Amazing Discoveries

The Man (TM) and I did our taxes this weekend, which is a little late in the year for us. Usually, we do them as soon as all the tax documents come in because we get a huge refund. Last year, I think we had 7 grand in taxable income, and we got back a few thousand dollars as a refund, even though we didn't pay much of anything in taxes. Between the child tax credit, the education credit, earned income credit, and who knows what all, we end up rolling in the dough. Usually.

I don't know what the deal is with the tax code this year (and I'm searching the IRS's Web site trying to find out), but they apparently fixed that "extra credit" loophole. Which is to say, once you end up with enough credits to keep you from having to pay anything, you have to stop. And I learned another interesting about taxes: my freelance work counts as a "business," which is separate from "wages from employment" (which of course I don't have anymore). Anyway, it's not a normal source of income for personal income taxes, SO.... I ended up owing a thousand dollars on the six thousand I earned this way. Holy crud.

So the upshot of our interesting learning adventures of this weekend was that we're sucking wind. Just when we need the money, we're not getting much (although yes, we are getting some-- anybody with negative twenty-odd thousand in taxable income ought to get something). But we're still surviving. And that in itself is a miracle.

More of the Same

Anybody know who buys kids for the circus? Anybody? Sheesh. It's been one of those... months. Today both our school kids came home with notes from their teachers. "Pirate Boy has failed to bring his reading book three times in the past week." To which I want to reply, "What? He actually brought it at all? 'Cause I haven't seen it more than once in two weeks!" It's been maddening. Also, "#1 Son again failed to turn in a major writing assignment. He was eating cookies in Latin class and he was drawing when he was supposed to be doing an essay." That's just today. This being the fifth offense this year, he's supposed to be suspended for two days. But he says it's not going to happen. He says the Vice Principal told him he'll get a different punishment. But we really can't trust him these days. (Case in point, he pretended he was going to take a bath tonight and just skipped out on it. Again.) I'm so fed up. He just finished his week of detention today. Now this happens...

And I'm wondering if having his schedule messed up is what's making Pirate Boy so flighty lately. After all, when his big brother has to stay after school for a couple of hours, he can't go home either, which isn't fair. He was supposed to get to spend fun "together time" with his dad as compensation, but they mostly ended up running around the college trying to get homework done, so Pirate Boy has come home exhausted and fed up every day. Today he had about half an hour of "free" time (or so I thought), so I let him play a computer game after his bath. At bedtime, I remembered that he hadn't finished (or even started) this project he's supposed to turn in tomorrow. That's going to produce another note. He's supposed to bring money for his field trip tomorrow, but I suspect that's going to fall through the cracks, too. If I don't do the remembering, it doesn't get remembered at our house. (Anybody else out there have this problem?) And lately, I don't remember much.

Oy, so I'm a bad mother again. Well, let's stop assigning blame and work out what to do. Frankly, I don't know. There's a school that specializes in the arts not too far from their current school. In the past, we've used it as a threat to keep #1 Son in line. He says he wants to focus on science and math, but what he does is music and art. And he's good at art, he really is. He learns better in a visual medium, and I hear this school is really good for that. In fact, I think it would be a great place for him. But he doesn't want to go there. He's being threatened with failing sixth grade, and all he cares about today is that if he left this school, he'd lose the karate instruction. I strongly recommended that he start doing something about his other classes, then, and he ran off crying. Oy. Again, a bad mother.

Speaking of which, I made him call his mother and tell her about this one. (I have to do this because The Man (TM) is at the Homeowners' Association board meeting tonight. He's been elected, heaven help us, and he's trying to participate. But I digress.) Let me just say that she was not happy at all with her pride and joy tonight. Guess those affirmations aren't working, eh? Taking suggestions, though, on what might work instead.

Acts of Love

After my self-absorbed rant of this morning, I realized I needed to do some repenting. I'd overreacted to something that, yes, did make my day less pleasant and did do the opposite of what I'd hoped to have going on, but my reaction made the day less pleasant for my family, and I felt terrible. I'm tough; I'll get over it. My sweet boys, though (and here I'm including my husband), they take everything to heart. I had to find a way to show my love.

Well, I went through the pantry and the fridge, wondering whether I could find something special to fix for dinner. (The stomach, being, of course, the most direct route to their hearts.) I started to believe that I didn't really have anything at all to fix, much less something special. Oh bother. I took something out of the freezer, but that won't be ready for another day or so. Then I realized that I could in fact make cheeseburgers, and that we even had some good toppings for them. That would be a good start. There was some red jello in the pantry, and I could add fruit.

Now, what for dessert? They deserved a good apology. We had received a plate of cookies this week and still had enough left for one each, but that wasn't from me to them. I really wanted to make up for my yelling, especially when Punkin told me very seriously this afternoon that he feels sad and even angry when I yell. OK, that's enough of that.

Then it came to me: the perfect Valentine's treat for my boys. I remembered reading a long time ago a tip about making heart-shaped cupcakes by under-filling the cups and placing a marble on the outside of each paper, inside the cup. The marble pushes the paper into a sort of heart shape, and with a dextrous flick of the icing knife-- voila! Beautiful pink hearts. I had enough batter left for a circle pan, which I planned to cut and paste into a heart shape, too, but Punkin Boy liked it just the way it was when it came out of the oven. I even found a handful of peppermints left over from Christmas; I crushed them and sprinkled them on top of each cake. (Punkin called them "the Mama cake and the babycakes"--I howled with laughter.)

The food turned out great, my meeting wasn't ruined by the messy house, and my husband brought me chocolate tonight. All is well and beautiful.

I Love My Family

Oy. I do, I love the little guys. But sometimes, just sometimes... I want to sell them to the circus.

I'm hosting my writers group today, and I was kind of anxious about the state of the house last night when I went to bed. I was hoping I could get it all clean before people arrived. I didn't sleep very well or very long, but I had my alarm set and I was going to be OK.

The Man (TM) got up this morning and started getting the kids ready for school, and I was trying to go back to sleep. I probably would have managed it too if it hadn't been for...

TM returned to the bedroom and crawled back in bed. Much as I'd like to snuggle with him on a cold Valentine's Day morning, I asked what the heck was going on. He started with, "Um, well..." Oh dear. It's not going to be good. He continued, "You know that little bag of shredded up money?" I know it; he brought it back from a career fair last week or something. I cover my eyes, even though they're not open. "Oh no." Oh yes, they did. All over the house, but especially in the kitchen...dining room... living room floor... the places I might have guests in a couple hours. "I'm getting ready to vacuum," he said. "Getting up now," I muttered. Oy.

I didn't scream, at least not right away. The damage had been contained, so I was starting to calculate exactly how much cleaning I could get done before the meeting, when I noticed what the kids were doing. Then I screamed. "Holy cow! Are you seriously eating toast right on the table with no plates?" It sounds so mundane when I say it now. And I wouldn't have screamed except there were these huge piles of black crumbs all over the table that I was planning to use for my meeting in... a very short time. "Oh come on! Can you please be civilized?"

I was even more irritated that it was almost time for them to leave, there were no lunches made, and Pirate Boy was still in his jammies. I saw red even through the cuteness. "Aaaaugh! You could have eaten on the way to school! You can't get dressed in the car!" I say this all the time, I know I do. Or at least it feels like I do. Man. I am such a nag. This is why I don't usually get up with the kids: I'd never get through the morning without screaming. Oh, and I can't survive on 5 hours of sleep like I could when I was a college student. Oy.

So I burst into tears, partly because of the horrendous mess when the family knew I was having guests over, but mostly because I wanted this day to be a special one when I could tell them all how much I loved them, but I was so angry I couldn't get the words out.

