Auntie's Hideaway

Every once in a while, I run a Google search on my username, and on my real name, the Husbandly One's real name, the kids' names, etc, just to see what comes up, and to keep track of things.

Today, on a whim, I ran a Google on "Impertinent Daughter," just to see what comes up. And I ran across an entry from an LJ user who is a fellow member of eat_my_bento, and back in March commented about an entry I had made on the comm. You know... I don't know exactly how to...

*pauses*

I love my children very, very much. They sometimes exasperate me, drive me to the edge of my reason, and make me want to either tear my hair out, or find a quiet corner and weep. But they also fill me with joy, make me unbelievably proud, remind me why I'm glad to be a parent, and make my life complete in ways I'm still discovering.

And I hope very much that this comes across in my journal.

When I read this particular entry, I was horrified to discover that this person has deducted, from the fact that I call my daughter the Impertinent Daughter, and Miss Priss, that I don't like my daughter, and said if her mother had called her that, she'd "be walking around with a massive inferiority complex." She also took exception to my calling my son Impossible, and based on an entry I'd made about him having stomach flu, felt I considered him an inconvenience.

Dear gods, y'all... do I really sound like that???

And yes, I do know what "impertinent" means. "Not showing proper respect; rude; exceeding the bounds of propriety." And I do know the alternative meaning, "not pertinent to a particular matter; irrelevant." I am using impertinent in the "not showing proper respect" meaning. Why? Because when my daughter was three, a man who was a complete stranger to her, to myself, and to her father, wanted her to kiss him on the cheek. He was an elderly man, said she reminded him of his granddaughter, and wanted to her to kiss him because she was "such a little darling."

She drew away from him and wrapped herself around my legs, and I knelt down and picked her up, backing away from this perfectly nice man because I didn't like him, either. He said, "Aw, don't you want to give me a little kiss?"

She said, "No. I don't know you, and I don't like you. Go away!"

Of course, he was terribly offended and said, "What an impertinent daughter you have!"

And I said, "Yes, yes, I do, and I'm very proud of her! And you should be ashamed of yourself for trying to force a little girl to kiss a complete stranger!!"

Nope, I have never forced either of my kids to kiss or hug anyone, whether it's a relative, a friend, or a complete stranger. Never wanted to take away their power to say, "NO!" in that sort of situation at all.

But at that time, I was proud to think my child was impertinent. And she has been impertinent... in some very pertinent ways. When a boy tells her he likes her, and she does not like him, she's told him so, and when he persisted, went so far as to threaten to rip his arm off and beat him over the head with it. Yes, very Impertinent, and I'm glad of it. So you could say my calling her the "Impertinent Daughter" is my way of celebrating her inner strength, determination, and personal empowerment. Self-esteem issues? Not at all.

This is not to say she isn't polite, because she is. But, she will very much stand up for herself, and I'm glad.

And as for the Impossible Son, well... he is, sometimes. My son is generous to a fault, affectionate, bright, easy-going... and incredibly stubborn. It is a trait he shares with his mother, meaning me. And there are times when I have to walk out of the room, grab a pillow, and scream into it, then scrounge around deep inside myself for another scrap of patience so I can go back and try to explain/deal with/help my son without losing my mind. I am trying like heck to follow my mother's example, and channel his stubbornness into something positive, rather than something intractible and counterproductive.

And, gods help me, sometimes, I need more patience than one small woman can possibly possess.

But sometimes, he's the Impossible Son, because he manages to do things that should be impossible for him. He's so tiny (people sometimes think he's in first grade) but can lift things that should be far too heavy for him. He can climb things that give us all horrors, finding finger and toe-holds that just... aren't there. I could go on and on, but... y'all already know the stories.

Besides which, in real life, I don't actually call my kids, "Impertinent Daughter" and "Impossible Son." I call them by their names. I call them "Honey," and "Love," and "Bubba," and "Button," and "Honey-Girl," and "Sugar-Bee," and "Peanut," and "Punkin," and all the endearments a Texas and Southern heritage has emplanted in my brain. When I do say to my son, "You, sir, are impossible!" with a hint of exasperation in my voice, I ruffle his hair, and he beams up at me and says, "Yeah, I know, but I come by it honest, right?" and I say, "Right!" Because he knows he has a long line of stubborn and impossible coming from both sides of his family.

