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!!!!

Oh, boy, was yesterday a long day!!
( Lots of photos to follow, for soccer and Halloween, so clicky to see, and beware, oh users of Dial-Up! )

On a lighter note, here are some more of the notes I've slipped into my kids lunch boxes after I pack them. Now, keep in mind, I'm not quite awake when I write these, and I usually don't have my glasses on. And they've been in the lunch boxes of a 13 year old and an 8 year old all day long. What? Scan them before I put them in the lunch box? Didn't I mention, I'm not quite awake when I draw these? Sheesh!!

( here they are, for you to snicker over... )

So, the Asthma Monster arrived with the ragweed pollen, and I'm ... not doing as badly as say... last year, but I'm still not a happy camper. After I got the kids off to school, I took my meds and pretty much passed out in bed till 1, then got up and groggily decided lunch wasn't happening for me and stared at the computer for a bit. Then I thought shower might help matters, and was in the process of getting in when... the phone rang. And at first, I was going to ignore it, thinking, "Oh, if it's important, they'll call back..."

But you know, there's this thing called "Mom Radar," and I just knew...

So, I answered it and... it's the nurse from the Impossible Son's school. And my first thought was, "Dammit, he's got a fever... I knew I should have kept him home when he said his throat was sore!"

But nooooo... now, y'all just know it's not going to be that simple for Auntie... right?

"Auntie? Yes, I have Mr. Impossible here in my office, and it seems he's been stuffing erasers up his nose."

O_o... wtf???

"Erasers? Up his nose?" I said intelligently.

"Yes. I got most of it out, but his little nose is so swollen, I can't be sure there isn't more still in there..."

"Erasers?? Up his nose??" I said, apparently still stuck in first gear.

"Yes. You're going to have to take him to the doctor or the clinic..."

"Erasers?? Up his nose??"

Gobsmacked does not even come close to covering it.

So, I got dressed (yes, shocolate, I talked to the school nurse on the phone NAKED) and called the family doctor. "No, we don't have any openings today, we're full up," the nurse said. Great, I thought. That means the so-called "urgent care clinic," in our town, which closes at 5 p.m. It's less an urgent care clinic, though, and more of a... well... let's put it this way... if your problem is urgent... you're better off going to the emergency room, because you aren't getting in to see so much as a nurse for at least two hours. So, I called the Husbandly One to let him know what was going on... and went straight to voice mail. I waited a couple of minutes, called again... and straight to voice mail. Fuck this, I thought, and called the office landline.

It was disconnected.

Wonderful, I thought, greatly frustrated. And decided to move on.

I went to pick up the little miscreant fezart eraser-up-the-nose-stuffing poor little guy, and found a rather embarrassed son standing in the nurse's office. The nurse pulled out a small bag with crumbled bits of eraser in it, and my stomach dropped. Now, when the nurse had said "eraser" (I think that's rubber for you Brits, right?), I thought she meant either the ubiquitous big pink eraser that has haunted primary school since time immemorial or those funny wedge shaped ones you put on top of the pencil when the built in eraser wears out.

But no, not even close.

It was... an art gum eraser!! The suckiest eraser known to mankind. The eraser that crumbles into bits the moment you touch it to paper. Yeah, THAT one.

Could he have picked a worse type of eraser to stuff up his nose or what?

"Where did you get this?" I asked, staring at it. "I didn't give you art gum erasers!"

"From the teacher," he said, shrugging.

I checked him out, and of course, I could not help asking The Question. You know the one I mean. The one parents have asked every time one of their kids does something so ridiculous and just plain weird, and just want to understand why??

"Why did you stuff eraser bits up your nose?"

He blinked and gave The Answer kids have always given their parents when they do something ridiculous and just plain weird. Shrug. "I don't know."

Because really, he doesn't. He has no idea, none at all. It just... seemed like the thing to do. He borrowed the eraser from the teacher, tried to use it, watched it crumble and suddenly thought, "Hey, you know, those are just the right size to fit up my nose." Or maybe he thought, "You know, those crumbly bits look just like nasty, dried up boogers. Hey, I'll stuff them up my nose and see if I can gross people out!!" Who knows??