Then #1 Son got plates out and TM vacuumed everything. Pirate Boy got dressed, albeit VERY s...l...o...w...l...y.... I took a break to calm down, then apologized and gave hugs; everyone made it out the door on time, and the meeting will go on. They're trying sometimes, but I do indeed love my family.

Another One?

Yes, I'm posting again today. Thought I needed to leave you with a smile. This was in an email from my aunt, via my dad (I don't know where it originally came from):

Dick Morris looks at the four leading GOP presidential contenders in 2008 -- John McCain, Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani -- and notes, "the only one of these guys who hasn't had multiple wives is the Mormon."

Snicker.

More Bad Mothers

An update on the earlier post:

I'm sitting at the desk again, but this time my shoulders are shaking with laughter. It's sad, it is, but oh... let me tell you what I'm talking about.

Well, it's the essay writing thing. #1 Son had to do his homework at the dining table, where he got distracted by every little thing, including other people's homework. He did ask me for help on an essay at one point, and I think I helped clarify things for him. His biggest complaint (i.e., explanation for his behavior) is, "I can't think of anything!" As in, I can't think... at all... do my work for me! I had him read the assignment to me, and the questions he was to answer were extremely clear and detailed. I love that about his school. Maybe he needs more room for creativity, but he denies this. He did figure out what to do next, and he kept going.

Anyway. So later he remembered that "Mommy" will be calling back this evening in response to his request that she come help with some dissection next week in his very first class of the day. He called and asked her even after we figured out that, to do it, she'd have to leave her house before 5 a.m. that day. To be safe, closer to 4. He didn't see this as a problem. She said she'd think about it. So tonight she called back and he told her about the pink slip. He started crying again and went into his room to continue the conversation, which apparently was more of a tirade on her part.

After a while, he came out and (with a smirk!) handed over the phone to The Man (TM). Oh joy. I listened while folding the laundry. I wish I could repeat it word for word; even this end of the conversation was hilarious. The upshot of it was: No, eating more snacks wouldn't help #1 Son do better in school. He does the same stuff no matter whether it's first thing in the morning, right after lunch, or anytime else. Yes, he has the same chances at success as the other kids. More, actually; he's in a special writing tutorial several times a week where he can get help on his assignments. So, no, it's no one's fault but his own. Yes, glad to help.

#1 Son took the phone back, retreated to his room to cry and get yelled at some more. He eventually told her, "Look, I really need to get back to my homework now" (which I'm jumping up and down and cheering about on the inside), hung up, and got back to work. Good boy! I started helping TM with his homework. A few minutes later, the phone rang again. It's her, of course. She had time to talk it over with her husband or a friend or someone and had more to say.

Not long after, we heard #1 Son repeating "I'm a smart kid," (pause) "I can write well," (pause) "I can think up things to put in essays"... over and over in a monotone. I looked at TM in wide-eyed horror. "She's having him do affirmations!" I hissed. "What?" he asked. "You know, 'I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and...'" He finished for me: "And gosh-darn it, people like me!" We couldn't help it; we collapsed into hysterical laughter.

A moment later, #1 Son said (probably repeated, actually) in a suspicious tone, "What are you guys laughing at?" Well, TM had to explain that there was this guy Stuart Smalley on Saturday Night Live, and he was pretty funny... He didn't get into specifics, but it seemed to satisfy whichever of them was asking. We couldn't stop laughing for a long time after, though, at the idea that she was trying to help him get his assignments done by distracting him from his assignments to repeat this stuff over and over. Now I'm a really bad mother, aren't I? Oy.

I'm a Bad Mother

I wish I had a picture here of me slumped over at my desk, shoulders sagging and head in hands. It would be a picture of utter dejection with tinges of worry and anxiety coloring it. As it is, I don't know how to convey to those reading this blog how I feel about what's going on with #1 Son these days. Mainly, it's school. At least, that's the most obvious symptom. He goes to his room and claims to be working on his homework all evening, but once in a while we find out otherwise.

Last week, he came home with his third "pink slip"-- which sounds ominous because it is. These are notes to the parents, telling them that their offspring is in trouble. At this school, kids can get in trouble for disrupting class, not turning in homework, and similar irresponsible behavior. They know that this is the case, and they promise when they start each year that they will be responsible, which means doing their homework or at the very least owning up to why they didn't do it (i.e., "I didn't choose to,"), so they can't claim ignorance.

The first pink slip is just a verbal warning from the Vice Principal. The second is a call to the parents. The third gets the kid sent home for the day with the condition that he (in this case) can't come back until one of his parents comes with him and sits with him in his classes all day long. This is a major bummer for the parents, and it might even be embarrassing enough to deter the kid from further bad behavior. It's supposed to be.

Apparently, this was not the case with #1 Son. He had failed to turn in an essay even after a week's extension (which never, ever happens at this school-- usually they just get an F). He had a month or more to write this thing, and I had seen a completed first draft of it after a week, so I know he could have finished it easily. He could have, but he didn't. Even after the week extension, he still only had a first draft plus one paragraph copied onto the back of a piece of notebook paper. I don't blame the teacher for giving him the slip.

So he stayed home one day and worked on the thing. After he'd gotten his second draft done, he showed it to me. Oy. I wish I could say I didn't criticize. But for heaven's sake. You're writing an essay on William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, make sure you spell at least half of those four words correctly most of the time. There was a lot of language abuse going on, which makes me itch. I was mostly gentle about telling him where he really needed to get his spelling and word usage right. Being me, it's hard not to scream. (No, I didn't, thank you!)

About halfway through the essay, there was a random jumbling of words, mostly prepositional phrases, masquerading as a sentence. I could have edited it in a jiffy, but that's not my job as a parent. My job involved putting the younger kids to bed at that moment, but I took the time to explain what he could do to save that sentence (identify intended subject and verb, then untangle what else goes with which) and said I'd be back in a bit after I had tucked his brothers in. Well, when I came out of their bedroom, he'd gone into his and didn't come out the rest of the evening. He didn't bring the essay back to me. The Man (TM) went to school with him the next day and reported that #1 Son had just turned in the 2nd draft as he'd had it and had gotten X points taken off. But he was happy that he didn't get an F, so he considered it good enough.

So ANYWAY-- today, I get a call from the school. #1 Son has gotten his fourth pink slip (they only allow 5 before they start talking expulsion) for what? That's right-- not turning in essays. FIVE of them. Did I mention (I know I did in my holiday newsletter) that the kid won an award for being the "most improved" student in essay writing last semester? We were so proud of him. He was really working hard at it. And now, in less than 6 weeks, he's done this-- simply skipped out on FIVE essays. Maybe he figured that he'd reached the top of his game and had better quit while he's ahead.

Now I don't know what to do. TM wants to pull him out of the school. I want to help #1 Son work on his writing. I'm very good at writing and editing, so theoretically I should be able to help. But I'm not very good at helping. He's 12 years old; shouldn't we be able to trust him to do his homework on his own most of the time? If we have him sit at the dining table to do homework, he gets distracted by every little thing going on. That's why we gave him a desk for his room. And I can't just go sit in his room all evening; I have two little kids who do need supervision, at least sometimes. And TM has his own homework.

I'm ready to just throw up my hands and say, "It's his choice; he'll have to deal with the consequences." But it breaks my heart.

Under the Weather

I just want to say:

IT'S SNOWING AGAIN! AAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!

Sigh.

An Ill Wind

Just when I think the weather here is bad, along comes a whacker of a storm and trashes Florida (again). My cousin lives there and has weathered a lot of hurricanes with her young horde, so I've stopped worrying so much about her. But Kory O and her husband and baby live there lately, too, so I took a minute to check the devastation path on CNN.com. Her town wasn't mentioned as being hit, but I'm still worried. It was close-- too close. And I haven't heard from her. Again. Which is totally understandable when you've got all this stuff going on, but...