And my daughter comes from a long line of strong, "impertinent" women.

That's what was in my mind when I chose those names for my kids to use in this journal. I don't use their real life names in this journal, and there are only a very, very few of you who know those names, for a reason. I protect my children. And that is that.

I love my children very, very much. They are not an inconvenience to me, and I have never let them think so. Neither has my husband. Both of us have had our full share of crap in our childhoods that we made a conscious decision to NOT pass on. I shouldn't let what someone who doesn't know me said bother me so much, but the thought that I have implied, in some way, shape, or form, that I don't like my kids, or ignore them, or find them "inconvenient" somewhere or somehow in this journal makes me... well... furious. And horrified.

I get exasperated with them, but then, I'm human, and I don't know a woman on this planet who doesn't get exasperated with her kids at least two or three times a day. Anyone who doesn't isn't normal.

I'm starting to lose the focus of what I was saying, but jays, this really, really got under my skin.

I think I'll go rip up some weeds, or bake some bread so I can pound the dough and vent my spleen!!!!

Dear Former Assistant Principal At My Son's School,

You should know, better than anyone, that the speed limit around the school is 20 mph. Therefore, getting on my rear bumper is not going to make me go faster! You were so close, I could see the crumbs from your breakfast still on your upper lip!!

And you also should know by now that the speed limit in the neighborhood is 30 mph, and that our town's cops like to sit partially hidden down the side street we have to pass to catch and ticket anyone going any faster... and there's always two of them! Riding my bumper is not going to speed me up. Sorry, I'm not willing to get a ticket so you can go faster. Besides, I gave you two opportunities to pass, which you ignored for the glory of scowling at me and gunning your motor.

So, yes, I laughed myself silly when I turned left, and looked in my rear view mirror in time to see you put on a burst of speed... only to get pulled over by one of the cops who had been hiding behind a parked van. You so totally deserved it! Yes, sometimes, there is cosmic justice in the universe!!

Just thought you ought to know.

Smugly,

Auntie

I'm doing research for the Book Bag Incident, but I came across an odd little study a Central Texas school did on the impact of inappropriately heavy backpacks on elementary age childrens' backs. Mostly it voiced concerns about children hauling extremely heavy backpacks that are just stuffed with textbooks, papers, extra reading material, school supplies, lunches, etc, and how their backs are just bowing under the weight.

*snort*

Um... two cures for that. One, parents going through their kids' backpacks every couple of days and eliminating the detrius children tend to accumulate that has nothing to do with school, such as pretty rocks, extra pencils that may or may not belong to them, that collection of rubber bands and paperclips that have mated and become their own species, etc, and just tossing them out!

The other cure is... properly adjusting the straps on the damn backpack. One of the things I do while waiting for the Impossible Son is look around at the other kids, and it's a habit of mine now to stop a kid or two, usually with a parent in tow, and adjust the straps on their backpacks so the damn bag's not hanging down and bumping the back of their calves. I do the same thing with other types of bags that have adjustable straps. There is no reason for an eight year old to be walking along with their messenger bag dragging on the ground, or for the child to be holding the bag UP while trying to walk with it over their shoulder.

Seriously, does no one know how to adjust straps around here??

I have also found that my Problem Principal had been "removed" from head principalship at the local alternative high school due to parent complaints. What about? Oh, about her wanting to ban... backpacks and book bags. Think I might raise that point in my letter to the board. I'm also planning to talk to some of my fellow soccer parents who have kids at the junior high and find out how many of them are bugged about this issue, and see if they are willing to join in making complaints to the school board. Half the time, people don't protest something because they don't realize they have the right to, or think they're the only one's who feel that way. The way I look at it, the more the merrier.

*off to do more research*

The Impertinent Daughter's bag was confiscated today.

*glowers*

See, the Husbandly One got us both Dumbledore's Army messenger bags. Mine was a birthday present, and hers was to keep her from absconding with mine. Because... she wanted one, too!