Well... the clinic was stuffed to bursting. Literally. The parking lot was packed, there were cars parked up and down the street and there were people waiting outside. People who stood in little groups, hunched in misery, eyes streaming, sneezing and coughing, dabbing at eyes and noses with crumpled tissues...

I took one look at that and thought, "Oh, no, not today." Yeah, THAT'S what we need. The FLU!! I don't think so!

I took my stinker home and made one more call to my doctor. "Is there any way y'all can fit me in? The clinic is stuffed to the gills. Look, I'll sit and wait for the first available second..."

"Let me talk to the doctor," said the receptionist, and then came back with, "I talked to Dr. R, and the PA, and they both said that they don't have the equipment to deal with this, since you said the erasers are up in both nostrils. They said you should take him to the emergency room."

I looked at the Impossible Son, who was dancing to New Found Glory on his iPod. Our E.R. co-pay went up, and I really wasn't looking forward to taking him someplace else where there would be MORE flu-stricken people. The closest urgent care centers to us are in Austin, New Braunfels, and Wimberly. I was not going to drive into Austin at 3:25 p.m.... not unless he was bleeding out his eyeballs. New Braunfels and Wimberly were out, too. And I still couldn't contact THO.

Thinking of THO reminded me that he had surgery three years ago in San Marcos... with an ear, nose, and throat guy who sees all ages. I googled him, called their office, and yes, yes, no problem, bring him on in.

YAY!! So, knowing that the Tall Blonde would pick up the Impertinent One, I took Mr. Manzie in to San Marcos to see Dr. T. who Mr. Manzie just LOVED, and after sticking a tube up that little nose that let him look into Mr. Manzie's sinuses, was able to tell me that the Impossible Son either sneezed the eraser crumbs out, or swallowed them, because his sinuses were clean.

Oh, happy day!!

He then gave Mr. Impossible the "Don't stick anything up your nose or in your ear that's smaller than your elbow," speech, which still cracks me up, because wow, kids always react the same way. The first thing they do is... try to stick their elbows in their ears!! I think doctors do that on purpose, just to see if a kid will do it!

Much relieved, we made our way back home, and then to the Tall Blonde's house to pick up the daughter.

The Husbandly One called not long after I'd arrived. "Where are you?" he asked, sounding frantic.

Turns out, he turned his phone off, because it needed to be charged and he was saving it in case he needed it while driving. And his company changed their phone numbers, but he never worried about it since he carries his mobile with him all the time. He'll be giving me that new number pretty quick, I think!

All in all, a more adventurous day than I'd anticipated. Ah, the adventure that is parenthood. It's not for sissies, or the faint of heart. And I still haven't gotten my shower!!

Every once in a while, the pathway between Auntie's brain and her mouth short-circuits, and gives her family fuel for entertainment for months, possibly years to come.

There was an open house at the Impossible Son's school this evening, and afterwards, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few things. It was on the way home from the grocery store that the discussion turned to Halloween and costumes. The Impossible Son asked me if I was going to dress up this year. "I dunno," I said tiredly, because I've got the Migraine of Doom. "What do you want me to go as?"

"I don't know," he said. "What do you want to go as?"

I wasn't in the mood to ride on that particular merry-go-round, so I sighed and said, "Maybe I'll just go as a hippie."

"No, I don't like that," he said and you could just hear the frown in his voice. "I don't want you to go as a hippy, Mom."

Great. "Okay, how 'bout I go as Molly Weasley?" I said. That shouldn't be too hard, right? I mean, she's a mom, I'm a mom, I just have to dress eccentrically and carry a wooden spoon and look harried. In other words, just... dress and look normal, and maybe a poofy red wig or something. And add a British accent.

"That would be AWESOME!!" said Mr. Impossible. "Do it! Do it! And Papa can be Mr. Weasley!"

I looked over at my husband and his tattoos and said, "Um, no, maybe he should be Charlie..."

"No!" said the Impossible Son. "I'm going to be Charlie Weasley!"

The Impertinent Daughter snorted at this, but didn't say anything.

"Okay," I said, willing to go along with this, and thinking about what pens I could use to draw "tattoos" on his arms. "You can carry your toy dragon under your arm to, and when you go up to people's porches, you can say, look! I'm handling my dragon!"

The moment that popped out of my mouth, I knew, instinctively, that I had Dropped A Brick. There was shocked silence in the van for about... oh... I'd say about maybe 9 nano-seconds that lasted approximately two thousand years... and then they all died laughing.

