Script Message

I have my PNN homepage bookmarked so I can click to it easily, but lately it's been cranky. It takes forever to load up and then there's a message box that is downright pissy: A script on this page is causing your computer to run slow. Do you want to discontinue the script? Of course I hit YES, because whatever is causing the slowdown is not okay, and yet every single time it comes up -- AGAIN! I've gone down the page a dozen times looking for some weird script, but I'm completely flummoxed as to what the computer gods consider problematic. Any ideas, anyone?

An Exercise in Futility

There was a drive-thru Swine Flu clinic today at our local high school, and since our doctor's office has run out of their available vaccines and is waiting on a shipment (with no idea when that might arrive, or how much will be in it), I loaded up the kidlets and docked the minivan in the line.

An hour later we'd gone less than one block, with the high school still six or seven blocks away.

There were four directions feeding into the high school, so each time we moved forward in our line it was one car length's worth... or less. The biggest jumps came when someone did that complicated three-point turn and roared out of there, shaking their head and thinking ugly vaccination thoughts.

I know the thoughts, because I had them -- while wrenching the van out of line and turning it in the opposite direction.

I had promised the kids a "brave present" for the ordeal, and I figured the waiting patiently for a dreaded event counted... we went all through WalMart, including the bathroom, and still were home less than an hour after our minivan yanked out of line. I bet if we hadn't left we'd be at least a block closer... or maybe not.

Sigh.

Good thing we're still on the list at the pediatrician's office for the elusive shipment...

 http://www.pressdemocrat.com/article/20091024/articles/910249985&tc=yahoo

It Even Grosses Me Out

Apparently I got a little bonus treat from the great family weekend: Poison Oak.

It started as a little annoying itch on Monday morning, right by my wedding ring, and by mid-day it was beginning to swell and blister. For the last three days I've been unable to go in to work -- it's hard enough looking after myself, let alone other little beings -- and I've been looking at someone else's hand at the end of my arm -- someone distorted and swollen and red and blistered in a horrible cluster. My wedding ring is safely on my key ring -- thank goodness I took it off when it first began to itch, or it'd be wedged in the mess like Pooh in Rabbit's front door.

It's nasty.

(By the way, MoM, I read your post and laughed at the irony: Whose hands are these, indeed!)

Arghhh!

I've tried to post several times this week, but with one thing or another it's been unsuccessful. Either the computer is acting fussy, or the internet has a hiccup, or PNN's little article box won't load, or a combo of all three; plus I've been feeling pretty cruddy (feel free to insert your own word in place of cruddy if that's not strong enough... whatever word you come up with probably fits) and we've been run off our feet busy.

Today is my proficiency test at the district office -- yea yippee yea rah, and yes, that's pure sarcasm -- so I'm trying to decide if I go in with a Pumpkin Spice Latte or an Advil and some water. Maybe all three, come to think of it... with whipped cream on the latte, thank you very much!

The good news is that it's Friday, and we have some fun stuff planned. Saturday we celebrate Matt's and Cari's birthdays (they are actually turning their new ages in early October, but between our schedules we couldn't come up with a date closer to the events so we're popping it early) and Sunday Matt and I celebrate being married 12 years. (We are going out to drinks and appetizers and getting new cell phones... I know, fancy, huh? LOL)

I'll try to post later with some of the stuff I TRIED to post earlier this week -- Thomas' new school's Back to School night and his Placement IEP, the photo find in the garage, and getting ready for my mother in law's big birthday next weekend. Oh, and the Jury Duty thing... and whatever else pops into my head later!

Happy Friday, friends... may your latte always have extra whipped cream!

Roll Over, Roll Over

Do you remember the preschool song that goes, "There were ten in the bed and the little one said, 'Roll over, roll over!' And they all rolled over and one fell out. There were nine in the bed and the little one said, 'Roll over, roll over!' And they all rolled over and one fell out..."?

It's been running through my head all week.

Monday was a holiday; no school.

Tuesday we had two kids and one aide out.

Wednesday we had three kids and one aide out.

Today is Thursday...

Roll over, roll over!

He Did WHAT? GOTTAGOBYE!

My sister in law is a school teacher so she has some time on her hands to come hang out and visit, and since my car is STILL in the shop (going on 2 weeks now), I have a serious need for company. Auntie and I visited for a bit, and then she followed me upstairs to hang out while I cleaned the master bath sinks and counter.

My best friend (also a teacher) called to share the news that her daughter had just gotten her ears pierced -- "Without even flinching!" -- and I was relaying the news to Auntie when Megan called out from downstairs, "MOM! Thomas is in the bleach!"

Holy clean clothes, Batman!

I flew down those stairs hollering, "He's WHAT? Gottagobye!" and hanging up on Cari (who is used to an abrupt hang up or two) and discovered that Thomas had, indeed, been in the bleach.

The good news? He'd tried to help. He'd poured all the rest of the bleach into the washer. I know that there was about a third of a bottle in there yesterday, or maybe a quarter, so when I say "all the rest," I mean all the rest: The jug was empty.

Unfortunately, the washer was NOT empty.

No, I had washed a load of darks... dark darks, to be precise... and the washer had just spun to a merry stop moments before.

I peeked inside, hardly daring to hope, and saw puddles of bleach on the edge of the machine, a lake in the fabric softener dispenser, and interesting blotches and speckles all over all the clothes.

Auntie had raced down the stairs after me, and she kept saying, "Oh my God, I am so sorry, Jules!"

There was nothing to be done; I added some more detergent (out of habit, I guess -- I think all the clothes are goners) and ran a cold cycle to get rid of the bleach in the machine. Then I called Thomas to me and told him in a firm voice that he was not to touch the washer or the cabinet where the cleaners were -- kind of a closing the barn door once the cows have escaped, but what else could I do? -- and double checked that the door to the laundry room was indeed locked.

Sigh.

I know he was trying to help. He had no idea what havoc he was wreaking when he poured the stuff in...

I know the door is usually locked, and the ONE time it wasn't, he spotted his chance... it was a fluke.

I know that I cannot watch him every second of every day, and that he is more closely supervised than most toddlers -- but I still feel partly guilty about the incident.

Sigh.

I had hoped to show off the clean counter to Matt and say, "TA-DA! See what I got done today?" but now I think that is going to pale in light of the other "news" from our day.

Two more weeks to summer school.

Sigh.

Oh, and I called Cari back to let her know the reason I had abruptly hung up on her, but she was unavailable... she was getting her massage. (No, I am NOT bitter... who said that? LOL She totally deserves it after a year of teaching 6th graders in a middle school!)

