I go from being married and getting THOUSANDS of dollars back each year at tax time to owing the feds? How did that happen? I have six months of mortgage interest to claim, one child, daycare expenses, medical expenses, sales tax, anything my mother could find to itemize and I STILL OWE????? I am so incredibly pissed at myself for agreeing to let The Ex claim our younger daughter that it's not even funny. Greedy bastard. I guess that's the big fuck you I get for agreeing to him not paying child support, though in his defense (why do I even bother to defend him?) he does pay the younger daughter's child care and some other lightweight kind of stuff. But I'm still mad at myself. I suppose that's what ten years of being mistreated, harassed, stalked and condescended to will do to a person's willpower. I hope he catches gonorrhea.
My mother finished up the taxes yesterday and I signed the paperwork and was getting ready to slide the form in the envelope, seal it up and mail that puppy off. My mother says, "Um, you need to put a check in with that." I was like, "What?" She said I need to mail a check in with what I owe in with the actual tax filings. Huh? That is not how that was working in my head. In my head, I was going to mail the filing in, the guv people were going to review it for accuracy and mail me a bill for what I owed. I was then going to call the 1-800 number on the bill and work out a payment plan with the guv. Kind of like my student loans. I mean, they certainly didn't expect me to pay in full upon my college graduation. Why would taxes be any different? But apparently it is. So fuck again. I just won't mail that one in right now. We're not to the deadline anyway. But I did change my withholdings today. I changed from six exemptions to five, because I've figured in order to have money to feed my children, I'll have to crawl it back each year by one. I don't even know how I ended up with six exemptions to begin with, because I got a copy of my withholding form last week at work that I filled out back in 2005 after the younger daughter was born, and all of the numbers were right. That's the guv for you. Funny math and all where none of it adds up right on one form and all of it adds up right on another form and the two forms don't match when it's time to make the forms match.
I put a profile pic on my blog. It always pisses me off to read a book and I flip to the back cover to see what the author looks like and there's no picture. Hello, I want to know what you look like. Don't be recluse. I guess I need to do that, too. So until I change my mind, freak out and take the picture off, which might be tomorrow, here's what I look like, for that one person who reads my blog who might not actually know me personally.
The suspected East Coast Rapist has been caught. I got a little panicky last week after I saw one of the giant electronic billboards on I-95 with the profile up and I came home and looked it up on the web. I'm still on my news boycott, so I don't know much of what's going on if someone doesn't tell me or I don't see it on facebook. But panicky... I came home and immediately checked all of my windows, because my bedroom windows are low enough that when my children locked me out of my bedroom this past weekend, I ran around the back of the house with a screwdriver, popped the screen off and hoisted my younger daughter through the window to run and open Mommy's bedroom door. Thank god the window itself was already open because that would have required some additional effort on my part. But dropping my child in through the window... I didn't even have to hoist her up on my shoulders, I just lifted her up and dropped her in because the window is that low to the ground. I could have climbed in myself, but the neighbors were in their yard and I didn't want anyone to see how that worked. Of course, if the morons who lived in this house before me hadn't put an actual exterior door knob and locking mechanism on the master bedroom door, this would not have been an issue. My children already know simple lock picking, but we haven't gotten to the exterior locks yet. I was waiting until middle school to teach them about the tumblers.
But after I read about this East Coast Rapist, and I knew that however many victims they know about can probably be multiplied by two or three for the real count, I got a little panicky and rushed around and checked all of my doors and locks. Even though the chances were slim he would select my house, I know that there's another one right around the corner. Maybe literally, but I hope not. Kind of like when people get all riled up about school safety and scanning ID's of people going into the schools and oh my god, it could be a sex offender. Yeah, it could be. Probably won't be, but it could be. I always tell people that they don't really need to worry about a registered sex offender trying to get into a school because there's probably already one with full access to the school WHO HASN'T BEEN CAUGHT YET. But the stay-at-home moms and administrators never really like to hear that and their faces get all tight and squinchy when I say that. That's okay. I know it's true. Jut like all of the parents like to say there are no gangs in Midlothian. Sure. Maybe not like what you see on Gangland, but if there are no gangs in Midlothian, then who put the Gangster Disciple graffiti on the big Electric Company substation box across the street from the fancy new hospital with the bell tower and the marble lobby? Oh, wait, I forgot. GD stands for Growth and Development. My mistake.
And now, I've managed to waste an hour. Time to go pack up for this shindig tomorrow and try to make it through til Friday, when Guy #1 will come over and help me paint the kitchen, which was my big weekend project, except I'm so tired of running around doing shit for cheerleading that I really just kind of want a weekend of nothingness, interrupted only by the cheerleading and basketball banquet on Saturday afternoon that I need to finish making the Pie Sale signs for and bake some desserts. But if I go the painting route, which I won't because I just made up my mind I won't, I'm thinking I can paint and he can sit and watch because I'm kind of anal retentive about painting. Or maybe we'll just hop in the sack at three in the afternoon and see what shakes out. Holla!
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