"MOM!!!" said my daughter, trying to sound outraged while nearly suffocating herself laughing. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT!!!"

"Wow, honey," said the Husbandly One, snorting and guffawing, "that's... wow! That's way beyond your usual!"

"What?" said the Impossible Son, lost for about ten seconds, and then, "OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!! MOM!!! GEEZ!!! That's just... WRONG!!!"

See? Even with a migraine, I'm pretty damn entertaining... most especially when I don't mean to be!!

I'm sure my face will stop burning at some point. And I hope they will let me live it down sometime before I'm eighty!

*goes to hide*

I have to say that by and large, my kids are pretty well behaved. Usually, if I talk to them before we go shopping, or to a movie, or out anywhere in public, they keep the usual sibling picking and bickering to an absolute minimum. And mostly, during this summer where I've been feeling so lousy, they've been careful not to waste Mom's energy in having to curb their arguments.

But, you know, that can't last forever, they're human children, after all, right? The Impertinent One only has so much patience with her Little Bother and his persistent questions, Energizer Bunny bounciness, or his off-key singing. She'll put up with it as long as she can stand it and then... the picking begins.

Soon, I hear him shout, "Stop it!" and then... he retaliates.

And then she complains that he's "hurt" her. He's punched her in the arm, and it's practically broken it! Of course, I'm skeptical. I mean, this is a girl I have watched get straight-armed during a soccer game, watched her get knocked to the ground and bounce back up, fierce as ever, watched her get hit, and hardly flinch.

I also know that Mr. Manzie pulls his punches when he hits his sister.

So... I give them both the Hairy Eyeball, fuss at them for fighting, take away privileges (No more Nintendo! No Wii for three days!), and leave it at that. Peace will reign for as long as half an hour, sometimes. Or the rest of the shopping trip, at least.

Yesterday, though... I don't know. It started off well, but then the Impossible Son got all excited about markers, and pencils, and this year they get to use pens, and he interrupted the Impertinent Daughter when she was trying to tell me some endlessly complex story that involved a lot of back-tracking (and I admit, I don't have a lot of patience for that, though I do try, really hard)...

... and then I saw the school uniforms hanging on racks... AT THE GROCERY STORE.

O_O

Um... school uniforms? I blinked and stared. There they were, racks of khaki and navy blue shorts, slacks, and skirts, with white and dark blue polo shirts, hanging there in the grocery store.

They've never sold school uniforms at our grocery store, which is the only one in town.

Now, I have been checking the elementary and junior high websites regularly this summer, especially since the woman who had been principal at the junior high, the woman responsible for the dress-code shenanigans of the past two years, was elected to the school board and became the school board president. I've been expecting to hear about district wide uniforms, or at least a district wide dress-code change, but... there's been nothing.

However, it would be very like them to spring the change on us on the first day of school. They've done that before. So... I was considerably freaked out, as you can imagine.

The kids got quiet, and were cooperative for about 25 minutes. And... it all went downhill from there. Very frustrating. Even worse, I couldn't find all the things on the list at the grocery store, so... I had to go to WalMart.

And y'all know I just LOVE to go to WalMart (is being very sarcastic).

And guess what was hanging in neat rows in the clothing departments? You guessed it, khaki and navy shorts, skirts, and slacks, with white and navy polo shirts.

I ignored that, and headed straight for the school supplies. It briefly got better there, but fell apart to the point that I had to send Miss Priss to another aisle for HER things, while I went to another aisle with Mr. Manzie for HIS.

But she had to stay with us when we went to look for a new backpack for the Impossible Son.

I don't even want to talk about it.

Let's just say, it should be a lesson to the Impertinent One that most eight year old boys do not appreciate having a Tinkerbell backpack put on their backs where any of their friends might see it.

Worse? I have to go back to get a backpack today. And it's the tax free weekend... starting today.

*whine*

I have posted this photo before, during my "Week in the Life" meme a couple of summers ago. But I'm posting it again. Because I think it is most representative of the relationship between my kids.



She calls him, "Little Bother." I think that says it all.