So, Kory, if you're out there and you can read this, let me know you're OK, eh? And the rest of you, if you wouldn't mind, remember Kory and the Tsar and the little Tsarevich... and all their neighbors in central Florida. Thanks.

Bookish

As if there were any doubt...

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Dedicated Reader You are always trying to find the time to get back to your book. You are convinced that the world would be a much better place if only everyone read more.
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Literate Good Citizen
Book Snob
Non-Reader
Fad Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Arrrgh! Take That!

Doing an end run around the "BlogThis!" function, which keeps messing me up. I have made an album online; link's at the bottom left. Some of them aren't much, but I'm still fiddling with the technical bits. Will get the hang of it shortly. Enjoy!

Distress Call

Dragging myself out of a slough of misery to report that I've had a bad cold for 3 days straight, gone through 2 bottles of DayQuil and 1 giant box of tissues, and there's no end in sight. Can't breathe, can't sleep, can't swallow, can barely move. And to give it that extra drama, The Man is sick, too, but the kids aren't.

Did I mention we're getting MORE snow tomorrow?

OK, back to your regularly scheduled lives.

Bat Boy

OK, this is mostly a test to see if Picasa is goofing me up again. But it's also a really funny picture of my Pirate Boy wearing his daddy's parka. (Yes, it's cold in our house, but not that cold.)

Dang it! It did mess me up!

Repost - Bedtime Boys

OK, this is the photo I tried to post the other night, but had forgotten to save or something. Awful cute, aren't they? Especially at bedtime.

Puppy Love

My friend Maryanne came over today to let me see the latest draft of her musical (which by the way is turning out wonderfully). She brought along her new dog, Lucky, who was delighted to make the acquaintance of my Punkin Boy. The feeling, as you can tell, was mutual. Amid the squeals, Punkin Boy was heard to exclaim, "She's precious!" Oh, the cuteness.

Bedtime Stories

A sleepy ending to a sleepy day. Pirate Boy reads to his little brother. Good night, good night, little dinosaurs.

ZZZzzzzzz....

Huh?

Just now, I was startled from my intense blogging by my punkin, who had been playing quite happily if a bit bizarrely. I looked up and he was standing by the piano in his Superman jammies, cutlass drawn menacingly. I asked him to repeat what he said, and he kindly did.

"Do you want to play Count Dooku's Nutty Fun?" he asked.

I'm not sure I even want to know. Fortunately, he's gone back to shooting droids now, so I'm safe. Well, until he decides I'm a droid.

Wiki Birthday

I dropped by to see Captain Picard recently, and it turned out he was having a birthday. To celebrate, he was playing the Wiki Birthday game with his visitors. I couldn't stay long, but I did find out some interesting things about my birth date. Since it's still a long way off, I decided to celebrate my second blogiversary by passing this along. Enjoy!

First, the instructions:
1. Go to Wikipedia.
2. In the Search box, type your birth month and day (but not year).
3. You will see a list of births, deaths and events. Copy a couple of each.
(Note: the original instructions I saw on Interstellar Lass's blog went like this:
3. List three events that happened on your birthday.
4. List two important birthdays and one interesting death.
5. One holiday or observance (if any).
I kind of liked that one, so I'll probably mix it in a bit.)

Events:
1896 - Skookum Jim Mason, George Carmack and Dawson Charlie discover gold in the Klondike in Canada
1930 - The first color sound cartoon, called Fiddlesticks, is made by Ub Iwerks (I just liked that name)
1960 - Cyprus gains its independence from the United Kingdom.

2 Important Birthdays:
1888 - T. E. Lawrence, English writer and soldier (d. 1935)
1913 - Menachem Begin, Prime Minister of Israel, recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize (d. 1992)
There are quite a few unimportant birthday people, too: Madonna, Lesley Ann Warren, Kathie Lee (and Frank) Gifford, Trevor McDonald, or even Angela Bassett or Julie Newmar

1 Interesting Death:
This one was hard. I had Babe Ruth, Margaret Mitchell, and Bela Lugosi on my list.
Idi Amin and Abu Nidal had the decency to die on my birthday, but I've gotta go with Elvis. You know:
- Elvis Presley, American singer and actor (b. 1935)
He died on my 10th birthday. I heard the news while on the way to my party; it was the only time in my life I got to take my friends out for a special party and I was really excited. The news about Elvis bummed everybody out and we had a lousy time. Thanks a lot, Elvis.

1 Holiday or Observance:
Nothing happens in my birth month, except the Feast of St. Stephen I of Hungary, which is funny because King Wenceslas also died that day. Maybe it's not that funny.

Cake and Pictures

I'm catching up on my photos; finally got the rolls of film developed from the past year. This is, of course, #1 Son and his birthday cake in the shape of Zorbak the "ebil" blue Moglin (just call him a bunny with a bad attitude). I mentioned it here, if you recall. It's not the best picture; compare it to the original here if you want. Enjoy!

Halloween Ahoy!

Arrrgh! Prepare to be boarded, matey! Here's our young pirates on their All Hallows Eve rounds-- looking good!

(Yes, I'm having fun with Picasa's collage function, what of it?)

Holiday Wrap-Up

This is our Christmas in a nutshell. Well, the kids' presents part. I don't want to bore you with the details, so here is a collage of the highlights. Enjoy!

Technical Failure

When I sat down with this laptop and pulled up a browser, I had a post idea firmly in my mind. It had been there since last night, when Blogger and Picasa were fighting and could not reach a compromise that would let me post what I wanted to. But by the time I got the Blogger dashboard up (not long at all, I have to say), it was gone. Totally. Just like those golblasted things I tried to post last night. So you get nothing-- or rather, you get me telling you that you get nothing. Lucky you.

It's gone daddy gone,
My brain is gone...


Stupid narcotics.

New Year's Resolution, Anyone?

Thanks to Renee for this silliness...

In the year 2007 I resolve to: Sleep my way to the top. Get your resolution here.

And I do mean "sleep."

Spice Cupboard of my Mind

So I was buzzing around my kitchen tonight (baking more banana bread, if you must know) when I found my mental radio station tuned to the Butthole Surfers' song "Pepper"-- you know the one, "They were all in love with dyin', they were doing it in Texas." The lyrics of songs sometimes get stuck at a certain point when they're running through my head, as if my subconcious is trying to send me a message. But strangely enough, I wasn't stuck on the "cinnamon and sugary" part.
No, it was this part:

Some will die in hot pursuit
In fiery auto crashes
Some will die in hot pursuit
While sifting through my ashes
Some will fall in love with life
And drink it from a fountain
That is [what, boys and girls?]

...pouring like an avalanche
Coming down the mountain

Yep. Some days I'm so sick of this place I'd even move to Texas-- or Alabama.

The Study of Pirates

Pirate Boy studies Pirateology. What a happy pirate he was!

Ta-Dah!

I figured out how to hook up my new digital camera, took a picture of the (halfway melted) snow out my back window, used Picasa's "Blog This" function, and... POOF! There you have it. Expect more of this silliness in the future.

Scone, entering the photography age
(What, only 150 years late? Meh.)

And now for something completely the same...

It's snowing. Again. I'm just sayin'.

White Christmas and Other Fairy Tales

Well, we had a good one. Everything worked out, the kids loved their presents (hey, who doesn't love seeing their favorite Star Wars characters fly into tiny Lego bits?), and we managed to keep them happy with just the "Santa" stuff until my folks arrived Christmas afternoon. They got here safely, we had a good hour or two of unwrapping fun presents, and we ate lots of good food.