Miss California

Maybe it's just me -- I do feel particularly shallow today, after all -- but the first reaction I had to the recent news that Carrie Prejean has been fired due to breach of contract, and that the runner up would now be crowned Miss California in her place, was a raised eyebrow and a fervent sigh of relief that it wasn't me that had to step up to that role, and a profound wish of good luck to the new Miss California.

I mean, come on... how many weeks have gone by since the pageant? Who is going to continue shaving and plucking and getting the regular haircuts and eating low-fat if you are runner-up?? Heck, I don't do those things and I'm not even in the picture! If the committee came to find me lo these many weeks later, I'd have to slam the door in their face, put down the Ben and Jerry's, and race upstairs to shimmy out of the flannels and bathrobe, praying SOMETHING still fit.

Er, just sayin'. You know, if I was ever in a beauty pageant and came in second and stuff.

Ahem. Like I said, it's a shallow day.

Mother of the Year (NOT)

Just so you know, I have withdrawn my name from the Mother of the Year Awards list. I figured traumatizing my son with a movie would pretty much pull me out of the running, anyway, but I thought I'd preempt the public outing.

Can I get a show of hands if you remember "The Red Balloon," the nearly silent movie they showed us on rainy days in elementary school? It was made in France in 1956, and it's about a kid who finds a huge red balloon that ends up following him all over town. The balloon is gigantic and sturdy -- it almost looks like one of those exercise balls they use when you're in labor -- and it has a string that is thick enough to be a small gauge rope, but it's almost alive in how it responds to the boy and reacts to other people.

I found the DVD at the library yesterday and vaguely remembered the movie -- the way the balloon seemed to play with people as they tried to catch it, the way it hung out outside the boy's school and apartment, waiting for him, the funny scenes of the old fashioned streets-- but apparently I'd forgotten quite a bit. Either that, or I blocked it out...

For about 85% of the movie Thomas and Megan watched, enraptured, and laughed several times. Then there was the other 15%...

There are some thugs in the movie, and they chase the main character and his balloon in a very menacing way. These thugs are just bigger boys, but they are forced to wear very short, very tight European-style shorts that cause them to be in some sort of Vienna choir boy 'roid rage, because they are MEAN. (The younger boy has to wear some pants that look hand-crocheted, with a saggy backside, but at least his 'parts' aren't mashed into oblivion.) The adults are non-existent, except when they forbid the balloon on the bus, in the school, or in the boy's apartment.

We were watching along with the kids, and when it seemed appropriate I would sort of narrate the behaviors: "Oh, that wasn't very nice, was it?" for a tense scene or "HEY! You balloon! You come back here! Gotcha! Oops, missed! Gotcha! Oops, missed!" when there was a silly scene.

The boy and his balloon escape the mob of older boys a few times by slinking through alleyways and sliding through metal fencing, but finally the balloon gets cornered and popped... and the boy is very, very sad. There's a death scene, essentially, where the balloon gets a hit from a slingshot and then slowly loses air, sinking to the ground in death throes. Then a big thug kid steps on it to finalize the whole thing.

Our family's reaction was a stunned silence, with Matt and I exchanging raised eyebrows: Crap.

From all over the town other balloons come zipping to his side, ditching other children just minding their own business -- toddlers, babies in prams, you name it, they get ripped off just walking down the street --  flying out of stores and across parks and out of windows all across the landscape. They fly to the boy, surrounding him with their colored spheres, and the boy gathers them up and flies off into the sky, a mass of colored baloons supporting his saggy crocheted pants...

("You know that's a myth," Megan pointed out at this point, authoritatively. "That can't really happen. Mythbusters proved it was busted.")

Despite the "happy ending," Thomas was still utterly stricken, his face contorted into despair. The balloon was popped! The boy was sad! The other boys were mean! This was NOT OKAY!

For a half hour Thomas fussed and cried on and off, insisting that we take the movie away. He was genuinely concerned, supremely agitated. He wanted us to put it in the mailbox, because that is where Netflix movies go... but this one was from the library. I got the library bag out, and showed him I was putting the DVD in it, and then put it in the van, but even that wasn't enough.

"Take it back, Mommy. Take it back."

So finally I got my keys and opened the garage door, backed out, closed the door, drove around the block and slunk up our street to hang out in front of our house for a few more minutes, then opened the garage door and drove in... to see Thomas and Matt in the doorway, waiting.

"See?" Matt said, nodding. "It's gone, honey. Mommy took it back. It's gone."

Thomas seemed to cheer up, but at bedtime he began to fuss and cry again, clearly sad and disturbed by the movie, still.

Matt went in and stretched out with him for a few minutes, and Thomas settled in to sleep... but then a few minutes later we heard the sobs again. I took a turn, and got him all the way to sleep... but then he began crying in his sleep, and I ended up sleeping with him all night, wedged on the edge of his single bed next to him.

He fussed and cried in his sleep a few more times through the night, but at least he slept... I must have, at some point, because I had traumatic dreams that only moms have, where your kid is lost, or hurt, or sick, and you can't help them...

This morning Thomas seemed his usual cheerful self, with no signs of mental trauma. He didn't ask about the movie, but I didn't bring it up, either... because while I may have blown it with the movie choice, I am not stupid.

 

 

Harumphh!

You know in cartoons when someone hits their thumb with a hammer and it gets swollen up like a soccer ball, throbbing and red and tender with stars dancing around it? I woke up with that thumb.

I injured it yesterday on a tangerine.

Apparently there's a line in the Yard Duty manifesto that says we open all fruit, regardless of ripeness. I brought that weird little Tupperware freebie citrus opener for a few weeks, but it walked off somewhere, leaving me citrus-opener-less, so I'm back to old school method. To do old school method you have to gouge your finger nail in the top and try to get under the peel, which is not as easy as it sounds when the tangerine is as hard as a rock. Repeat twenty or thirty times in a half hour period and you start hating citrus, citrus growers, and vitamin C in general. Yesterday's tangerines were especially reluctant to be opened, and I bent my fingernail back past the quick in an attempt... which of course hurt like the dickens, and then there was citrus juice all mingling in with the stinging and bleeding, so THAT was loads of fun. (No, I didn't swear, but I did feel rather grumpy and grousy for the next half hour of Yard Duty, that's for sure!)

It's not the first time that produce has injured me, either.