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*

The Husbandly One and I are both... well... geeks. Science fiction, fantasy, we read, we grew up on Star Trek, </i> Star Wars</i>, and all the stuff that childhood in the late sixties, early seventies entails. And there are certain phrases that we will bandy back and forth that make us laugh uproariously, but leave the Impertinent Daughter frowning and saying, "Er... what?? I don't get it..."

One that has really thrown her is when THO or I pop out with, "Brain, brain, what is brain?" at highly appropriate moments, and then fall apart laughing. "What's so funny about that?" she says, looking at us like we're nuts. Well, we are nuts, but that's neither here nor there.

So today, while the Impossible Son was playing at a friend's house, I got on Veoh.com and found the notoriously and infamously worst written episode of Star Trek ever put into production... "Spock's Brain."

Even the title sucks.

It is so awful, it's hilarious, in an entirely unintentionally funny way.

What gets me about that episode? If that's the script that actually made it to the point of being made... what the hell were the scripts they turned down like???

Anyway, she watched it with an air of disbelief, and burst out laughing at times. By the end, though, she got it. And will most likely die laughing with us when either THO or I quip, "Brain, brain, what is brain??"

It's a wonderful life...

Yes, yes, I know I'm spamming you with my creativity lately. Miss Priss and I did another round of scribbling the other night, and this is the result! (gosh, I hope you guys are liking this, because aside from about two comments... I've had no feedback on it!)

( Under the Bed, Part 3!! )

An addendum at the end of softly_sweetly's post this morning made me laugh somewhat ruefully and think of something that is an everyday irritation around here.

Whenever I need a pen... I have no problem finding one. Seriously, there are pens and pencils all over the place here. What I have a problem with is finding one that works!

The bottom shelf of one of our kitchen cabinets has several jars filled with pencils and pens. Whenever I'm presented with a permission slip, or some form or other that needs to be signed, I open the cabinet and begin the process of finding some sort of writing implement that works or isn't broken. I kid you not, there have been times I have ended up signing a health form in crayon.

That's not even including the two drawers with pens and pencils, and the majority of those pens don't work, and the pencils are all broken. And yes, I have tried to throw the non-working pens out, but I have to be very sneaky about it. If I do it where the Husbandly One can see it, he immediately grabs it, frowns at it, scribbles on some paper with it, and throws it back in the drawer with a "I can get it to work, I just need a few minutes with it. I'll work on it later." And I'll go back a few days later to grab that same pen and it still doesn't work!!

Meaning I have to toss them when he isn't home.

One of these days, I'm going to get a wild hair and sharpen all the damn pencils, too. I mean, it's sad to want to sketch something, or write something down... and all the pencils have broken leads!! And even the mechanical pencils are... empty!!

Happens most often when I'm on the phone. If someone calls me, say from the soccer board, I have to write whatever they are telling me down or... I'll forget it. See, if I hear something, I tend to forget it, but if I read it, I'll remember it because... I remember everything I read.

Sad, isn't it?

So there I am, with plenty of paper, mind you, scrambling for a pen, pencil, anything to write down what I'm hearing, asking the caller to please wait a minute while I find something to write with because... nothing works. I have actually had to resort to carrying a little zippered pouch in my purse of working pens and pencils. And believe me, I guard my little pouch with a ferocity usually attributed to mother wolves protecting their cubs. I know the pens and pencils in my pouch work, and I am not parting with any of them, so get your dirty mitts OFF!!

Sad, sad, sad.

Of course, I have sharpened all the pencils before. Want to know what happened? I went back ten minutes later to grab a pencil, confident that I would find a fully sharpened, unbroken pencil lead... and pulled out a broken one. Why? Because my daughter had come in, taken all the sharpened pencils, and replaced them with all the broken ones that were in her room.

Then she wondered why I was sitting at the table with a handful of broken pencils, chin quivering and tears running down my face!!

Hmmmm... maybe today I'll go through all the pens and winnow out all the ones that aren't working. Tomorrow is trash day. If I bag 'em all up and toss them in the bin outside and put a few bags on top of it, THO will never know!! Unless the kids rat me out.

Guess that means I'll be baking cookies today.

Who, me? Bribe my kids??

You bet your bippy!!

*sigh* The things I do for a working pen!!