Some really fun stuff made its appearance during this time. Punkin Boy, who is diligently learning to read, now owns Volume 2 of The Electric Company ("Hey, you guys!"), which was a favorite TV show of mine ages ago. And Pirate Boy is now the captain of no less than two new pirate ships (complete with cannon and harpoon gun) and dresses every day in his official Jack Sparrow pirate gear. Among the presents The Man (TM) and I received were a fluffy warm featherbed (must locate a duvet cover!) and... a digital camera! (Holy crud, such a nice one, too!) Our families are awesome.

The folks had to leave again Wednesday afternoon, which at the time was a bit of a bummer for us, but... by now you've heard about the second blizzard that hit us-- yes, it was Thursday. So very exciting. This time, we were prepared. In fact, we ended up with more food than we had room for and had to ask our wonderful neighbors if they wouldn't mind keeping some extra milk and veggies for us. (And if they happened to need some, well, all the better.)

Friday somebody in a bulldozer came through our neighborhood pushing snow off the streets, which was very nice. Now we all have these 4-foot walls of jagged ice around our property. Handy in case of invasion. The mailbox has one, too, but fortunately, the mail hasn't really been running lately. (Case in point, we just this weekend received our mortgage statement for the payment due today. I hope they're not holding their breath.)

Fortunately, TM was able to get the car out today to make the long drive to pick up #1 Son from "Mommy's" house. He's full of excitement about all his relatives he was able to meet on his trip to the South. And of course all the money they gave him. Well, who wouldn't be? I'm still a bit suspicious that That Woman will take us to court and sue for custody in, oh, 6 weeks or so, because we're too poor to support her baby and all. OK, more than a bit suspicious.

But (aside from some sniffles in the little punkins) we are doing fine, we really are. Snowbound, a little. But well fed, decidedly. A little too much so. In fact, anyone want to come over for some egg nog and pecan pie? Pumpkin bread and cocoa? I have those cute holiday marshmallows... Anybody?

Rewriting the Story

I just want to say up front, I am not whining. But it is interesting the way things happen. Fortunately, I'm a writer and I just file away the stories for future use. I'm not alone in this behavior, either. One of the local novelists had his car window smashed and his briefcase stolen during NaNoWriMo (and a nasty cold snap). After all the sympathy and good wishes from others in our area forum, someone piped up, "You are going to put this in your novel, right?" His instant response ("Of course!") made me laugh out loud.

Anyway, here's what's been happening to us lately. It's got the makings of a good story. (By the way, some of the back story is here. More of it is here.)

In this story, the villain is the blizzard. Tuesday evening, we had no idea what was coming. The Man (TM) had gotten a two-night temp job for Wed. and Thur., and my folks would be arriving Friday. The kids had one more day of school, and they were pretty excited about it. Then our neighbor (wonderful woman) called and warned us that we were supposed to get "a foot or two" of snow the next day, not just the small flurries we'd heard about. But she would still try to watch the Punkin while TM and I went shopping. No problem, probably.

Usually, it's pretty dry around here, but every few years we get a huge storm and can't get out of the house for a day or two. After that, things start melting and everything goes back to normal, so even now, we didn't sweat it much. Wednesday morning, the snow started by 7 a.m., but it hadn't started really piling up, so TM took the kids to school as usual.

By noon, the snow was definitely piling up and the visibility was getting low. I checked the school's Web site, which said something like "We will be open as usual today, but we recommend that you come get your kids NOW." TM was out the door in no time. Two and a half hours later, he and the kids arrived home again, shaking. "We survived!" was all TM had to say. The roads were completely covered, in many cases gone without a trace.

The snow kept falling all day. We didn't get to the store, needless to say. Our neighbor's husband totalled their car in a town 30 miles away and didn't know when he'd be able to get home. She was panicking about being alone with their two little kids, snowed in, indefinitely. I don't think it helped her when we pointed out that not even burglars would be out in that weather. TM didn't have to go to work that night, either, which was fine with me.

I was still pretty optimistic about the chances of our Christmas plans working out. Thursday was sunny, and by noon, the snow was melting off our roof. We spent the day cleaning the house and didn't pay much attention to the situation. That afternoon, the roads were clear, and our neighbors were reunited. By that evening, every driveway in the neighborhood (except ours) was clear, and people were driving around. I checked online and discovered that the airport would be open at noon today. I thought that was good news.

My mom called last night at 11 and said their flight was cancelled because it had been scheduled to land just minutes before the airport opened. All other flights were booked, of course, until The Day itself. So instead of them arriving this afternoon and getting to spend holiday leadup time playing, reading, baking, singing, and generally enjoying the time with us and our boys, they will be arriving Monday afternoon, missing #1 Son by a couple days and present-opening time by who knows how many hours.

Did you ever see Rocketship X-M (the MST3K version, especially)? You know the part where they discover the ship is nearly out of fuel and they won't be able to land? (Oh, now I've blown it all for you; sorry.) With the phone up to my ear last night, hearing my mom tell me the news, I heard Crow T. Robot say cynically, "This ought to test Lloyd's sunny disposition..." And it did.

So now the challenge is to keep ourselves occupied until then. They'll only be able to stay a couple of days now; that's the price of being working grandparents of kids in 3 states. (Oh yeah, and having a life, too.) There aren't enough vacation days to go around. I think we'll be able to amuse the little guys for a few hours with just their "Santa" presents, I told my mom. We'll wait to open other stuff when you arrive.

That's what I said. But you know how things haven't been getting to the stores, post offices, etc., for a few days? Because of this blizzard, you know. Well, yeah. We took all the kids shopping tonight; thought they could buy each other presents and we could pick up some things, too. TM went out later to get the Santa gifts, or so we thought. Turns out there's not much in the stores. Especially the one by our house-- apparently a couple of their delivery trucks slid off the roads and were completely destroyed, so there will be no more toys for Christmas. We (i.e., TM) could try again tomorrow, except his job got rescheduled for all day tomorrow, and that's all the time we have left. We keep the Sabbath in part by not shopping (making other people work) on Sundays. The clock is ticking...

All righty then. Now, if this were a story, how would I work out these plot complications? How would you do it?

Thursday 13: Windows of Heaven Edition

Thirteen Christmas Blessings at Scone's House Friends #1: Kory O sent chocolate and the book Pirateology. Friends #2: Maryanne took me running errands and out to lunch, then took me with her to a discount store and handed me a wad of cash to spend. Mwah! Thanks! Friends #3: Some Secret Santa left a big box of presents for each of us. Neighbors #1: Neighbor with a cookie business gave us a gift tin of yummy treats. Neighbors #2: Families from church have brought us food and goodies, and have called to check on us during the blizzard. Family #1: When my folks heard we were out of money at the holidays, they sent enough money to cover our bills for the month and buy presents for the kids. Family #2: When Youngest Sis and her husband heard same, they added a bunch of money to the pot. BIL is still in school, too. Family #3: Even before Little Sis and her husband heard, they sent us a pile of presents and a big gift card to a local store. After they heard, they decided they didn't need many presents themselves and sent us another huge amount of money. This BIL is in post-grad for med school. (I can't even think about this without tearing up.) Family-in-law: The Man's folks are sending (in addition to the usual pile of presents) several hundred bucks with the strict injunction that we spend it only on Christmas. We lay on the bed and giggled this afternoon as we planned how to spend it. Your guess is as good as mine: Some unidentified but kind-hearted soul sent us an additional several hundred bucks on a gift card. Whoever you are, THANK YOU!!! Acts of God #1: The blizzard. For us, it's been a good thing. We are all safe and warm and well stocked with food. It has given us the chance to spend time together and to get the house ready for my parents' visit this weekend. Acts of God #2: The melting of the snow. This afternoon, we heard and saw the drip, drip of snow melting off the roof. The highways and roads are open again, and I'm hopeful they'll be able to get planes through tomorrow. At least from Las Vegas. Acts of God #3-3,000,000: Everything, just everything. I am so blessed. Heavenly Father has really opened the windows of heaven for us, and I am so thankful. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Local Girl 2. Beth 3. The Gatekeeper 4. Amy 5. Norma

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Meme from Kailani: 6 Weird Things About Me

OK, I've been offline for a bit while Blogger thought about upgrading me to the beta, but I'm back now, and I'm finally getting around to the meme Kailani tagged me with last week. Here are

The Rules:

Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you”. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Well, gosh, I dunno. Weird, huh? The more I thought about this, the more I realized that I'm not all that different from other people in various ways. Maybe the collection of individual weirdnesses make me unique. Maybe I'm just really boring. But here goes.

