Newsflash!

My three-year-old son has informed me that it is perfectly acceptable to use potty words in the bathroom. Just so you know. It's OK.

Cotton Candy for Dogs

Diapers are the doggie equivalent of cotton candy. Once shredded, they even look like cotton candy. Yellow cotton candy. All over the bedroom floor. Yum.

Speech Racer

We CAN'T WAIT for Speed Racer to be released. According to my three-year-old son, we are going to see PEED RACER. Apparently, he's incontinent, but fast.

Cows

We went to the circus, which was AWESOME! 7 motocycles in one big ball! So cool! And, though my son feared it so, the tigers did not growl at or eat him. Mmmmmm, cotton candy, Homer Simpson drool...

So, here it is in rough, kinda really bad form, (actually it sucks) the text to Why There Are No Cows in the Circus. Some of you remember this from years ago (the book I never wrote).

Cows are not world-renowned for performance art.
They are neither frighteningly obscure nor unstoppably cute.
They are not at all flexible.
No contortionists here.
They do not ride bicycles.
They do not balance on the backs of goats.
They do not stand on their hind legs and twirl in circles.
They do not catch Frisbees.
They do not gallop and allow their riders to perform feats of skill.
Their ability to balance on the high wire leaves a lot to be desired.
Cows have difficulty jumping through rings of fire.
They are no good at riding motorcycles.
Hooves can’t grasp the handle bars.
Cows on bikes would just fall over.
No one fears them.
No one hangs on the edge of the seat in dreaded anticipation as the trainer stands in the cage convincing cows to do tricks.
Nowhere does anyone worry that the cows in said cage will attack and eat the trainer.
Cows chew cud.
We would not pay to watch them chew. No spitting contest will ensue.
Who would pay to watch a good milking.
That, my friends, would be a good bilking.

Best Birthday Ever!

So, birthdays come and go, but nothing beats yesterday, and it will live in my family’s memory for a good long time.

I was soooooooo sick all weekend, but when I woke up yesterday, I felt significantly better—for all of ten minutes. Then I felt like crap again. I proceeded to awaken my daughter for school. Normal morning: liquid breakfast for the girl (heaven forbid she actually eat solid food), left late because I couldn’t get myself together, fought traffic, made it to school. Halfway to school, my daughter remembered my birthday, which was so sweet. Five minutes later, she said her stomach felt awful. I told her she was not allowed to throw up on my birthday, told her to tough it out and see what she could make of the day.

Once school began, every spare moment was taken by students, but that’s why I’m there, right? I did not even get the chance to go to the bathroom until 4:00. Ugh. I hate days like that. I was going to make cupcakes for my homeroom, but I was too sick, so we bought grocery store cupcakes. As I was getting ready to pass them out, one of my girls tripped and hit her face on the bookshelf. She then refused to see the nurse. I hope she explained that to her mother. It kinda ruined my lunch, which was noodle soup—in hopes of feeling better. I tutored a student after school, rounded up my daughter (who said she was ok), and headed off to pick up the boy. See, my work really begins once the school day is finished. That’s when we do homework, “fight the good fight,” in other words. We also try to make dinner, prepare clothes for the next day, get showered, and get to bed on time. Where’s the fun time? Summer. Anyway, my weeds are RIDICULOUSLY tall, so I decided I would go out to cut them while my girl started her homework. I really do not want the civic association to complain to me that my yard is in violation. I already have them thinking I am an insane psycho woman from hell. So, I ran upstairs to change, and when I came downstairs, my poor girl had thrown up all over her homework. All I could say was, “Oh, no, now we have to do it all again!” She so sweetly told me this was not her birthday present for me. I giggled a little. I told her it was ok, and at least she would never forget this birthday.

We ran upstairs for her to take a shower. The boy yanked off his clothes and insisted on a bath. Then, the girl wanted a bath, which she got because she was sick. Many minutes later…Dinner was cold and interspersed with little girl vomiting. Cake was the same, and my weeds are still tall.

Among all of this retrospectively funny chaos, I can find benefits: my girl and I got to have a fun-filled, slightly pukey sleepover on the air mattress (good idea to all of you with children: it can be taken outside and hosed off). Both of my children are clean and do not need another bath today. I also have time to make tonight’s dinner. We all get new toothbrushes, which is soooo much fun because I bought ones that blink! My students figured out that I am somewhere between 29 and 103 years old. I’ve gotten to the point where my mother no longer remembers my age. My husband couldn’t remember it either. I have more cake to eat because my girl thinks everything smells and tastes like vomit—perhaps she should put that toothbrush to use! I can’t wait to see what next year brings!

Testing

Well, my girl has had a tough time of it in first grade. Socially, she’s having a wonderful time. Academically, it’s not so great. As a matter of fact, we’re close to having to repeat the grade. The hard part is that she thinks she’s doing fantastic. Hmmm. So we went the route of educational testing ($625) to determine if she needed to be held back. We found out that she has a mild reading problem and a mild attention problem. She scored just barely above the line that indicates a problem and a necessity for medication. The tester said she couldn’t make a recommendation one way or another about retention (the reason we went to her in the first place) because the girl has an average IQ, tested well, and can read. The tester said she was 49/51 about retention. Then she brought up the fact that my girl drew a picture of herself without hands. Apparently, this indicates a lack of confidence. Whatever. When I asked my child about the hands, she said she doesn’t know how to draw them.

Now, we need to pay $250 for a speech evaluation because immature speech patterns are obstructing spelling ability and reading. Then, we’ll pay $50 per session to have the problem remediated. Next week, we’ll meet with everyone at school. We’ll see what they have to say.