Took the kids to get their hair cut yesterday. Mr. Manzie's was so thick, a jungle expedition could get lost in there, and it was getting wild, cowlicks standing up everywhere, hair going where it wanted, especially in the back. Grandma's Crazy Cajun Hair gene had definitely struck again! In fact, I warned Sherri, our regular hair whacker, to be sure to comb through it before she used the buzz clippers on him, as it was sure to get hung up otherwise.

"Oh, it'll be fine!" she said with a grin. "His hair is so fine, it shouldn't tangle much."

*snort* Yeah. Right.

Five minutes later, she was combing through it. "I've never seen fine hair that was short tangle like that before!"

"You've been spoiled by my thinning hair," I said cheerfully. "Because mine used to be exactly like the Impossible Son's."

He wanted it short on the sides and spiky on top, and has asked me if he can get it high-lighted blue next time. *laughs* Of course, I said yes!

And, of course, I have pictures...

( Clicky and see! )
In other news, I finished my weasley_fest fic, had it betaed and sent in. Oh, what a relief to have that out of the way! Boy, that was a hard one to write, just because I kept approaching it from the wrong angle!! That and the constant interruptions! We'll probably have a discussion about giving Mama time to write (or she go explodey!) this weekend.

And the Husbandly One and I have come to the realization that we are going to have to rig a canopy for our vegetable garden. Some of our plants, like the pumpkins, just can't take the sun. Ten years ago, I had no trouble growing pumpkins in full sun during a drought, but now? They're wilting, even though they are getting watered regularly. We're not the only ones, either. There are a lot of folks out here who are rigging shade for their gardens, because they're burning up otherwise.

Last year, the corn and milo in the fields around town didn't burn up until July. They started turning to straw last week, and the corn hasn't even shown ears yet. The grass in our front and back yard is already gone, and only the gardens are showing any greenery, because that's where we put our water. Makes us wonder what we should put in the yard rather than grass. Well... maybe buffalo grass rather than St. Augustine, which takes insane amounts of water to keep green, and just isn't worth it.

So, all you folks who are getting too much rain are welcome to send it our way. We are dry, dry, dry!!

And now, off to the library!!

The kids have been home from school for 3 hours and 31 minutes. And I already want to strangle send them back.

This does not bode well for the summer.

*shriek*

I am the world's worst mother.

No, really... I am.

The Impossible Son has been having this vaguely persistent tummy ache for, well... close to two months now. He's been to the doctor, we've done blood tests, ultrasounds, the works. And... nothing. It is possible his appendix could be acting up, and we've been keeping an eye on it, but really, I suspect another cause.

Stress.

And I think there are two sources.

One, he's making 90's and 100's in every subject... except math. So, I've been going online to the school's website (which is not very user friendly) to check on things through the family access portal. I finally managed to dig my way in to looking at his daily grades.

His grades on his daily math class work are actually rather good. Mostly 100's, a few 80's here and there.

Then... you look at his score for the test on Friday. And they're all in the 50's. Mostly 55, and 56.

He's tanking on the tests, and that is bringing his grade down to an F, which sort of puzzles me, because when I averaged his grades out myself, counting the tests, it should be around a C. And that's making me wonder how much those test scores are counting toward his total math grade.

Not that I have a great deal of confidence in his teacher's ability to teach math because so far, what I've seen and heard makes me think she's one can short of a six-pack where math is concerned.

Then... there's the two boys in his class that are picking on him.

Did I mention the teacher seems to be avoiding me?

I've been trying to talk with her, meet with her, etc, and... she's not playing ball.

So my son has a stomach ache every morning before school, is completely miserable, and begs to stay home, and by the time I pick him up in the afternoon, he's happy, and the tummy ache is mysteriously gone. Until bedtime, when it's back, because the Husbandly One or I said, "Time for bed, you've got school in the morning!"

*sigh*

So, this morning, he begged harder than usual to stay home, saying he just couldn't do it, his tummy is really hurting, Mom, please, let me stay home today.

I look at him. His color is good, he's not over-salivating, or swallowing excessively. I give him kid Motrin for the headache, and a kid's Tums for the tummy ache (usually settles it right down) and say firmly, "Sorry, but you have to go to school. You have no fever, you're not throwing up... I think you're going to live."

The look of betrayal is hard to take, but I'm the mom, I've got to make tough decisions... I took him to school.