Last week I was making asparagas and I decided to be EXTRA healthy and add sliced red pepper to the steamer to boost the vitamins and fiber and pretty it up. Big mistake. I ended up burning myself pretty severely -- the backs of my fingers are still peeling and rough, and it was ten days ago. I am always very careful about handling the steamer, but the lid sort of slid sideways and unleashed its unholy power right on my hand in a lightning quick move... stupid lid. (I glared at it for a few seconds while holding my hand under cold water, but it didn't even look guilty.)

I started thinking about it, and do you know I can't recall ONE TIME that a Milky Way bar ever injured me in any way?? Not once!

Huh. Food for thought...

Has This Ever Happened to YOU?

It's been in the 80s and 90s here in Northern California this week... not complaining, mind you, just reporting... and I realized I had one pair of shorts and one pair of capris to my name. (I went on a purging expedition and got rid of a lot of my older stuff over the winter.) I decided to go shopping.

Good news: The size I automatically picked up DOES NOT FIT ANYMORE!! Whoo hoo! I totally worked my butt off, and it now fits into the next size down pants!

Bad news: When I had decided on a skort and pair of capris to buy, I put on my own clothing and immediately thought, "Ooh, no. Those sooo don't look good."

Damn.

LOL

Electronics, or How to Get Frustrated in an Hour or Less

My camera died, and after doing some research (and uncovering a gift card to the store) we decided to go to a major electronics store to make our replacement purchace. We'll call this store Best Buy, because that's what it's called.

Since I will be the one using it, primarily, and my husband is doing the overtime to purchase it, primarily, we each had a vested interest in being a part of the buying process. We figured out a decent time to take our son with us -- after T-ball and his second dose of medication, but before lunch so we could bribe him with french fries to behave. We drove down to the Big City (ha! I sooo live in a suburb!) and made our way into the ginormous store.

First we had to locate the camera department, which is no easy feat. It must get a lot of customers, as it was nearly in the farthest spot from the door, through at least three other departments. We hiked back there, boy child firmly in hand, and found the lower-priced-but-still-decent cameras. Then Hubby took Son on a Grand Tour of the store, with stops in Appliances, Movies, Musical Instruments, Televisions, Computers, and Phones, and the all-important Bathroom. I used this time to quickly peruse the available cameras, trying to find A) the brand I was interested in, B) the price I was interested in, and C) the features I needed. (Well, there's only one, really: fast shutter speed. Have you met my son, Flash?)

The second I stopped at the counter a young man appeared out of nowhere, his bright blue shirt and earnest look competing with his spiky hair for attention.

"Can I help you find anything?"

I indicated the cameras. "We're replacing a camera we had that finally broke. We like this particular brand --" I point to a Canon "-- because it was what we had, and we had a lot of good use out of it."

You could see the wheels turning: She wants a camera. She had one, but it broke. She is camera-less. I can sell her a camera!

He's a salesman, so he has to do the attempt to sell up, or he loses his cute little name badge with "SPENSIR" on it. His was pretty pathetic, though...maybe he's new, or maybe he's still learning the "oh, you don't know what you really want" technique. There was a brief glance at the other side of the counter, with the appropriately discouraged expression about the choices in the price range on THIS side of the counter, but I knew what I wanted and how much I wanted to spend. I smiled nicely, and shook my head, and again indicated the cameras in front of us. He gave up the higher pricetag sell quickly.

My old camera had a feature on the top that let you choose shutter speed or type of photo situation -- night, action, outdoor portrait, etc. I like that feature because you don't have to access fourteen menus to find the one setting you want, figure out you're wrong, and have to go back fourteen more to correct it. I need simple; I have Thomas already.

The Canon cameras I had to choose from did not have this certain feature, except for one model, but it still didn't have the one setting I need: ACTION.

"Oh," Spensir said, sorrowfully. "These don't have that feature anymore. This other brand here, on this side over here, might have something like that feature..."

Really. Huh. I don't think so, Spensir.

At about this point Hubby and Son approach, having completed the Grand Tour at a healthy clip, which is Thomas's only speed. A demo display on a flat screen nearby kept Thomas intrigued for a few minutes (he immediately found the button to fast forward through the options to the one clip he liked, and he proceeded to play that five or six times at a rapid pace), so Matt and I quickly discussed the pros and cons of the one Canon camera model most likely to fit our needs and budget.

We decided it was close enough, and to buy it.

I took Thomas off on another whirlwind tour, and Matt waited while Spensir went through multiple locked cabinets in search of the camera we were ready to plunk $150 down for... I bet you can guess what happened next.

No, Thomas didn't knock over a flat screen TV.

No, Thomas didn't set off a security alarm.

No, Thomas didn't dash off and access the Home Shopping Network on an unguarded computer.

(But good guesses!)

Matt found me in Children's Movies and said, "They're out of stock."

Options:

1) Go for another camera, and increase the likelihood of all the above-named disasters to occur while we decide on Plan B.

2) Find out when the camera we want comes in stock again.

3) Purchase said camera at another Big Box store.

We used the gift card to get a memory stick and went with a combo of 2 and 3... We found out when they'd be getting more stock ("Um... I think I have 8 coming on Tuesday," our salesdude said, doubtfully, when asked.) and then I ran into WalMa -- oops, a Big Box store  -- and checked their camera department, too. (They were out of stock, but they had helpfully applied stickers to the price area below each model that they DIDN'T have. What a concept!)

I won't have a camera for Easter, but it's not that big of a deal. The grandparents all have them, and Easter around here is pretty laid-back and mellow. No taffeta dresses, no little vested suits... I can snap the kids in their playclothes anytime. LOL

Poor Spensir will spend another six or seven hours hoping for someone else to wander into his little spiderweb area, and that they will want to shop from the other side of the counter. I don't know if the employees work on straight commission or if they are just highly monitored to make contact with any customer in 3.4 seconds or less... but I always hate to take their time and then not make a purchase. We will be buying a camera -- soon, and probably from this particular Best Buy -- but the look on poor Spensir's face as we walked away, camera-less, was painfully glum.

You'd think, with all that access to state of the art electronics and stuff, that they'd have a system in place to let you know at a glance what you have in stock, wouldn't you? Or maybe have -- I don't know -- a sticker on the table next to the models you DON'T have in stock? Huh. That might be kind of smart, wouldn't you think?

One small warning: If I open the paper tomorrow morning and that camera is on sale or in any way in the sales circular, though, let me tell you right now: watch out! Mamabear is gonna roar and gnash her teeth something awful! And I'll bring Thomas along, too!

