February 2008


el kid27 Feb 2008 11:47 am

Ah, parenthood. That never ending rondeau of judgement. Was it like this back in the 50s? Is that why Mommy’s Little Helper was so damn popular? Or is the whole hosebeast judgemental tear each other down mentality a festive innovation for the new millennium? When did parenting become a competitive, blood sport?

For that matter, when did every goddamn holiday become a giant suck of cheap plastic tschokes and candy? Am I the only loser parent who took the ‘please send your child to school with 22 valentines, signed but no names on the envelopes’ at face value, and did not in fact send their kid with 22 precious twee personalized bags filled with candy and trinkets which will invariably become Most Important And Yet Most Easily Broken Or Lost Toy immediately and which cannot for love or money be summarily thrown out as ‘junk’ without a 4 year old breaking into a round of uulating Peshtu lamentations? If my worth as a mother is measured by my willingness to fork over $40 to Party City and give an hour of my night to assembling treat bags for a Hallmark Holiday, I fail fail fail fail and for once in my overachieving life I am delighted not to have an A. I have better things to do with my time and money, like play ridiculous games with my kid and fill out endless paperwork for school enrollment.

Oh yes, that. Our enrollment paperwork is due March 3, so I must hunker down and fill out the 18 bajillion pages for the local school which I am at best lukewarm about and at worst filled with oppositional teeth-bearing growling simmering rage at. We at least have options: potentially, his private pre-school will have a full day option, which means we could (at jawdropping cost) keep him there full time next year. They at the very least WILL have a half day kindergarten enrichment program and afterschool care, which we would have him in should we opt to go local school for half day morning kindergarten. It’s been made quite clear to us via the attitude of the administration (after being taken aside and told all of Sean’s issues, including mention of his IEP, the principal said dismissively and patronizingly, “Well all parents think their child is special.” No Lady, I’ve just finished telling you that professionals both within and outside of your organization have formally assessed him to be a speshul snowflake) that we will have to go in Armed To The Teeth. So at the same time I’m filling out the local district paperwork, I am also filling out the ANSER book in prep for his full on re-evaluation at Hearing and Speech to better provide me with a comprehensive report on the kid which I may then roll up and shove sideways up the metaphorical sphincter of the school.

All of this, of course, comes as a not indirect result of the Kindergarten Roundup, wherein the principal told us all, without a hint of irony in her voice, that while our children were all back in the kindergarten rooms, they were not being assessed. Oh no, she assured us, they would not be released to us with scores, they weren’t assessing them. They were merely observing the dear children, the 3 kindergarten teachers the art teacher music teacher speech pathologist special ed teacher, and she and that passel of educators would be meeting to discuss what they observed and use that to help group the children and if they noticed anything odd they might contact us but heavens they’re not assessing the children!.

If you’ve heard a rattling sound, it’s my eyes rolling. Or maybe it’s my nerves jangling.

Uncategorized18 Feb 2008 01:04 pm

To find a laundry hamper which is not:

A pop up animal
A crappy metal or plastic pole contraption one clamps or attaches a bag to
A rough wicker which will invariably snag the hell out of the clothes you throw into it
Over 100 freaking dollars. IT’S A VESSEL FOR FILTHY CLOTHING, PEOPLE, NOT FINE FURNITURE.

Hi, can you tell the finish line is in sight on the bathroom reno? Can you? Please god, just nod yes and speak to me in soothing tones, would you?

Uncategorized16 Feb 2008 07:05 am

So right now Matilda and Dog-Faced Boy are beating us in the ‘Wow, you really do live over a Hellmouth’ competition, not that it’s one I really want to win. Please, if you have good vibes to spare, send them thataway instead of to my whining ass.

So this week blew, but we’re ok. I am now hip deep in the throes of the cold which Sean got AFTER he had a massive asthma and croup attack (for those of you who are clever, why yes, this does mean I had a child home sick with me the majority of the week), and the neverending presence of the work crew redoing our master bath (who the hell puts carpet in a bathroom? Wait, the same builder who doesn’t totally seal a shower pan properly, nevermind, which is not to be confused with the job chief who spaced on the backsplash design and on hiring a plumber necessitating mucho scrambling) meant that I had to pen up the steroid-addled kid (unlike you, Mr. Clemens, we cop to it) and I couldn’t crawl into my own bed and collapse in a wheezing sneezing snuffling lump when I so desperately wanted to. Add in PMS, an upcoming review at work, all manner of shit going wrong at the office, the Lad’s job sucking balls there for a bit, and you have a recipe for Wench yelling ENOUGH.

But we’re ok.
Mostly.
Pass the kleenex, would you?

Uncategorized12 Feb 2008 09:33 am

I call no whammies and insist on a do-over on this week. No, really. No, fucking really.

el kid08 Feb 2008 10:15 am

That was an hour and a half of my life I will never get back. The only things which kept me going during my time in hell- aka, the school library listening to the principal and a parade of others read us information damn to near directly from the 1/3 inch thick pile of stuff they gave us because god knows as functional adults we cannot read for comprehension nor could they possibly have mailed this crap to us in advance- were 1. the knowledge that under my nice, normal, aran sweater I am sporting a Ravelry shirt which states ‘Where my stitches at?’ and 2. Nora Charles’ great little ditty to the tune of the Wheels on the Bus:

The voices in my head say kill kill kill!
Kill kill kill!
Kill kill kill!
The voices in my head say kill kill kill!
Obey the neighbor’s dog!

Why no, ladies, I shan’t be signing up for PTO committees.

Uncategorized05 Feb 2008 08:46 am

I said to the director of Sean’s school, as we looked out at the driving rain, that I was not looking forward to standing outside in line tonight for the Caucus. She blinked at me in surprise and said, “You’re doing that? Hardcore.” She votes, but is not that politically active, though she says she should be.

I glanced back towards Sean’s room, and shrugged, and said I should be more.

And it wasn’t a lie. I should be more involved.

Then I came home and watched this.

And I double dog dare you to not be stirred, inspired. You may not agree with the politics of the man, it may not sway you to his side. But you’d have to be so beaten down by the terror and fear and greed and mud of politics today to not at least lift your head up and listen in wonder to someone bring such passion and hope to the table.

Today is Super Tuesday. If you are in one of those states, go out and vote.