We also have to continue to pay the tutor for the summer ($40 per hour) and possibly for reading and math summer camp ($550 for two weeks of three-hours per day sessions).

My husband is completely opposed to medication. My pediatrician does not think there is an issue with our daughter. She may change her mind when she sees the report, who knows? So, what it comes down to is that my husband emphatically believes that if it’s an issue of repeating or taking meds, then she should repeat. I think that’s fine for first grade, but it won’t help when she struggles in second grade because she is focused on something else.

Really, there’s no way to tell except for letting time take its course. In the process of that, the poor child sinks further. Parenthood is soooo much fun. I recommend this to anyone. We all need to sit by and helplessly watch a defenseless creature suffer and struggle. It builds character all around. Sense my sarcasm.

Sorry for being a downer. But, that’s what fate offers right now. There’s got to be an upside somewhere, but I haven’t found it yet.

Itty Bitty Snow

Yes, we had itty bitty snow and rain, but the forecast was bad enough to close school, which is quite a feat, in and of itself, because our school NEVER closes. I was so sure it would be open that I didn’t even bring my grading home. If you believe that.

We went sledding in our yard today. It was tons of fun. We all took turns. I forgot how wonderful it is to run into a tree! Fortunately, our trees are still young and pliable, so no one got hurt, except maybe the tree.

Speaking of trees, I ordered some for my yard from a well-respected establishment which said it would send the trees and bushes when it is time to plant. Well, apparently, my vegetation has been shipped. In which dismal, snow-covered corner should I plant them? This is time to plant? Are you kidding me? Ok. So, what do you think? Do the trees and bushes add charm? Should I go buy a shovel now? So that I am ready when the truck drops them off?

Snow and Ice

Looks like we're going to get some weather! I soooooooo hope we don't have school tomorrow!!!!!!!!! If we do have school, driving should be horrible. Yeah!

I Said What?

Here are some new ones:

Hurry! The stinky ghost has captured your butt, Fred.
Don't lick the floor.
Don't lick the dog!
If you people don't learn your lines, you'll look like idiots. This isn't a production of Idiots in Tights!
Valentine's Day:
Me: This is a quiz. You need a pen.
Student: Oh, Mrs. _________, where is the love?
Me: There is no love in my classroom. Start your quiz.

I have nothing else. The play is less than two weeks away, and I am having repeated, but quiet, panic attacks. Actors don't know lines. We take more than seven minutes to move sets. I really can't fixate on anything else right now.

Stream of Consciousness

So, my son loves pink. It is his favorite color, probably because his sister loves pink and he would do anything to be like her. I have a pair of pink boxing gloves, which he is dying to wear. Today, he gathered all the pink and purple Mardi Gras-type beads and wore them around his wrist and neck. Then, he insisted that I call him princess. Thank goodness, my husband is not home. He would surely have a conniption.

I am listening to the Go-Go’s right now. Although I have had an ipod for three years, I have never put music on it. My daughter got one for Christmas, and I have now purchased music. Hers is loaded with girl music, primarily Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls, but I added some 80s music because I want her to be two-and-a-half decades behind. Really, she likes this stuff. So, she has this ipod and was all excited to listen to her music on the way to school, which takes up to an hour on some days. Stupid Delaware drivers! The earbuds hurt. We haven’t touched the ipod since then, so I get to listen to Billy Ray’s daughter and Pat Benatar on my computer. Woo hoo! Actually, I like Pat, and I wish I had Miley’s attitude and gruff voice. There’s nothing I admire in the Cheetah Girls. I just can’t connect with them. I don’t even like wearing leopard print clothing. In terms of the Go-Go’s, yes, I bet their town is so glamorous that I do wish I live there and want to be one of them—twenty years ago. Today, they’re all old and wrinkly. Their town probably now has noise violation laws, deed restrictions, and permits no homeowners under the age of 65.

Speaking of being 65, yesterday at drama set-designing, one of the dads who came to help asked if I was related to someone he once knew with my same last name. Turns out he was talking about my husband. They went to school together. When I said it was my husband, he had a look of shock. I guess he must have been thinking I most certainly don’t look 41. Thank goodness, because I’m NOT 41. There are benefits to having an older guy. Either he was thinking I look young, or he was shocked about something else. Does my husband have a secret past? Right. He was gay and I converted him. NOT. (I’M SO 90s. I simply refuse to turn centuries.)

Speaking of time and generations, my kids at school are still hooked on this emo thing. Drives me nuts. Any depressed character in a book, they call emo, ask if he’s emo, etc. Emo, emo, emo. You know what? I think I should dress up goth one day and go to school that way just to freak them out. Or punk. That’s knock them out of their seats. Only problem is that I have no eye liner, hair gel, mousse, lipstick, black boots, or metal buckles. I don’t think my black patent leather loafers with buckles will count. I’d actually have to go shopping to try to have an attitude. Don’t know what emo is? Look it up at urbandictionary.com. No, I’m not pasting a link for you. Don’t be lazy.

Speaking of being lazy, the other day, I didn’t feel like opening the garage door all the way. Consequently, upon walking back into the house, I forgot I left the door halfway down and walked right into it. Any kid walking to the bus that morning would have laughed his a$$ off. My head still hurts. I am still laughing. My husband said it sounded like a gunshot. My kids at school wanted to know why I was being so nice. I told them I hit my head, but they didn’t believe me.

Anyway, that’s it for now. I need to go to the grocery store to buy stuff to make cherry nut bread and chicken pot pie. I’m so not emo, goth, or punk.