Spin-off Piece from "Things I Don't Get"

Alright, I must be on Idiot Alert or something. Everywhere I go, I see stupid people. This morning, for instance, driving my kids to school in the Mommyvan, some woman in a big ol' SUV nearly broadsided me --in my lane-- because she was TEXTING while driving. What the ????

This gal was lucky I don't make the laws in California, because that cute little move -- texting while operating a moving vehicle -- would have netted her at least one DIMWIT point.

Here's how my DIMWIT system works. DIMWIT stands for Driver Is Moron With Idiotic Tendencies. Each idiotic move would earn you one point, which would be a large suction-type flag attached to your car. It would be non-removable, like those clamps they put on clothes in high-end stores, or on the tops of liquor bottles. The flag would be an alert system for other drivers to watch out, this driver is bound to do something stupid. If there is more than one flag, that tells you they are not only bound to do it, but they might do it  right in front of you. At five flags, the car is painted a hideous day-glo orange, with florescent paint.

Idiot moves would include, but not be limited to:

*Texting while driving.

*Holding phone up to head with one hand and pulling on seatbelt with the other, while pulling into traffic in front of a school. (And other similar no-hands situations.)

*Reaching down to the floorboard to find an iPod, cell phone, or other device while moving forward at any speed.

*Driving while trying to drink hot coffee out of an open mug.

*Feel free to add your own Idiot Moves here: _____________________________________.

Since the idiot drivers are too many to count by traditional police/CHP measures, we fellow drivers could award the points. It's sort of like a citizen's arrest... Each car would be equipped with a button on the dash that allows a photo to be taken in one of eight directions, capturing the idiot driver in action. If the driver is on your passenger side, slightly in front of you, you'd press the button on the corresponding spot, similar to 2 o'clock on a clock face. The moron is behind you? Push 6 o'clock. See? Now the information is sent to the Idiot Recognition System (IRS) and a Flag Patrol is dispatched to deal with the DIMWIT system.

I swear this could work!! What do you think?

Frustration

I have several articles/postings that I have written in my head, but I haven't posted here because I am stuck. It's not writer's block, it's more of a rock and hard place stuck -- damned if I do, damned if I don't.

One situation is Thomas's schooling. I want to be open and up front here, but I have to be careful not to "pee in my own bathwater," as the saying goes. (It may be just my own saying, but it says it pretty doggone perfectly, doesn't it?) I have some things up in the air, and I don't want them to get knocked down... so I am waiting for real news to report, instead of what I hope to happen.

Another situation also stems from school, but I spent the morning writing a letter to the principal to express my concerns. I'll wait and see what happens with that one, too.

The third is a constant: Not enough time to do all the things I need to do, let alone what I want to do. I could go on for PAGES about that one, but I'd be adding to my stress about time by using my time to do that!!! Argh.If I could clone myself and run errands, go for a walk, write here, and take a nap... I'd be superhuman, and probably wouldn't need the nap. Sigh...

Finally, as I was juggling my to do list to see what HAD to happen vs. what I'd LIKE to happen, I got a call from my daughter's teacher today about the guinea pig... apparently Emily the guinea pig is not doing well, as in she may not make it through the school day. Would I come get her? Of course I went right away and got her, and now her cage is on the floor in front of me and she's barely breathing, laying on her side in her soft bedding fluff. We may be having a guinea pig funeral this afternoon, and grieving the loss of a sweet little classroom pet.

Math Vs. Muffin Tops

I hate math.

No, that's not strong enough... what's stronger than hate? Abhor? Detest? Hate plus? Whatever it is, put it in the sentence and know it is heartfelt.

Okay, now understand how ridiculous and ironic it is that I am offically a Weight Watchers member, as of last night. They are the sensible weight loss people, where you can eat real food instead of brand name, artificial stuff that I'm most likely allergic to, anyway... but they do this little thing they call POINTS, and I hate to tell you this, but it's MATH in disguise. There's counting, and calculations, and SUBTRACTION, and a sort of slide rule thingy that gives you a value to add into another column, and measuring... Hello? ALL MATH!!

You figure out how much you weigh, then if you are a man or woman, then your age, height, and activity level. That goes into a scoresheet (something like tax form) and gives you a magic number we'll call your POINTS target. (Because that's what they call it.)

Now you look up foods and their point value, and start subtracting from your target number until you hit 0.

There's also some 35 bonus points we're allowed a week, and our leader warned us newbies that we need to use 'em or lose 'em! They won't roll over or accumulate! She also referred to them as our "Happy-Fun" Points, which I like... Don't they sound perky?

Now, I know what I'm supposed to do to not gain weight or to lose weight. All the weight loss books in the world can be summed up in five words: Eat less and move more. But I realized I needed accountability. I needed to have someone else see the numbers on the scale. I needed to be completely honest with myself and not go conveniently blind about my food choices, like when I found the bar of chocolate and reasoned no one saw me eat it, so it doesn't count, right? I needed reinforcements, and I needed to have dollars hanging over my head to push me into having willpower... because my now-40-year-old muffin top was threatening to take over and become a full-fledged muffin if I didn't do something NOW.

The meeting itself was funny. There were two gals setting up, and doing the weigh-ins, and greeting people like old friends. One got up front to give the talk, and she was a hoot... there was a whole discussion about things that might waylay us in the upcoming weeks, and she brought up Girl Scout cookies. An audible groan went across the room -- "Oh, God, is it cookie time?" -- and our leader did a double take. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I didn't bring any... so sit down, sit down!" (Later, when I admitted I was a Girl Scout leader, and did, in fact, have cookies, the WW leader looked dead serious, leaned forward confidentially and asked me in a psuedo-hushed voice, "In your car? HERE? Right NOW?")

I signed up for the monthly plan, and got the basic materials to get me through a week. There's a lot of nutrition wisdom in the little pages, and I know I'm going to see results (the only math I like, really-- seeing smaller numbers on the scale!) because I'm going to be making better choices.

I just wish there was a non-math way to subtract muffin tops from minivan moms... sigh...

Worry: Mom's Middle Name

I'm in a frustrating position right now... I have a topic I want to talk about, but I feel like I need to be careful...

My son is in Special Education, because he has autism. He was diagnosed early and went to the county's special day program preschool, then to the Special Day Class for kindergarten and first grade. Next year he needs to change campuses (all our schools are dedicated campuses, so it's K-1 on one campus, 2-3 on another, and 4-5 on the third. They then go to middle school for 6,7, and 8 and finish up at the high school for 9-12.) and because of this he'll be changing teachers, aides, classmates, everything.