1. My eyes are usually light blue, but they turn green under certain stressful conditions.
2. My skin likes to grow random stuff as often as possible: moles, skin tags, granulomas, etc. Yuck.
3. I've often been called cold and unemotional-- as well as hysterical and over-emotional. Hmm. I am what I am.
4. I lived near the Canadian border for a year, but never got around to crossing it. Ditto the English Channel, two years.
5. I'm totally ruthless about turning my back on the past, much to the chagrin of ex-boyfriends/friends/husbands/etc around the world. When I've had enough, I'm outta there.
6. I've been blogging for nearly 2 years now and haven't become mega-popular, but neither have I given up and taken months off or quit entirely. I just keep plodding along. Slow and steady, that's me.

[Edited 12/20: Sorry, I forgot to tag people. How about Jen, Renee, TM, Kory O, Purple Elephant, and anyone else who's still out there and might happen to drop by. There may be one of you. Still looking for my soapbox... And apologies to anyone who's already done this. Feel free to ignore me anytime.]

Holiday Fun

This one's for you, Kailani: a white Christmas! See, you can have one after all!

Well, Schiess

Heilige Rechtschreibung! Who out there knew that the German speaking peoples of the world had totally revamped their rules for spelling their language ten years ago? And you didn't tell me? Granted, it didn't take total effect until last year, but Heilige Ludwig in Neuschwanstein, it's throwing me for a loop. That's what I get for reading Wikipedia.

Sorry. Back to your regularly scheduled whatever.

Wednesday Wishlist

The Man (TM) and I were surfing the Net one night for some cool things I might want for Christmas-- in ten years or so when we actually have some money. I was going to post it here, but somehow it disappeared. Well, it wasn't realistic anyway. So here I go again:

Making a List (The Wishes)

1. Nice digital camera
2. New wardrobe for entire family
   
3. Subscription to Ethel M's year of chocolate
4. Replacements for the bucket of jewelry the TSA guy in Vegas stole
   
5. A second honeymoon
   
6. Brand-new computer
7. TM to graduate!
8. Job with a good salary
9. Health insurance
   
10. Book contract
11. New house
    

Checking It Twice (More Realistic)

1. Get the year's worth of film developed (i.e., $$)
2. Couple of outfits that are less than 10 years old for me, couple pairs of pants for TM
3. A pound or two of decent chocolate
4. Reset the stone back into TM's wedding ring (i.e., $$)
5. A babysitter maybe once a month so TM and I can go out sometimes
6. Replace bulb in my dad's laptop he's been loaning me (again, $$)
7. TM to pass all his classes
8. Just enough money to pay our medical bills
   
9. Get this dang-blasted cavity filled; it's killing me! (Once again, $$$$)
10. Just to finish the halfway decent novels I've started writing (there are two)
11. Insulation or at least heavy curtains in the punkins' bedroom; repairing the electrical wiring in the master bedroom would be a treat, too.

I may let you know if I get anything off the second list this year. At least #10 I can do something about. And lest you think I'm wallowing in self-pity again, here is a list of some things I do have that I'm thankful for.

1. Tons of memories (and photos) of my adventures from past years
2. Warm clothes for the kids in this Arctic weather
3. A neighbor who brings me Hershey's chocolate just because
4. A husband who thinks I'm beautiful no matter what I wear
5. Plans to marry my husband all over again
   
6. Parents who'll lend me a laptop for over a year
7. A college education, and children who value the concept
   
8. The ability to still make a little money here and there
9. A LOT less stress than when I was employed
10. Local library with thousands of books I haven't read yet
11. A roof over my head-- and my children's. The value of that alone is beyond measure.

So life is still good. Merry Christmas.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

I just have a few more thoughts about yesterday's post and life in general. So here I go, in case anyone's still out there. (I'd link to the people I mean, but they tend to have deleted or otherwise abandoned their blogs lately. That's a whole other post that will require a soapbox and a bit more energy than I've got today, so this is what you get for now.)

I tend to be pretty proud of myself for keeping at this whole "write a novel in a month" thing, you know, just a couple thousand words a day and eventually you're there. My progress bars show constant, unspectacular progress from day 1 to day 30 when I finally crossed the finish line with 12 whole hours to go. (Woohoo!)

On the other hand, The Man (TM) also signed up for NaNo this year. He sat at about 1500 words for half the month. Then he got up to a few thousand. Then he seemed to give up (well, OK, and had the flu for Thanksgiving break). But this week, he threw it into gear and was up to 22,000 words by Wednesday. So, only 28,000 more to go in 48 hours. Well, I'll tell you what: He put on a burst of speed and made up all that ground and an extra 2,000 to boot. (I have to say I am really proud of him.)

But all this reminded me of the year I was 11, when a kind, well-meaning teacher wrote a poem for all the girls in my church class. In it, she tried to emphasize the strengths of each girl with the intent, I'm sure, of helping us feel good about ourselves. Unfortunately, she had no tact. So, she described one girl as "the pretty one" and another as "the happy one" and so on. Guess what I was. That's right, "the steady one"; the one who always kept at a task until it was done but didn't (apparently) have much else to recommend her. I was an ugly, fat, bespectacled creature, it's true. And very shy, with untreated depression. But I did not feel flattered by this poetic description of my strong point, as you might guess.

But looking at myself now, I know that she was right. I would never be "the pretty one" or "the happy one" or even "the friendly one" but I've remained steady all these years. Yay me. It may be my saving grace during these lean times, though. Yay me.

I Did It Again

That's right, another year of NaNo over and done. Hallelujah!

When I'm Sixty-Four

For a reason that eludes me at the moment, but may have existed at one time, the lyrics to the Beatles' song "When I'm 64" have been running through my head for a couple weeks now. The part that always gets my attention is this:

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck, and Dave

Yesterday I remembered that in the summer of '94, I stayed in a castle on the Isle of Wight. It was just perfect (aside from the jerk I was with). I'd settle for a cottage now. But honestly, even a movie about the Isle of Wight is too dear these days, even with scrimping and saving.




Maybe I can afford it again when I'm 64. But I'll drop-kick the kid who names his son Chuck, just so you know.

Things to Be Thankful For

High on my list of blessings this week is our neighbors a couple doors to the west, the B's. They are lovely people anyway, and they have daughters just a little younger than our sons. On Tuesday morning, the kids were supposed to have a play date, but The Man (TM) had gotten the flu overnight, and I realized at breakfast that it was upon me as well. So when sweet neighbor B1 called to see when Punkin would be over, we had to say, well, not this week.

So she made us a big pot of chicken soup. From scratch. And brownies. And cookies that looked like turkeys. She threw all this and some breakfast things into a box and brought it over to us. "Get well soon," she said. I about cried as I took it from her. She returned a little later with some stuffing and cranberry sauce for our Thanksgiving dinner. "We're not cooking this year," she said. This time, I really did cry.