He was quiet most of the drive, until after I dropped off Miss Priss, and then he asked again, "Mom, really, my tummy really, really hurts, please, please take me home!"

I look at him in the mirror. Color is still good, no excessive swallowing, etc... "Dude, you have to go to school."

He tries a couple more times, and I don't back down, so he's quiet the rest of the way to school. Then, when he gets out of the car, he looks toward me, his bottom lip quivering, and his eyes are full of tears, and I feel like I'm sending him to his execution.

I am a vile betrayer. I am worse than a wicked step-mother. I am the world's worst mom.

*sigh*

Needless to say, I will be paying a visit to the school today. His teacher will talk to me. Because I really don't think I can do that again.

I have put the Fear of Auntie into the school district.

This is the Impertinent Daughter's take on my reaction to her telling me about what happened yesterday...



I think I was much calmer than that. Probably more like this...



Anyhow, the district and the junior high have been falling all over themselves trying to do damage repair, and find out who dropped the ball and make sure it never gets dropped again. In fact, the principal at the junior high called me at 7:20 this morning (fortunately, I was up) to reassure me that every single teacher at the school was fully aware of the consequences of swine flu, and that they were to send any student that seemed sniffly, or had a headache or complained of body aches to the nurse RIGHT AWAY, and that they were in no way trying to boost and/or keep attendance up for the TAKS testing.

Hmph.

And I said, "From what I understood yesterday, the student in question had been feeling bad since Tuesday, but came in to take the test, that the teacher knew she was feeling bad, but said she could go to the nurse after taking the test, and that the student then hugged several of the OTHER students on her way out. Because she was leaving, not going to the nurse."

I don't think I've ever really heard someone hyperventilate over the phone before.

Needless to say, she went on to assure me that the custodial staff has been wiping down every surface in the school with disinfectants (I didn't bother to ask if they included library books on that list of surfaces), and will continue to do that several times a day for the duration of this emergency, that they are monitoring this situation with all possible attention, etc, etc, et all...

Well, at least they're finally, finally on the ball. And all U.I.L. events at Texas schools, including sporting events have been canceled until May 11th, several more schools have closed...

I'm just glad that I scared them into doing what they should have been doing from the very beginning. Now, if they can just keep the momentum going!!

I'm off to run errands, and pick up some more hand sanitizer for my kids to keep in their bags.

Jays, this town sometimes just... chaps my hide!!

Well, after weeks of eating virtually everything in sight, the Impertinent Daughter had a growth spurt and is probably within one to two inches of being as tall as I am.

It hit me when I was watching her referee a game, and she had turned sideways to me. I thought, "Hmmm, the little pudge she was getting seems to be gone..." And I frowned and realized she hadn't eaten like a ravening, starving wolf the last couple of days, and I thought, "Ah... growth spurt." But it didn't sink in until later that afternoon, when we'd gone into San Marcos to get her some new athletic shoes. She was standing there in her socks, and I had just straightened up from listening to something the Impossible Son wanted to tell me and it hit me...

We were almost eye to eye.

The Husbandly One turned at my gasp, and his eyes went wide and he said, "Auntie, take off your shoes."

So I did.

And it was even more apparent.

*shrieks*

And the Impossible Son has had his own growth spurt. His legs are impossibly long right now, and his shorts are far too short all of a sudden. His feet look too big, and he's clumsy. I think he's about to grow again, and I can't help but think, "But, we just bought you three new pairs of jeans!!!"

My kids are both going to be taller than me. And possibly taller than THO, as well.

*sigh*

In other news, there is a squirrel in our backyard who is getting a little too... demanding. It's not like we're feeding him or anything. But he likes to come to the window where I'm sitting on the computer and peer in, and he whisks his tail and flirts with me. If the window is open, I talk to him, silly nonsense things like, "Hey, Booger, what's up? Find all your nuts yet? Hey, stop digging in my oregano, I just planted seeds in there, you damn squirrel!" etc. However, he has now reached the point where if the window isn't open, or I don't talk to him or make some acknowledgement of his presence, well... he gets a little ... squirrelly. See?

( click to see the squirrel, if you like )

And that's not if the cardinals are at the window, chirping at me like I need to fill the feeders, or something. Except... we don't have feeders out, and haven't since we moved here. We used to keep bird feeders at the 21 House, but not at the Alamo house because... all the cats who got dumped in the neighborhood showed up at our house, and having a bird feeder would have been like serving appetizers...