If this weren't stressful enough, the upcoming class is MUCH more structured and educationally-based than the current one, and not anywhere near as nurturing and supportive. The new teacher has "high expectations" of her kids, and she "gets results," as I heard over and over again. What does that mean? The kids grow and blossom under her, or the test scores go up?

Now, I realize that kids grow and the expectations change as they get older. What is appropriate in kindergarten is no longer appropriate in third grade, and what's okay in fifth won't fly in eighth. I get that. Having structure is not a bad thing, nor is having a class that has high expectations, educationally.

I just don't know if this particular class is a good fit for my son.

Observing the class today made me anxious and teary. I couldn't see my sweet little boy adapting to being in his seat most of the day, or having so many demands placed on him. He is intensely physical and kinetic, and given to bursts of vocalizations like humming or singing. He responds to praise, goals, and positive reinforcements... and they need to be immediate, not after ten stickers on a chart. When I tried to imagine Thomas in this setting I could see him become anxious and depressed, and resistant to school; I could see the light go out of his bright blue eyes, and the spring go out of his step.

Our other possiblity is a specialized school for kids with autism, but there are some concerns about that option, too. The school is small, and the directors and staff make sure there's a good fit -- both of the school for the child, and the child for the school. We looked in last year and there was one space available in my son's age level, and it wasn't going to stay available for long... I have a call in to them this week, but I haven't heard back yet, so I don't even know if there's room at the inn, so to speak. The school is in a town just south of where we live, so it would mean a commute to and from... And there's the cost, which may be covered by the school district, but which still makes my stomach drop each time I consider it: $37,000 a year.

Right now I kind of feel like my choices are death by fire, or by drowning...

My best friend encouraged me to not worry about it, since I don't have all the pieces together yet, anyway. Take it one step at a time, and deal with it when you have everything in front of you... But I'm a mom, and I can't help worrying...

Are We Sure Today Wasn't a Monday?

To Do List for Tuesday, February 17

(Not neccessarily in order.)

--Call orthodontist re: Megan's lost bite plate. Do we need to get a new one? When? How much is that puppy gonna cost?

--Call Thomas's next school and arrange an observation/interview type deal with the Special Day Class and teacher.

--Call the specialized autism school and see if they 1)have room for Thomas; 2)think he's a good fit for their school; 3)think it's a good program for Thomas.

--Add IEP to calendar: March 12.

--Return guinea pig to the fourth grade classroom. (Abandon idea if it's raining as hard as it is right now. She can hang out here another day or so...)

--Make dinner so that we can attend Parent/Teacher conference for Thomas at 4:30.

--Confirm babysitter for 4:00 so we can attend P/T conference.

--Minimum day schedule; both kids get out an hour earlier than usual. (REMEMBER: ALL WEEK, due to the conferences.)

--Leave for school twenty minutes early so I can do Rainy Day Indoor Recess for the arriving kids.

--Lunch will be fifteen minutes earlier and fifteen minutes longer due to rainy and minimum schedule colliding. Also, have to take the boy immediately after signing out...

--Laundry: A load a day, that's all we ask.

--Run dishwasher. Empty. Put away. Reload.

--Make appointment to go to the chiropractor before my "birthday adjustment" runs out.

--Ask Megan's teacher about payment for upcoming overnight field trip. We have no paperwork? Is it supposed to be $30? $35? Made out to the school, the teacher, ???

--Outfits for field trip: dresses and aprons and some sort of shawl thing for each of us. (Hit Goodwill... when?)

--Bunko this Friday night... get gift.

--Update agent search.

--Post on PNN.

--Collapse in exhaustion.

 

Octuplet Outrage

There've been a lot of postings about the woman who recently gave birth to 8 babies in SoCA. The ethics, the medical interventions, the expense, the psychological state of the (now) mother of 14... it is just too juicy to leave alone. I added my two cents to a few articles here on PNN, and then went on an errand. While driving along, it occured to me why this sounds so wrong: This woman is not a mother so much as she's one of those unfortunate pet hoarders, the universal Cat Woman who lived down the street and whose house smelled of ammonia and worse. She's not having children, she's amassing a collection...

The Cruds

Don't you hate it when you feel like crud, but you aren't sick enough to really count?

I'm not running a fever, or if I am it's too low to notice. (I am normally very subnormal -- HEY! I heard that snicker!! -- and have probably had a true fever less than a dozen times in my life. When I have been really, really sick -- medical intervention sick -- I topped out at just under 100 degrees. It's funny to watch the nurses' and doctors' faces: What?! But the lab results say... and yet...) My only real symptoms this week are a general achiness, especially in my joints and my head, and now, the crowning glory, in my eyes, too. So on top of feeling like crud I get no pleasure at all out of reading, skimming around the 'net, writing, or just watching crummy TV.

That's just not fair.

I'M GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE OLD LADIES...

Yesterday I went shopping, and I realized something important: I am having a hard time keeping looks off my face when in public.

I had two Christening gifts to shop for, and a longtime friend visiting for the day, so of course we headed to Target. We hit the toy aisles first, just looking around to see what we could find. As we passed one aisle, a little girl of about 7 or 8 wandered out of the end, pausing to look at one of those "Everything Clearance!" end caps. Her little sister -- maybe 4 or 5 years old -- was still in the aisle, about five feet in. A man approached from a couple of departments over and began berating the 7 year old for leaving her sister. He used a conversational, reasoning tone, like he was using this breach in ettiquette as a teachable moment. "What were you thinking? Are you so selfish that you couldn't stay with your sister for five minutes while I looked for what I needed? What a terrible thing to do!"

I stopped in my tracks, horrified. My mouth was hanging open, all the better to let the unsaid "What the HELL?!" fall out.

This was their father, and he'd left both girls so he could go look at something he needed, and his 7 year old was selfish?!

My friend grabbed my arm and urged me to continue on. While (in my opinion) he was definitely psychologically harming her, the man wasn't physically harming his kid, and he was clearly not going to listen to some random shopper... but good God, I wanted to haul him against a rack and give him a good tongue lashing!!

Fifteen minutes later we were in the baby aisle, and I was deciding between some sweet stuffed animals for infants. A very, very young mother pushed a cart into the aisle with her very, very young infant in a carseat. A very, very bored looking young man followed her, his slack face and weary body language almost laughably resistant to the whole department. Then the mom asked her friend, "So, Bobby, do you think I should start feeding my baby baby food?"