Wednesday evening, her husband B2 called to see how we were doing. Fortunately, TM's (104-degree) fever had broken the night before, and he was up and around. I was still on my way down, but we were managing. "Have you guys eaten yet? We have some extra lasagne," he told TM. We had eaten, but about an hour later, he was at our door with a big dish of lasagne, a plate of pumpkin bars (with cream cheese frosting--yum!), and a totally geeky book that he thought TM would like. (He loves it!)

Today (still up on Thanksgiving night) I'm thankful for such kind and generous people in my life.

Casino Fatale

Umm, sure. Last time I was Death. Must've changed my favorite color or something.

You are The Tower

Ambition, fighting, war, courage. Destruction, danger, fall, ruin.

The Tower represents war, destruction, but also spiritual renewal. Plans are disrupted. Your views and ideas will change as a result.

The Tower is a card about war, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth. The Tower stands for "false concepts and institutions that we take for real." You have been shaken up; blinded by a shocking revelation. It sometimes takes that to see a truth that one refuses to see. Or to bring down beliefs that are so well constructed. What's most important to remember is that the tearing down of this structure, however painful, makes room for something new to be built.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

What's Up Here?

I've been looking around the blogosphere, or rather, the Blogger-sphere, and it seems that my blog is the only one that's refusing to load. Here I was ready to blame it on the servers, but no. It's me, somehow. Or my code. Which hasn't changed since last time I saw this thing. So what's the matter here, anyway?

Don't make me put on my combat boots and come over there, Blogger. I'll kick your *.

Note to My Sweetheart

I really don't mind losing the extra minute of sleep; you can come into the bedroom and get your glasses before leaving the house. Really. Hope you and the kids are safe out there today...

Not a Casualty Yet

Still busily trying to catch up on my NaNo novel (see my sidebar for status) while playing the role of the college widow (is there such a term? maybe just engineering widow) and managing the house and the kids mostly by myself while The Man (TM) tries to pass his classes. Oy.

But in honor of Veterans' Day and all the veterans in my life, including TM and his dad and most of the cast of my novel, I give you selections from Tom Lehrer's brilliant and pertinent song

It Makes a Fellow Proud To Be a Soldier
...
After Johnny got through basic training, he
Was a soldier through and through when he was done.
Its effects were so well rooted,
That the next day he saluted
A Good Humor man, an usher, and a nun.
...
Our old mess sergeant's taste buds had been shot off in the war.
But his savory collations add to our esprit de corps.
To think of all the marvelous ways
They're using plastics nowadays.
It makes a fellow proud to be a soldier!
...
(Full lyrics and comical commentary by Lehrer here.)

Hey, I even have a medal around here somewhere I received for some old military service or another. I used to wear it as an earring. Nowadays it doesn't go with anything I own. At ease.

And Now, the Weather

What the heck? It's getting on for the middle of November and we've got sunshine, blue skies, and 78 degrees out. I repeat, what the--?

Oh yeah, it had to get that hot so it can snow on Friday. Of course. Never mind. As you were.

What Are Words For?

So, I'm coming to the end of the fourth day of Nano, and I'm only about halfway to where I should be by now. (OK, that's an improvement over where I was a couple days ago.) It's a real shame I can't throw the 600 or so words I've written in this distracting blog into my official wordcount. So that means I need to buckle even further down and get my brain in gear. Ouch. That hurts.

What are you guys up to this November?

The Race Is On

...And I've already been beaten by a six-year-old! Well, not exactly. I've got about 1500 words to show for the 2 days I've been at work on this year's novel (which, yes, is less than one day's quota, dangit). But Pirate Boy wrote a book this morning before lunch. Illustrated it and bound it in a lovely green cover, too. He said it would have been longer, if he hadn't hurt his finger. Talk about shame. So I've got to somehow capture the fire again and get moving. My word count icon is in the sidebar, if you want to see how I'm doing at any given moment. Don't laugh. Thanks.

What Is It With Me, Today?

See what I mean? I told you I had a long way to go.


discover your jack-o-lantern face @ quiz me
Thanks, Carmen.

High in Education

Now I begin to understand why we (in the U.S.) fall so short on college graduates...your sanity or your education? And of course "involuntary withdrawals" is another one of those phrases that raises my hackles. Seriously, kicking people out of school because they have, say, a nervous breakdown? Who are these people and who left them in charge?

Which reminds me, I can almost see this scenario playing out in a "historically black college" with students claiming the new president wasn't "black enough" (almost), but it gives me the willies to think about. And let's not even approach the idea that the leader of, say, Bryn Mawr might not be "female enough" to suit the student body. Whose decision is this, anyway? And what happened to diversity?

Long and Winding Road

I really thought I was doing OK with our straitened situation lately. I've been learning to make a variety of good meals with the same limited supply of food and keep the kids from complaining. I've learned not to whine myself even when I don't have chocolate in the house. I kept most of my misery to myself when I was out of pain medication. I keep going even when there's no money in the bank, little food in the fridge, and a severe lack of energy in my body.

But apparently there's something here that I still need to learn. I must have sighed just a little when I went to the fridge yesterday and found there was only one gallon of milk left to last us until Friday lunchtime. I must have had the fleeting thought that it would be hard to make that little bit of milk stretch so long among so many growing boys. But I had already resolved cheerfully to make the best of it (honest) by the time I got the lid off and discovered that, despite its expiration date, it had already gone bad.

I didn't cry, but I know I sighed then. I have so far to go still.

Tidbit

Aha, Renee found the lyrics for me. What the heck? It's... The Llama Song.

Nails on a Chalkboard

Just in the last 5 minutes that I've been logged on and reading a couple of articles on the net, I've wanted to claw my own eyes out twice because of things people wanting to sound "expert" have written. These fall under the heading Don't Use Unless You Want to Sound Like a Pretentious Git (and Have an Editor Kill You With a Blue Pencil):

• Talking about selling a house at a "high price point" -- I will kill you unless you stop after "price." Get the point?
• Advising a job applicant to include a skill summary so that the reader knows immediately their "value proposition." Dear heavens, who invented that pointless, jargony phrase? They are at the top of my list of people to visit with eggs tonight.

OK, that's all for now. I'm going to have a lie-down. After I brush the bad taste out of my mouth.

Saturday Evening News

Got together with one of my former coworkers today for lunch and had a great chat about the antics at the old place and various children we know and love. Misery shared and laughed at is misery negated, almost.

When I came home 2 hours later, the rest of the family was almost exactly as I'd left them, except The Man (TM) had switched which Web comic he was looking at. So I booted him out to run some errands and spent the next couple hours carving pumpkins with the kids. All 3 of them. Turned out nice.

We were going to work on Halloween costumes, too, but the boys couldn't decide (simultaneously) whether they really wanted to be a train (which I think would be fun and an easy and cheap costume for all 3), so we let it go for the moment. If nothing else, we have 3 pirate hats, some swords, and other miscellany lying around. I get to take all 3 of them trick-or-treating on Tuesday and hope our house doesn't get egged because no one will be home to hand out candy for a while. So I can't be everywhere at once.

Which reminds me, today, TM was talking to Punkin Boy about what a big boy he's getting to be-- "so big and strong" sort of thing. Punkin Boy vehemently denied this. "I'm not strong," he said. "Is Daddy strong?" TM asked. No, Punkin Boy answered, Mama is strong. As I lay curled up in a ball of pain on my bed, I whispered with tears in my eyes, "Thanks, baby. You just made it all worthwhile."