I am using mine as sort of a purse, because, well, Auntie is a mom, so... I carry Mom-type things in it (tissues, a small sewing kit, a few bandages in a small bag, Germex, etc), and I like to sketch sometimes, so... a small sketchbook and a bag of pencils, etc, and then there's my wallet, a small hairbrush, my DS Lite for those times when I'm waiting and unable to sketch or read... you get the picture, right?

The Impertinent One was using hers for pretty much the same purpose. She carried her wallet, her emergency moon cycle stuff, pencils, pens, phone ( I think in today's world, when a kid starts junior high, they need a basic, no frills cell phone), and had room for her gym clothes and her zippered binder. It's smaller than the bags most of the girls at her school carry as "purses," so we thought it would pass muster.

Besides, the dress code only bans backpacks. Not any other type bag. Just backpacks.

She's used this bag for two weeks with no problem. Then today, the 8th grade principal stopped her, thinking she was a new student (!!) and confiscated the bag. When Miss Priss said, "Ms. Principal, it's me, the Impertinent Daughter," Ms Principal frowned, then said, "Oh, my, you've had a hair cut!"

O_o???

Her hair was cut two weeks before school began.

Nonetheless, Ms. Principal took her bag, making her take everything out of it and saying it would be too easy for someone to steal her stuff.

Um... what??? What the hell does THAT mean?? If the bag is on Impertinent's shoulder, and it is closed with straps and buckles... then... how does that make it easy for someone to get into to steal her stuff??

Not only that, but it seems there were six other girls nearby, all with bags bigger than Miss Priss' bag, but... they weren't being confiscated.

Now, I have been in and out of that school. And I see girls on a frequent basis with bags that are about the size of your average beach bag. Big enough to literally hide behind, right? And no one has ever taken them away. Needless to say, I will be making an appointment to see Ms. Principal tomorrow to talk about this issue with the bags. Because, like so many other things at that school, they are not being consistent. Okay, you don't want the girls to carry large bags? Then you better start lining them up in the gym every damn morning for bag inspection, and if some of them are carrying bags that are too big, they better go, no matter WHO their daddy is and how much he donates to the football team!

Can you tell I'm getting all riled up? I wouldn't be so cranky about this if it was a district wide policy. But it isn't. It's only at the junior high. The freshman campus, and the high school allow backpacks. They also allow normal clothing choices. So why just at the junior high?

Not a clue.

Should be interesting tomorrow, that's for sure!

Okay, next year? Remind me to never, never, ever again go school supply shopping ALONE with my kids. No, seriously, put it on your calendars for August of next year, "Remind Auntie DO NOT GO SCHOOL SUPPLY SHOPPING ALONE WITH YOUR KIDS!!"

And then remind me, over and over again.

*bangs head into wall repeatedly*

I do not understand the people who live in my house, sometimes. Especially the oldest one. You'd think, after being married to me for 18+ years, he would know that when I am in a grumpy, snarly mood to just... leave me alone. You'd think the two younger ones would know to stay away and not keep coming in every ten seconds to ask me questions.

I should come with a warning sign. "Warning: Grumpy, Snarly, Grouch Bear. Do not provoke Bear. Do not approach Bear. Do not address the Bear. Management not responsible for loss of fingers, toes, arms, or head. You have been warned."

I am grumpy, I am snarly, I am easily pissed off right now and do not want to be poked, hugged, cheered up, sympathized with, or otherwise bothered. Just give me the damn chocolate and make yourself scarce!!

*snarling and growling as she slinks back into her den*

*is hot, tired, cranky, and in need of serious cheering up*

I'm losing my voice... again. Dammit.

More blood tests tomorrow.

I need a break. Seriously.

106 F??? Are the weather gods NUTS???

*wonders if she can pop popcorn outside on the basketball court*

You know, normally we don't start hitting triple digits out here until the middle of July. We've been hitting triple digits since the last week of May!

*grumbles and goes off to take yet ANOTHER cold shower*

Okay, so, yesterday was full of teh suck. I'm... not getting better. It's nothing serious, exactly, just a persistent low-grade fever, and fatigue. Lots and lots of fatigue. And it was hard to admit to the Husbandly One yesterday that I'm not getting better. So, it's back to the doctor on Monday. Yay.