Apparently, the folks who lived here before us had feeders out, not only for the cardinals, but for hummingbirds, too, because they buzz me when I'm working in the garden in the mornings or the evenings. I just about went cross-eyed last week when I stood up from clearing a bed by the porch and found a rather annoyed hummingbird hovering inches from my nose. If ever a hummingbird could look pissed off, this one definitely was, and ranted at me for about ten seconds before zipping off. It reminded me of my father-in-law, and the hummers at their place up near Texarkana. He always knew when he needed to refill the feeders, because they'd dive bomb him the second he came out of the house. I always wanted to get him one of those hummingbird feeders on a hat so he could sit on his front porch and watch them from up close! *snorts with laughter*

And we no longer have cardinals nesting in the jasmine vines on the front porch. Their nest has been taken over by a pair of vermillion flycatchers. Which aren't nearly as laid back as the cardinals were about our going in and out of the house. They fly off the moment they hear the door knob turning, or when they see us walking up to the front porch. They'd better get used to it, though, because I don't plan to start creeping in and out my back door just to make them happy!

Well, I must get about my day. I think I might finish clearing out that bed in the front yard and plant giant purple zinnias, some golden coreopsis... hmmm... maybe some alyssum, too... or should I plant bee balm?

*wanders off, thinking gardening thoughts...*

Well, first off, the Impertinent Daughter. I'll cut to the chase. They lost, 6-3, and part of it was just... poor coaching.

And there are 22 girls on the team.
( Verbosity, thy name is Auntie, she who also posts pictures, so beware, o dial-up users! )

What a day.

Ran some errands, though I found to my great irritation when I got home that I had forgotten to pick up rooting hormone for my rose cuttings, and teflon tape. It doesn't help that our local WalMart is remodeling, so you can't find anything. I swear, it's like going on a treasure hunt every time I go in, and not the fun kind. Half the time, even the employees can't help you because... they don't know where anything is, either. And I must say, I find their method of grouping merchandise eccentric, if not just plain entertaining.

Anyone want to explain why I found two shelves of sanitary napkins in the paint department?

And hey, you know, every time I go shopping for underwear, you know I'm really thinking about pork rinds, right? So, I guess it's handy to have them right there in the big middle of the women's bras and such.

*shakes head*

And the fabric department is gone. Not that I was wild about the fabric they had, but I didn't mind buying, say, denim, or tapestry fabric, etc, at WalMart, and it beat driving into Austin or San Marcos when I was in a pinch. Now, though... *grimaces*

I've dug and created a bed at the end of the back porch, and added compost to amend it a bit. The folks who lived here before us left the head and foot of a metal bed frame in the garden, I guess to provide architectural interest. I'm going to put the head in the bed I just dug, and plan to plant moon vine there. I love moon flowers. They're big and fragrant, and bloom in the evenings. I planted them at our first house in this area, and loved watching the sphinx moths come out to sip nectar from them. We used to deliberately wear white shirts so the moths would fly up to us land on us. They were so cool!

I'm hoping to plant purple hyacinth bean against the back fence, too. That won't bloom until August/September, but it will be so pretty when it does! And the hummingbirds love it.

I want to clear some of the flower beds in the front yard, but for some odd reason, I can only work out there for a very short time before I start feeling extraordinarily bad. Like, "Oh, gods, I have to go to hook up the nebulizer and go straight to bed," bad. And we have no idea why. There is no obvious difference between the front yard and back yard unless...

*is suddenly thoughtful*

In other news, I have discovered that the Impertinent Daughter will not find out if she's made the 7th grade soccer team at her school until the day before their first game. Which is on Thursday... this week.

They only started tryouts/practice last week.

O_o

You know, when I was in swimming, we started practicing for the season (which was November through May, though it didn't get really competitive until February) in September. And we started basketball practice in early October for the season that ran from November through April.

I find it sort of nuts to start soccer practices a week before the season starts. And what really blows my mind?

A lot of the girls trying out have either never played before or... they only started playing last year.