Halloween Fun

Dudes. My dad sent this link to a fun little site for kids and anyone else with a lot of time on their hands. The boys have been carving pumpkin faces all day. This weekend we'll be doing it for real, and I've actually gotten some ideas. Check it out.

Pyrrhic Victory, with Pumpkins and Pizza

After weeks of (virtual) yelling, screaming, name-calling, hair-pulling, and outright threats (mostly one-sided), #1 Son's birthday weekend is ours (as specified anyway in the court document governing parental visitation), and the entirety of Mother's Day weekend belongs to Mommy Dearest. Which is fine. The split weekends are a hassle and really ought to be easily dealt with. By rational people. I'm sure this conflict will come back to bite us someday, since The Man stuck to the legal document as always and consequently Miss Thing didn't immediately get everything she demanded. Proof positive that he is evil and she is mistreated, of course. And then there was her "Why don't you just give me what I want instead of prolonging this conflict, which is hurting our son?!" This was after she threatened to kidnap the boy instead of abiding by the visitation doc. Because Mommy is always right.

But I'm not bitter. What I am is thrilled that we get to have a whole weekend to celebrate with our boy. I am making him a cake that I hope will look like a Moglin (at his request), and we'll be visiting the local pumpkin patch in the afternoon and eating homemade pizza for dinner. His little brothers are just as excited as he is; it should be fun. And it won't be interrupted by invaders from Hell. I'm so happy.

But at the back of my mind, I worry. These conflicts do bother #1 Son, and he doesn't know or care who's in the right, he just doesn't like confrontation. At some point this week, The Man asked which way he'd like to deal with the conflict, and he said basically "Give Mommy her way." I'm not sure whether that's because he really wanted to spend his birthday with her (hey, it would make up for a few years ago when she was supposed to take him for the birthday and never showed up) or whether he just can't stand her screaming. Doesn't matter, I suppose.

We were reading Matthew 5 (the Sermon on the Mount) tonight for family scripture study, and the latter half of the chapter really hit home. You know, the part about turning the other cheek and loving your enemies. "Agree with your adversary quickly" lest she take you to court and tell all sorts of slanderous lies about you and make your life way worse than it was before. Totally there. ("Good idea, O Lord." "Course it's a good idea!") Yeah.

Everyone's a Critic

I happened across this travel article on CNN.com today and was browsing through it 'cause boy, I need a vacation. It's all about beach resorts, and just looking at the pictures (instead of the snow on the ground outside) was very relaxing. As I reached the end of the "Pacific Coast" section, a comment caught my eye. It was about the Turtle Bay Resort (which was a Hilton when I spent my wedding night there). In the very first sentence, the writer says, "Turtle Bay Resort may underwhelm you as you enter the... uninspired grounds." I'm sorry, things may have changed since I was there last, but HUH? Take a look at the photos and see whether you're inspired or underwhelmed. I fully plan to be inspired as I go to bed now and reflect on the memories of eating guava cake for breakfast on the lanai with my sweetheart as I watched the waves break and felt the soft ocean breeze. I didn't pay any $900 a night, either. Who writes this stuff?

Semi-Random Jots

Several things today. I was going to post yesterday when we got the first snowfall of the season. Which was, of course, right after one of the warmest few days since August. It's supposed to be back up to 60 tomorrow. This is just typical. What's weird is that it didn't snow in September this year.

Second, I've got my appeal to Social Security nearly finished. I was trying to work on it earlier while getting the kids ready for bed because the SS servers go down at night. But that's sort of like trying to juggle two pitbulls and a chainsaw. They'd never accept that I'm disabled if they knew about that...

Which reminds me, it's miraculous that Punkin Boy is even in bed by now. He's been sleeping until 9-ish every morning lately, which is great, but then he's been staying up till 11 or midnight, and that I can't handle. For one thing, I never get anything done. I was doing so well on finishing my novel, and then this started and all I've been able to do is sit with this 40-pound "baby chick" on my lap (this is his self-label) and read him the same book over and over. It is not a very good book. I guess I shouldn't complain at all. It's taken him 3 years to develop an affection for me; he was best friends with his daddy from the womb, but he only recently acknowledged my existence. So I ought to be grateful.

As for the other kids, dangit all but I want to compare them. I want to be so proud of my Pirate Boy, who uses terms like "syllabification" and "commutative property" in casual conversation and, when he runs out of homework, writes up quizzes and gives lectures about the material he's been learning in school. #1 Son calls him "The Brain" already.

This is the same #1 Son who doesn't bother doing his homework. He tells us every night that he's done with it, and we say, "Do you understand the consequences to you if you are lying?" and he says yes, and then we get yet another note from a teacher saying, "Your child's grade in my class has slipped to C- or below..." Today, it was from a teacher with whom he has several subjects, explaining why he is doing poorly in history, spelling/vocabulary, and reading. Reading, for heaven's sake! His best subject! This is the "make or break" subject for this grade, and he doesn't bother to do the work. What the heck is up with this?

The teachers are always so professional in their wording. Words like "distracted" and "disorganized" come up a lot. The one from the science teacher was pretty interesting-- "#1 Son was unhappy with a critical comment, began crying and hid under his desk." Oh come on. He's turning 12 this week and is acting like a 6-year-old. Except that Pirate Boy never does that. What the heck?

And before you start worrying too much, dear readers, I don't make these comparisons or comments (most of them) out loud. This blog is the place where I can get my worries out and maybe hear some advice (if any of you have any to share) about what on earth to do to help this kid whose DNA is half damaged and who has a lot of stress to deal with. (Yes, I do secretly exult over the superiority of my genetics. All other things being equal, my kid ROCKS!) We give him rules, have standards, love him, give him space, rein him in, expect his best, even threaten when necessary. (Currently, he must raise all his grades to a C or better before Christmas break, or he will be removed from the school he's in. This threat made him cry. We'll see if it motivates him to actually do the work.) What do we do next?

All in the Family

Or maybe I should title this one "It's All About Me." As a spinoff of the trend of Googling oneself (and don't say you've never done it), I recently tried to "Wiki" myself-- that is, input my name into the Wikipedia search box to see what comes up. My name produces 17 hits, the first of which is Killer Klowns from Outer Space. (Second is Angie Dickinson, which is of course, not my name or anything like it. What the heck?)

This started because I discovered that my cousin has a Wikipedia entry. No, not Donovan, the cousin I usually brag about, but one I've been a lot closer to. Last I heard, Ryan was a ska promoter in Phoenix, but apparently he's moved up in the art scene in the past few years. It's his birthday this weekend and I was thinking of him, so I decided to finally dig up the New Times article his dad mentioned. Turns out he's got a much bigger Wiki entry than Donovan. Hmmm. On the other hand, Donovan's got an IMDB entry. Yes, there's some Wiki envy here.

You get the feeling I come from kind of an accomplished family. No joke. My little sisters form the backup group for a folk singer whose name is not on the tip of my tongue so I can't link to him. I'm not completely incompetent myself; the first Google hit you get when searching on my name is in fact a reference to me. As are 3 of the next 10 hits. Not too bad. Donovan became the host of a super-popular TV show at age 24. I really can't touch that. Then there's Ryan. In the last few years, he's become a punk/thrash frontman, a talk-show host, a comedian, a performance artist, and half a dozen other things. And just a few months ago, he put on a new suit, said goodbye to the scene, and headed off to be a missionary in Oregon. He was 19 years old.

Dudes. I am running so behind.

I Love My Social Worker

(How sick is it that I even have a social worker? Argh! But fortunately, it's not turning out to be such a bad thing after all. Geez. )

Yes, Darci the S.W. came by today. First, she came by while I was at my writers group (which happened to be in Cheyenne this morning--brrr!) and left her card. That was pretty cool, I thought. If she really thought she'd catch us at something, she wouldn't warn us like that. So I came in and fed Punkin Boy ('cause yes, I do that) and had some lunch too. Then I straightened up a bit.