Again I stopped in my tracks, horrified. Again, the open mouth and the unsaid "WHAT THE HELL??!"

How would he know? Why would he care? Why didn't she ask the baby's doctor about feeding the baby? This was a very, very, very young baby, nowhere near the baby food age yet. Oh. My. God.

Apparently I did not do a very good job of hiding my "What the HELL?!" thoughts, what with stopping in my tracks and letting my mouth hang open right there in the middle of the aisle, because my friend again grabbed my arm and pulled me to another aisle.

Remarking on other people's parenting is one of those no-no's, but I may start crossing the line soon. I even have a plan, mwhahahaha....

On Yahoo the other day I read a piece about grown men who dress up as superheroes and go out to fight crime. I could SOOO do that... I'd dress in a Mary Poppins outfit and add a cape (sensible, of course) and carry business cards that read, "YOU'RE ON TIME OUT, MISTER/MISSY! CHECK INTO PARENTING CLASSES AT YOUR EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY! signed, MommyAtLarge"

 

The Challenge of ADHD -- Kids, Parents, and Schools

Lately there has been a lot of news coverage of Michael Phelps, the mega-gold-medal winner in the Summer Olympics. In addition to being an amazing athlete (and built like a dolphin!) the Phelps have disclosed that Michael has dealt with ADHD all his life. Swimming gave him an outlet to focus his intensity; before discovering this godsend, they tried medications, with varying results. Most families with ADHD are standing up cheering when we see someone like Michael succeed. We know something of what he and his family have been through to get him to that podium, and his smile up there gives us the hope that someday our children will have great "overcoming" stories of their own. 

I have two children with ADHD, and we are always looking for ways to help them deal with their "symptoms." They present differently, so there are different things that work with each.

One child was struggling in school because it was hard to focus. She was very bright, so the learning  itself wasn't that much of an issue... it was the classroom work and the homework that nearly did us all in! There were numerous trips to the pencil sharpener, dropped papers and lost homework. There were constant reminders not to sing, hum, or talk during the teachers' instruction time. Clearly, most of these things annoyed the adults in her life more than anyone else...but nothing we tried seemed to make an impact. (Oh, and believe me, there were plenty of strategies tried and abandoned!) When her behaviors started to impact her social skills -- she was annoying her peers, so they withdrew from her -- we saw her self esteem take a nose dive.

We got her on a time-release medication, and within a week we got a thank you note from her teacher. (Really... true story.) She had -- and still has -- a lot of bad habits that she's had to work to overcome, but she's more able to fit in a classroom and complete the work she needs to master to move on to the next levels...

We also got her involved in some specialized activities -- singing and Taekwondo, two things she is naturally good at and is continuing to learn as she grows. They emphasize self control, taking direction, and waiting turns. They also are possible because of the medication...for her, they are not a replacement for the medication... at least not yet.

The other child was busier than a herd of monkeys on Tall Lattes. He was impulsive to the point of dangerous... and expensive. (Do you know how much a "false alarm" fire truck call is, when your child pulls the alarm at WalMart on Memorial Day weekend? Ten thousand dollars. I repeat, $10,000.00. Thank God the manager was able to disarm the alarm before the trucks were called!!)

For this child, his ultra-busyness made learning impossible. He couldn't sit still to gather the information, and he prevented others around him from being able to learn, too. Again, medication helped tremendously... in fact, within two weeks of being on Ritalin, Thomas was finally potty-trained... at five and a quarter years old. He was finally able to be still long enough to recognize the signs and act on them.

I know other families that have tried all manner of things to manage their children's symptoms, with varying degrees of success. Medication isn't for everyone... I am not trying to push that option, merely reporting our own story. Specialized activities may help others... if a family has the time, money, and other resources in place to get their child to and from the activity. There are many different approaches to handling ADHD as there are children and adults dealing with the condition.

Schools can be great at helping families deal with learning differences, or they can be one of the biggest obstacles. Mrs. Phelps works as a vice principal of a school... can you imagine how welcoming and flexible she is, having personally dealt with a child who struggled with the issues related to ADHD?

A friend's middle-schooler is very intelligent, very funny, and very much prone to seeking attention. She is also pretty seriously impaired, socially. She struggles with impulsive behaviors and blurts out things that make her peers avoid her. In class settings she has a hard time staying on task, or holding her tongue... so she ends up in trouble (another alienating thing) or behind (once again, another thing for her peers to shun her about). When her mother has attempted to work with various teachers, she's met with everything from outright refusal ("She's doing fine, see in this class, here?" - Never mind all the OTHER classes that she's NOT doing fine in...) to a condescending remark or two about parenting, scheduling, and discipline. She has also had a few teachers try very hard to work with her, identifying the child's learning strengths and playing into them to give her a success to build on...

ADHD is a learning difference, to put it in today's PC language. It can be a supreme challenge to parent or teach these children, and I say that in the most loving way possible.

They also struggle with challenges, and they feel different enough already without failing socially or educationally. There's no one way to address ADHD, and no one tip to handle a child in classroom settings, but there are some good ideas that every teacher and parent could learn to help ease this journey.

1) Find out the child's strengths and build upon them whenever possible. Does the child draw, sing, or run really well? Praise that!

2) Kids with ADHD are often visual or kinetic learners. Can they tap their knee while learning to spell, or mastering multiplication facts? Can the class assignments be available online, so the child is able to access them at home, when they realize they didn't write down which pages they need to read in history?

3) It's easier to make adjustments early on... so don't wait for oral grade week to suddenly discover that Johnny has not turned in any homeowork assignments for the last ten weeks. (This is for teachers and parents... ) Sometimes a weekly back-and-forth note works to keep the parents, student, and teacher all on the same page.

4) In preschool the teachers automatically assist the social interactions to give the children skills. Many kids with ADHD are shaky on these skills, and need some gentle tapping into place. When a child makes a social gaffe, it can be helpful to (kindly and respectfully) pull them aside and walk them through an appropriate response. This may also need to happen with the children who interact with the ADHD'er. (Example: "I think Johnny was trying to be funny when he said that. Can you tell him that you don't like being called that? Now, Johnny, please respect Susie when she says she doesn't like that.")

5) Give the benefit of the doubt whenever possible. This goes in every direction... Toward the teachers, who manage 20, 30, or 150 kids a day. Toward the parents, who have been dealing with the child 24/7 for years and years and years. Toward the kids themselves, who after all, didn't ask to have an alphabet soup diagnosis thrust upon them. Very few of the above are going to be "experts" about ADHD... Everyone can stand to learn something.