And you know, I'm getting really, really tired of it. I mean, every mom fantasizes about having a day to relax, rest, and do absolutely nothing, but the truth is, more than one day of that would drive us absolutely bonkers, and I have reached my limit. I'm used to ticking along on my merry way after only a day or two of being side-lined. This is ridiculous!!

I'm sorry if this is rather rambling, but I'm very cranky right now, and hot (because of the damn fever), and uncomfortable, and I don't wanna go back to bed (even though I know I should) and... I'm just grumpy, y'all. And frustrated.

At least I finally have my voice back (it came back yesterday, after being gone for over two weeks).

Did I mention that I'm hot? And cranky?

MOAR ICE TEA NAOW, PLEASE?

Fever, fever go away

Don't come back another day

You are giving Auntie grumps

Putting her down in the dumps

Fever, leave me, do not stay

You have ruined Auntie's day

Keeping her stuck in the bed

While everyone else plays instead

She does not like being sick

So go away, don't be a d**k!!



no love,

Auntie

Writing for the last four months has been... difficult. I don't know what it is, but every time I sit down to write... something happens.

It'll be difficult to start, it goes in fits and stops, and then finally, blissfully, I settle into the writing groove, I'll be going great guns and...

"Mom, Mom, wait, you have to hear this! So, I was in my choir class, and this guy came in... no wait, it wasn't a guy, it was... no... wait... forget it, I forgot. So... whatcha doin'? Is it okay if I hang here a while? I'm bored. Oh, and I'm hungry, too... can you make me some ramen? Or, no... wait... popcorn. Can you make popcorn, Mom? I'm not hungry so much as I just feel like nibbling... you know, popcorn. And hey, can we watch a movie? You haven't watched a movie with us in...."

Then she wonders why I'm banging my head against the desk.

So, I find another opportunity to write, sit down, have trouble starting, then hit the groove, the keyboard is practically smoking, it's going so well, I'm flying and completely lost in the story and...

"Hey, honey, we need to talk about whether we're going to send the kids to soccer camp. I've been looking at the budget and I think we can manage if we do this camp, as opposed to the Outrageously Expensive Soccer Camp of Doom. But we'll need to cut out this, that and the other from the budget, if you'll let me get on the computer so I can bring up the... honey... why are you grinding your teeth?"

Literally. It never ends. It's like a vast conspiracy to Keep Auntie Away from the Computer, and it's driving me completely insane. I have several writing assignments that I am supposed to be working on, and one of them is nearly completed if... I... can... just have a friggin' hour alone!!! And the other, I am barely halfway through.

I have to tell you, there are times when I get so frustrated, I want to throw up my hands and say, "Fine. I give up. No more writing. I get the damn hint, okay? Just forget the writing and give up on it because there's just no point. No point at all!!"

Then I remember why I write in the first place. Because it hurts not to. Because I can't stop. Because I have all these ideas, and pictures, and voices in my head, and they all need to come out, and the only way to do it is to write it all down.

But... I CAN'T DO IT IF I DON'T GET AT LEAST A COUPLE OF HOURS TO MYSELF!!!

*is very frustrated*

Right now, though, the temptation to throw in the towel and just give it all up is very, very strong.

Dear Ms. Rowling,

Please to be reading Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, in particular, the last book. THAT is how you wrap up a series. Not by throwing random people and situations in, because you're exhausted, and just want to finish the damn book, then adding an epilogue that wraps everything up neatly and tidily because, dammit, you're done and you just don't want to mess with it any more!

Don't get me wrong, Deathly Hallows had some truly inspired moments, but there was so much in it that just felt... out of context, or seemed to be thrown in to move the plot along without any real thought for if it actually did move the plot along.

And I'm sorry, but killing Fred Weasley because you couldn't make yourself kill Arthur Weasley in the fifth book doesn't count as "moving the plot along." That's just called "chickening out and trying to make up for it... badly."

Still rather grumpy with you,

Auntie

You know what I hate?? I hate when someone posts a fic on a comm, the summary looks interesting, so you click on the link...

... and you can't read it because it's either f-locked, or on a fiction site/archive that you have to log into.

I mean... why bother posting it as a public post on a comm if the members of the comm CAN'T READ IT???