While I was finishing up the dishes, Darci came by again. She looked apologetic. "Let me guess," I said. "You got another crazy phone call." Apparently. Claiming we don't feed any of our kids anything, even banana bread. She explained that she had to investigate and had talked to the kids yesterday. They seemed fine, she said (thank you very much), and asked if it would be too much trouble for me to let her look in my kitchen at the food I claim to have. Oh sure, come on in.

Sorry for the mess, I said, I've been working. (Yay, I had another project, but yech, the state of my house!) This time, she said it wasn't so bad, so I felt better. I explained about the church welfare system and mentioned that I had multiple cuts of meat in the freezer and fresh veggies and fruits in the fridge. "Mind if I look?" Darci said. Nah, go ahead. She seemed really impressed and amazed. But she believed me. That felt good, like my sanity had been restored.

We talked for a while about the situation and how sometimes #1 Son likes to exaggerate slightly to set his "mommy" off on one of her rampages. He thinks it's funny (*Jack*), and it would be if it didn't affect our family like it does. She is quite amazingly insane and wants no truck with reality if it means agreeing with me or The Man (TM). (She's still going on about how he's trying to steal her time with her baby, when in reality it's her threatening to kidnap him when he's supposed to be here with his father. Sheesh.)

So anyway, Darci and I had a very nice chat. We talked about how skinny #1 Son is and how skinny his dad was when he was younger. How he eats more than I do, and I certainly don't weigh 75 pounds. Dang fast metabolism. How sweet Pirate Boy is and how he loves to talk about his pirate crew to anyone who'll listen. And how healthy all the boys seem to be and how she'll just be closing out this incident and making a note in case of future psycho phone calls.

YES! I love my social worker.

Unreal

After all the psychosis surrounding our kids' eating habits lately, I've been a little more, let's face it, self-conscious about the dinners I serve and so on. So last night, as we sat around the dinner table eating big plates of spaghetti florentine, I joked to #1 Son, "So, are you getting fed lately?" It was only half a joke, really, but he laughed. Today I had a lavish dinner including a glazed ham and baked potatoes with the works, on the table ready to eat by 5:30, which was when I expected The Man (TM) and the older kids to walk in the door from school. TM has to leave again by 6:30, so I try to serve the meals so as to have as much relaxation and "family" time as possible on our hurried days.

Well, by 6:00, when TM hadn't shown up, I had started to get worried and Punkin Boy had started to get really hungry. I decided to put the meat and potatoes on TM's plate and pour the milk, so he'd be all ready to eat when he walked in. A few minutes later, I gave in and served Punkin too. And then I seriously started praying. At 6:15, the garage door opened and our missing boys arrived, #1 Son sporting a splint on his right hand. Oh good. There was very little time for explanation, but I gathered that the finger that we had thought yesterday was only jammed actually has a fracture, and the missing time was spent in the urgent care clinic. TM got the X-rays on a CD-ROM, which was kind of a relief because at least we had evidence that it wasn't any worse.

I was already formulating an email to Hell when someone brought up the subject of dinner (yes, here it is, still somewhat warm, miraculously) and how someone still thinks they don't eat. And TM asked, "Did CPS stop by today?" Ummmm, no. Should they? Apparently, they said they might. When did they say this? Oh, when they were giving our kids the third degree in the vice principal's office today after receiving yet another call from "a concerned citizen." Saying things to our kids like, "Tell the truth; we know you're not getting any food at home." Dear heavens.

Dorothy has dealt with this crud before, so she knows how awful it can be. I'm glad I'm not the only one this stuff happens to. Fortunately, our kids know the difference between "We get food" and "We don't get food" and they stuck to their guns, according to their accounts. Geez. How do you fight this garbage? We've already shown a social worker the inside of our pantry. We've explained that we get our food for free from our church welfare system, wonderful thing that it is, and we will continue to do so until we get back on our feet financially. As amazing as it may sound, it's true. And having obtained as much food as we want (because yes, that's how it works), why would we refuse to feed it to our children? Only a lunatic could believe that.

It's Not Really Funny

It's finally happening. #1 Son is starting to question his mother's sanity. He came to me a couple days ago and asked, "Why does my mom think all these weird things are true, when everybody tells her they're not?" Good question, kid. Not that I can answer it for him. My best strategy in this case is a sort of Socratic approach. But mostly I keep quiet and let him talk. "I tell her I eat a lot, and she thinks I'm starving!" I know. Sigh. "And remember when she thought I had a concussion?" Yes. Sigh.

He eventually decides that she just isn't understanding what's being said to her, and that maybe he shouldn't make things so complex when he talks to her. "I'll use very small words," he says with a grin.

OK, now I've gotta go stick my face under a pillow and LAUGH.

Thursday 13: Big Screen Edition

Thirteen of SCONE's Favorite Movies(in no particular order after #1) The Princess Bride Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan Monty Python and the Holy Grail Steel Magnolias Pirates of the Caribbean (Curse of the Black Pearl) Tank Girl Amadeus 1776 Start the Revolution Without Me Casablanca Hunt for Red October Raiders of the Lost Ark The entire Lord of the Rings trilogy by Peter Jackson What are your favorites? Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

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Gah!

Why are people so crazy? I'd just really like to know. Like f'r'instance the board of our homeowners' ("community") association (also abbreviated Comm'y Ass.), which functions like the headquarters of the SS for our small, impoverished neighborhood-- putting the fear of Hitler into the masses. You get marginally comfortable for a while, then you get a summons (i.e., a threat) for a crime you're pretty sure you didn't commit and don't think is really a crime anyway.

We got one today. It says that we must restore our yard to lush green health in the next week or face a severe penalty. Sorry, could you repeat that? You want us to replace our grass in mid-October for why? And how do you propose we do this? Not your problem, I see. Gah!

And then there's the usual psycho up to her antics again. Dear heavens, I wish she'd get the natural consequences of her actions, just once. At the very least, being that stupid and/or crazy ought to be severely painful. She ought to feel like I do all the time. Gah.

[Updated about an hour later: I should give an example besides what The Man blogged about in that link, for those who don't feel like clicking. She calls up to yell at The Man because they haven't reached an agreement on changing visitation for this month or something. Any excuse really. Then she talks to #1 Son, who didn't do his homework this weekend because, well, she had to take him to a hockey game. And a football game. He came home sounding like Janis Joplin, with no homework done. So tonight she yells at him about it because gee, it wasn't her fault, scheduling his every waking hour of visitation with fun-fun-fun stuff because otherwise he might not like her or something. So she asks if he's done with his homework for tonight. He says no. He also says (looking for a way to distract her?) that his dad had threatened that he wouldn't get dinner if he didn't do his homework as soon as he got home tonight. Well, he did go straight in and do it, and he did get dinner. He got seconds. But Miss Thing springs to the conclusion that we're starving her baby! Haven't we been over this before? So the yelling continues. And so on.

Did I mention that it's because of this psycho person that we can't get out of this psycho "community"? Gah.]

Hooray!

Joey O. has arrived in good condition (at a whopping 10 pounds) and didn't kill anybody in the process. Congratulations to Kory O. and the whole family.

Thank You Very Much

Science has now proven what many of us parents already knew to be true about kids and their viewing habits as related to academic performance. (And after all, that's where my priorities lie, not indulging their desires to vegetate, much as I sympathize.) Check out the story on CNN.com.

To recap:

1. No TV on school nights.
2. No TV in your room.
3. No R-rated movies, period.

Cool. Thanks.