Finally, never give up on a child with ADHD. That impulsive, risk-taking, dreamy, intense, super-bright ball of energy will succeed.

Progressive Dinner

Have you ever been to a progressive dinner? That's where you have appetizers at one house, then soup at another, and salad at another, and the main course and dessert at two more stops.

Matt and his friends began this tradition twenty three years ago, while they were still in high school. They've kept it up every year, trading hosting duties, introducing new boyfriends and girlfriends (some of whom turned into husbands and wives), and sharing stories of their lives... and eagerly looking forward to the Secret Santa gift exchange after dessert. (That's where you bring a wrapped gift and take turns picking out presents, one by one, either drawing from the pile or stealing an already-chosen gift.)

A few things have changed. Nowadays we have fewer stops, and we begin a little earlier than the first few years. The secret Santa gift has gone up a bit in cost -- it's now about $20 -- and it's gone from goofy gifts to heartwarming household decor. (That would be the influence of several of the wives, I think!)

Most of the original gang still shows up every year, and we spend the evening sharing stories about our kids. The food is great, but the company is even better, and we always come home laughing and full of updates on everyone's lives.

This year Doris and Mladin hosted appetizers in Santa Rosa, and we traveled to Treeci and George's house for the next two courses: soup, hosted by Treeci and George, and salad, hosted by Cari and Matt. Then we drove to Windsor, just down the street from our house, and had dinner hosted by Amy and Darin, and dessert, hosted by Tim and Jill. Matt and I got a get out of hosting free card, as did Rommel (whose wife Wynne stayed home in the Bay Area with their three little ones). Julie and Layne were sick, and Derek and Tammy, Ann, Anmarie and Scott couldn't make it, either...

Now it's officially Christmas-- and I have the most darling Secret Santa snowman star pillow to prove it!

 

MIX IT UP!

I have a few recipes that I use all the time, and a few that get pulled out for special occasions. One special book comes out each November without fail, as I prepare for Christmas: The Perfect Mix.

Bean soup mix is a Christmas favorite (especially at the kids' schools, where yard duties, office staff, and the janitors are touched to be remembered) and cookie mixes are also very popular. They are easy to make, and easy to give, but still thoughtful...

My reasoning on the mixes is simple: you say "Christmas," and you want to add "cookies." Santa gets them on Christmas Eve, and kitchens everywhere are firing up to make the family's favorites. Everyone gets cookies during the holidays, but how many can you reasonably eat?

Plus, when am I going to cook all the cookies I'd need to make to give to all the loved people in our lives? I'd need to give up a whole month's worth of sleep to make just half the batches!! Then they'd need to get delivered before the crispy ones turned soft, and the soft ones crispy... oh, the stress!!!

With the mixes, the recipients can make the cookies in their own time, and enjoy them in the cold/wet/dreary months to come.

This year we made oatmeal with raisins, plain oatmeal, chocolate chip, and snickerdoodle mixes. They are simple, but they are made and delivered with love... and a modicum of sanity!

Merry Christmas!

Holidays and their foods

Ahhhh... Another successful Thanksgiving is behind us, with the photo at the left all that's left of the wonderful turkey we enjoyed. :)

We did the ultra traditional meal, with mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole and crescent rolls alongside the golden brown turkey. Then we feasted on lemon meringue pie and carrot pie (like pumpkin pie, only made with carrots -- a specialty of my mother in law) to round out the meal. Yummmm.

The cranberry sauce is extra special homemade, and it's made cranberry converts of my father in law and husband. To make it, you wash a 12-oz. bag of cranberries, sorting out the unripe or mushy ones. Put the clean cranberries in a pot with 1 1/2 cups sugar, 3/4 cup orange juice, and 1/2 cup port wine. Bring to a boil and then turn the heat down to simmer, uncover, for 30 minutes or until the cranberries become soft and popping and mixture is slightly thickened. (It will continue to thicken as it cools.) Now stir in 2 teaspoons grated orange peel.

More than anything else, this dish says Thanksgiving to us. (For Christmas I make my Grandma Montgomery's cranberry salad, with marshmallows, whipped cream, and pineapple. Yum!)

What special side dish do you HAVE to have on the table for it to be Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter?

LISTS

Is there anything more satisfying than crossing something off of a to-do list?

Yes.

I just haven't found it.

Actually, adding something that you've already done that wasn't on the list and then crossing it out is highly satisfying. Like most moms, my to-do list is a cross between the sublime and the ridiculous. Take laundry, for example. When is it done? NEVER. So yeah, I have laundry on my list, but then I break it down into "done chunks" that I can cross off so that I can feel like something is getting done. (I draw a circle, then cross an "x" over the circle. Now each pie wedge stands for a step: wash, dry, fold, put away.)

My list this week includes getting ready for a weekend away with my wonderful hubby and our best friends; editor work (deadline approaching on the December magazine); Girl Scout Nuts; regular housework and then someone-else-will-stay-here housework; Thanksgiving next week; and the eternal continuation of Christmas prep. Of course, that is the simplified version of my life... but I'm sure if you think about your list you'll know what tediousness I'm leaving off... like laundry, dishes, groceries, meal planning and prep and, and, and...

I'm going to add blogging to my list so I can cross it off now.

The Play

Megan and I got to travel to Narnia this weekend, courtesy of the Sixth Street Playhouse in Santa Rosa.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is one of my favorite stories so I was prepared to like it, but I came away loving the adaptation! The actors and actresses did an amazing job bringing the characters to life -- and they were only a few years older than Megan, herself!

We had a chance to participate in a play this summer, so I have an inkling of the amount of work and organization that went into such a big production. The costumes, set, and sheer number of scenes impressed me; the children's lines so perfectly memorized amazed me; the professionalism was astonishing!!

At the end, the education director came on stage to say that there was room for other students, if our children were interested. Megan looked up at me, her eyes alight, and said, "I want to do that, Mommy!"

She's got the performing bug, alright... and someday I'm sure she'll be up on stage, and a little girl in the audience will turn to her mother and say, "I want to do that, Mommy!"

Elves' Workshop

This weekend is one of my favorite Girl Scout activities: Elves' Workshop!

It's a day devoted to crafts, where girls get to go from table to table and do different craft activities put on by each troop. The projects can be gifts, ornaments for the family tree, or just keepsakes -- it's up to each girl. Each troop hosts a table and provides a craft for up to 100 girls, from Daisies-- kindergarteners -- on up thru high school. There are snacks, and often a visit from Santa, too -- it's very fun!