Out of 33 girls that were trying out, I only recognized maybe... eight, that played in our league. And one that I know plays select outside our league. So that's... twenty four girls with little or no experience.

o_O

*does not know what to think*

Well... it should be an... interesting season!

Oy... what a day!

Sometimes, it takes a complete stranger to give you perspective.

THO wanted to look at pickup trucks at a CarMax in Pflugerville, so... we went. I have to admit I'm not wild about getting a truck right now, since the mileage is lousy on most of them, but I do recognize the necessity, and besides, it was just to look, not buy. So, we loaded up the kids and drove to Pflugerville, which is about a 45 minute drive from where we live.

I expected the kids to be a bit restless, which was why this was just a look and not buy trip. Learned our lesson when we bought the minivan... do not bring the kids with us to buy a car.

Well, they were glad to be out of the car, and were more than willing to climb in and out of the truck THO wanted to look at in particular, and I'm sure it didn't help that I had a pounding headache. Still, I didn't have to fuss that much, mostly, "Settle down," and "No, you may not climb over the backs of the seats!" I didn't have to fuss at them (meaning mostly at the Impertinent Daughter) for picking at each other. Still, I guess the headache magnified things for me, and I felt they were being the Most Horrible Children in the History of Horrible Children.

It was when we were done and getting ready to leave that the salesman turned to me and said, "Your children are really well behaved."

I automatically put on my Patient Mom face and turned to say something like, "Next time I'll feed them a bag of sugar before we come," or "Don't worry, we'll leave and never come back," because I was expecting sarcasm, and didn't realize it wasn't there. Fortunately, the Husbandly One swooped in before Auntie could drop a brick and said, "Thank you. You know, we don't often get compliments about our kids."

The salesman nodded and said, "They're energetic, but it's pretty obvious they love each other. I'm just watching the way they're acting, and even though they're getting into things, they do stop the moment y'all tell them to. And they're teasing each other, but I don't see any hair pulling or shin kicking. They're teasing each other, because they like each other, you know."

And all of a sudden, all the things that they were doing that had been so magnified by my headache shrank down and I saw that they were actually being pretty good.

We went to eat after that, and I sat there kind of bemused, watching both the kids as I ate, listening to them talking to each other, and to THO, and thinking, wow, am I just bracing myself constantly for them to be badly behaved, or overly excited, and therefore setting myself up for it all?

Perhaps.

Maybe I need to loosen up a little.

Maybe I need to realize that the little talks we have before we go anywhere, where I tell them what behavior will be acceptable and what will not, like climbing onto displays or cartwheeling down aisles, are actually working, and they're both old enough to know how to behave now without those talks. And without my having to constantly fuss.

That or maybe I need some really heavy tranquilizers!

The thought occurs to me, too, that I need more one-on-one time with each child, too. Because when I run errands, or do things with just one kid, well... it's enjoyable, and less fraught with the competition of trying to get more of Mom's attention.

Like I said, sometimes, it takes a stranger...

If I seem distant and lost in thought today, well... I'm just thinkin' things over...

This morning I was finally alert enough to remember to take a photo of the Impertinent Daughter's bento lunch before getting in the car to leave for school! Wish I had done this yesterday, as she had to take our state educational system's version of an assessment test, which took the greater part of the day, so she had a second level to the bento that had snacks packed into it.

Oh well, here is today's bento... a lunch for the junior high soccer player



We have fried chicken strips, whole-grain goldfish, sliced red bell pepper, red grapes, and half of an avocado, cut into chunks. For the drink, she has a Minute Maid Fruit Falls Tropical Water Beverage, which has only 5 calories, and less than one gram of sugar and, most importantly, NO high fructose corn syrup!! (that's a big issue for our family).

The Impertinent Daughter looked at it and said, as usual, "Wow, I hope I can eat it all."

Of course, she always does manage to eat it all! And she gets a lot of envious looks (as well as attacks by moochers) for her bento lunches! What I have discovered since I started doing this is... it's actually a lot easier to prepare than the traditional sandwich, chips, and drink, it's more challenging, and most importantly of all... my kids don't bring home a lunch box with stuff they haven't eaten in it. And I think that says more about the success of my "experiment" than anything else!

Have I mentioned how much I love and utterly adore my husband?

He's taking the "night shift" with the Impossible Son. Because I had the day shift.

*is off to bed, because she's ZONKED!!*