*grumbles and snarls with irritation*

I swear, y'all, that just chaps my hide, you know?

Idiots...

Auntie: 1 Asthma Monster: 3


I beat it back yesterday enough to go to the soccer clinic with THO and the kids. But it's whipping my ass today.

*grumbles* Damn wind, blowin' up the cedar pollen... *grumble, snarl*

Dear Auntie,

I know you want to be neighborly, dear, but really, next time you see your neighbors throwing hot water over their car to melt the ice covering the windshield and back window? Don't help them. Leave them alone. Yes, I know they won't figure out why the windows keep freezing back over again with more ice, but they also do not appreciate it when you come over and suggest they try tepid water instead. They do not understand the laws of physics and won't no matter how you try to explain that cold water won't make the ice freeze harder. Nor will they understand when you tell them that if they'd just turn the car's engines on, turn their defrosters on and up a little higher than usual, and leave the car running for about five minutes, they wouldn't have to bother with the water at all. Not everyone groks science, dear. Remember... these are the same people who voted to teach "Creationism" as "Intelligent Design" in the state's schools and think that qualifies as science.

It's really kinder to just... walk away and... do something else.

With much love and understanding,

Your older and wiser Self


In other news, I'm sorry about last night's ambiguous post. I love the Husbandly One very, very much. I adore him, and I know you all know that.

However.

There are times when he just irritates the crap out of me, and last night was one of those times. That's about as far as I'll get into it. I'm sure I'll forgive him... eventually. Say in about... ten years. Give or take a few. Or maybe after this splitting headache goes away.

I'm going back to bed now.

Dear Mr. Morning Fuckwit Radio DJ,

Please to stop ragging on us poor, pathetic, thin-blooded Texans who apparently "freak out" when the thermometer dips below 40. Okay, so you're from Nebraska, where you had to walk ten miles to the bus stop every morning through six feet of snow uphill both ways in a driving blizzard, and then had to walk 25 miles to school because your bus passed you by because they couldn't see you since your pants, coat, and hat were coated with snow and thus you blended into the snowbank that was pile twenty five feet high. I get that. You're a big, tough, macho guy who sneers at forty below zero. Goody for you.

The thing is, Mr. Idiot, it doesn't get cold like that for extended periods here. Blizzards are very rare down here, as are ice storms. We might get one or two a year. We may get snow every couple of years or three. When folks down here buy all-weather tires, it's usually to deal with the flash floods we get in the spring and summer. Not for ice and snow. And no, no one here owns chains for their tires because... we don't get that kind of weather down here long enough to make that practical. So yes, when we get ice storms, or snow, etc... everything shuts down. Not because we are wimps, but because cities out here only buy enough sand for high bridges, not for miles and miles of highway, and we don't have road salt. So, people stay home to stay safe.

Besides, who is it that starts crying and moaning and wailing when the thermometer gets up above 95? Huh? What's that, Mr. Wilting Flower?? Mr. "Oh-my-God-it's-too-hot-to-move?" Mr. "Why did I have to come to work today, it's not even 8 a.m. and it's already 98?" Yeah. You. When it hits the triple digits, us natives drink lots of water and head for the shade while YOU try to go jogging at noon and wonder why you pass out from heat stroke. So... shut the fuck up already.

No love and a bang on the ear,

Auntie

I've been in two minds whether or not to post this, because part of me is like, "AAAAHHHH, PANIC, PANIC, MUST SEEK SUPPORT!!" and the other part of me (which is much more sensible, really) is saying, "Wait until you know something."

Well, I'm taking that advice as regards telling my mother because... she'll freak. And she'll worry all weekend long. I figure y'all are a much hardier bunch, so...

I had to go have an ultrasound done of my throat yesterday. Because... I've been having issues. I've been very, very tired, to the point where it's an effort to stay awake sometimes, and mass quantities of caffeine have become counter-productive. And, well you know, women in their forties usually start experiencing "personal summers." Well... I'm not. I'm having "personal winters." You know, moments where I'm fine, and then the next minute, my teeth are chattering, I'm shivering, and freezing to death... and it's 82 degrees outside. Everyone else is sweating and I'm experiencing hypothermia.

And I have this... lump... on my thyroid gland.

So I had an ultrasound done. And the doctor called me back today and said, "You definitely have a nodule on your thyroid. I'm sending you to an endocrinologist to have it evaluated and see what we need to do about it."

*nods thoughtfully*

My appointment is on Monday. This gives me, what, three days to fidget, worry, fidget, panic, and fidget some more, right? It's probably nothing. It's probably subacute thyroiditis again, and I'll be told to get plenty of rest, etc,, and things will improve on their own, like I did ten years ago.

You know what? I just realized... it was exactly ten years ago almost to the DAY that I found a lump on my thyroid and... whoa... that's... just weird.

I need to sit down.

Wait. I AM sitting down.

Excuse me, I need to go do a little more panicking and freaking out, just to, you know, get it out of my system so I can behave rationally later. Yeah. And y'all believe that, too, right?

I'm going to get through this, too. Just, hey, Whoever Is In Charge? Yeah, You! STOP IT WITH THE CURVE BALLS ALREADY!!! A little break would be nice, yeah? SHEESH!!!

*grumbles*

I had to fill out a support ticket today.

As anyone who reads this journal regularly is aware, I do searches on my username and my real name from time to time on Google, Yahoo, and whatever other search engine pops up in my head. Mostly it's just curiosity, but it's also because the self-preservationist in me demands I pay attention to such things.

Well, not long after the big move to Montana, I was doing a Google on my username, and my real name popped up. That got my attention, but not long after, when I had logged in to LJ, LJ had already sent me a message letting me know about the problem and how to fix it, so... I did.

So, today, I did a Google on my real name, and no Auntie popping up to alarm me. However, when I went to Yahoo... bing, there I was, my real name with Auntie's LJ address under it.

Ain't supposed to happen, folks.

Hopefully, they'll get back to me soon. I mean, there's a reason I post this stuff under another name, you know? Hello, privacy?

Auntie is feeling rather naked today, my dears! *picks up large feather fans and starts an elaborate fan dance to distract you*






I even found one named "Bijou!"

Am I ever going to see the Insane Soccer Parents and not get this massive flinch/flail reaction from them? Seriously! Yesterday morning, after I got the Impossible Son settled in his class, I was about to turn out of the parking lot, and here comes the Insane Soccer Parents, tootling down the street toward the junior high. Then Mrs. Insane sees me, flinches, her husband notices, looks, sees me, flinches, then both of them start flailing, and their car swerves. All this with their son in the back seat going, "Huh, what?"

You'd think I had six inch fangs, dripping with saliva, and I was staring longingly at their throats or something! I mean, isn't that the reaction usually reserved for spotting Godzilla just before he steps on your house??

So, this morning, I drive up to Mr. Manzie's school, and I'm waiting to turn into the parking lot. They come up, waiting to turn out of the parking lot. And again, they spot me. I decide to grab the bull by the horns and wave cheerfully at them, with a smile (because I'm evil that way).

I'll give you three guesses how they reacted.

Maybe tomorrow, I should wear a hockey mask with a little tiny drip of blood coming from one corner of the mouth. I mean, it couldn't possibly make their reactions any worse! I thought for a few minutes there that they were going to leave their car and flee. You know, this almost hurts my feelings (though not really, because they mean less to me than a gnat). I have done nothing to these people. And, you know, my husband did nothing to them, either, other than warn them that he would call the police if they tried to show up at a soccer game with the intent to harass and harangue (I'm being really, really generous here, because what Mr. Insane actually threatened to do to THO was "kick your @)#%*&!! ass!!"). I should probably ask Mr. Manzie's teacher if the Insane's younger son is in her class, because... that would be just my luck. Can you imagine field trips with Mrs. Insane? I'd have to get all Chilly Pissed Off Southern Gal on her. *head-desk*

( Cut for more ranting and raving )

I am Sisyphus, pushin' that big ol' giant rock up that mountain...

It's an insurmountable task, but I'm doing it anyway because... that's just how I am. I'll keep plodding along until I literally collapse.

Wish those folks sittin' over on the side in their loungers, drinkin' nice cool drinks and enjoyin' themselves would bother to frickin' help me...

*grumbles and feels much put upon*