Our 3rd grade Brownies LOVE to do crafts. We pick ours the minute we get the date for the Workshop -- this year we're making foam mitten ornaments with little foam decorations on them -- and then we order a few other crafts just for our troop to do for activities, too.

In the picture above, we are making three crafts for our meeting at my house -- a mini Elves' Workshop, a little appetizer for the main course to come. One was a little stocking scene, with stockings hanging on the mantel; one was a mitten wreath; and one was a beaded keychain. The girls put the names of their families on the stockings, and several had designated the keychain as a gift for someone extra special in their lives... (no, not their moms -- their teachers! LOL!)

I love to see the artistic expression the girls show, and I love the looks on their faces when they are pleased with a project... The glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes make them look just like little elves!

Our Kind of Place

Matt and I went out to dinner last night at a very chic, very Wine Country restaurant. They are a "wine bar," so they focus on wine... and I don't drink wine. (Well, without 7-Up. I am more of a Bartles and James kind of gal, or a Mai Tai mama.) They didn't have dinners, either... just sort of shared appetizery things.

I get that that is fun and chic and trendy. I just was hungry. And not for stuff that took three lines to say what was in it. (Like: Mushroom gnocchi with a brown butter basalmic glaze, served with a shallot and chestnut. What? Also, when I have shrimp, I prefer it not still have shells and legs when it arrives on the table. That may be just me, but there you go.)

So we ordered three appetizers and Matt ordered a flight of wines (three glasses with small tastes of different wines for the experience and comparison value, I'm told) and I ordered the sweetest dessert wine on the menu. (It was adorable. Teeny tiny doll-sized glass on a regular-sized stem. So cute!)

The food was really, really good. It just wasn't ... us.

After dinner we ran an errand and then we went to Johnny Garlic's in Windsor for some "real" food. (And a drink.)

Our waitress started to tell us the specials of the day, but we let her know we'd already eaten "dinner" and were just going to have an appetizer -- Johnny Garlic's style, hearty and filling -- and dessert. She didn't even blink, just merrily brought us the yummy foccacia bread and oil, our Hurricanes, and then our wonderful beloved bruchetta. (It was heaven!) We got the breath mint pie for dessert and sighed in happiness... THIS is food. THIS is US.

We talked about how the first place just wasn't us, and how Johnny Garlic's somehow WAS, and tried to figure out what that says about us... I don't know. I know we aren't trendy, and we aren't chic. What are we?

I guess it doesn't matter. At the end of the evening, we were happy.

And full.

And together.

And isn't that what is important?

Things I Don't "Get"

There are several things I don't "get," as in, what the heck?! They rattle around in my brain like those last few popcorn kernels that never seem to pop in a microwave bag... which, come to think of it, I don't get, either. Here's a sampling of today's thoughts:

I DON'T GET:

* Moms who drop off their kids at school while wearing slept-in pajamas and bedhead hair...EVERY DAY.

* School nurses who don't like kids. (Well, people, really, but children especially.)

* People on state aide having state-of-the-art cell phones with cameras, MP3 players, and customized, purchased ring tones. (My phone is ready to be retired to a museum as a period piece, circa 1998. It barely functions as a phone, let alone do any extras.)

* The sizing system at Starbucks.

* How trying to eat less/make better choices  makes you think about food CONSTANTLY.

* How you can get seven things happening on the same Saturday after ten weekends with nothing but "do laundry" on the calendar.

* Why Easter dresses are made out of rustle-y taffeta and scratchy lace when they are meant to be worn quietly to church. Also, why they are sleeveless when Easter is traditionally chilly and windy.

* Weather forecasters getting excited about weather of any kind. Yes, it's snow/rain/wind/cold/hot/stormy. That's what weather IS. Get over it.

* Netflix getting a movie less than fifteen hours after my letter carrier has put it in their jeep, but a check taking two weeks to get here.

* Why ranting feels so doggone good.

I'm sure there's more... feel free to add your personal "Don't Get" below!

 

Deal or No Deal, or How to Use WW Points

In my quest to slow down the Now-I'm-40-Muffin-Top Syndrome, I recently joined Weight Watchers. The system is easy enough (albeit thinly disguised math) and based on solid nutrition and exercise habits, so it seemed a good choice for me. I was prepared to make some changes in my eating habits, because clearly my system of eating what I wanted, when I wanted, calories be damned, wasn't working. (See Now-I'm-40-Muffin-Top Syndrome, above.) What I wasn't prepared for was the despair over using up my points -- especially my bonus weekly points! I thought I could totally stay within my alloted points and splurge on a few cookies here and there, not have to slide points over for yogurt or granola bars... Boy, was I wrong!

I get 22 points a day, plus 35 a week, to use as I see fit. The first day I tried their filling methiod, and had a packet of oatmeal for 3 points. I used up 2 more points on my 1 cup of 1% milk for my coffee (probably half or even a third of what I usually use) but I was sort of virtuous feeling -- watch the weight slide off, people! Look at me go! An hour later I was RAVENOUS, which is my typical response to eating oatmeal for breakfast. (Protein works much better for me.)I began fantasizing about what I could eat, and looking up the points... Good God, that was depressing! All the foods I like were a kajillion points!! WW suggest lots of filling foods, good for you foods like veggies and fruits, which are low in points and high in fiber... I don't care for fruit unless it's associated with a bread product -- for instance, apple pie, or blueberry muffins, or strawberry shortcake. (Sadly-- shockingly! -- the bread product makes the whole being good thing sort of not good anymore... who knew?) The first day I dutifully thawed out a cup and a half of strawberries (1 point) and a cup of blueberries (1 point), and forced myself to consume them. I used a serving of yogurt for the strawberries, but it was fruited, not plain, so it was 4 points. That was my Don't Gnaw Open a Package of Girl Scout Cookies mid-morning snack, which got me through to my lunch of a Smart Ones Ravioli Florentine meal -- 5 points. I couldn't bring myself to eat the blueberries plain, so for my mid-afternoon snack I crumbled up a package of crispy granola bars over them, and realized later that that added another 4 points. So now I've used up 10 points on snacks, and it was STUFF I DIDN'T EVEN WANT!! Arghh! By now I was smack dab in the middle of a caffeine shortage headache, and I downed a Coke -- 3 points. We'd planned dinner already, so I figured out my serving and sadly wrote in my points -- 8. (Olive and cheese Boboli, half a shell.)

Day one total: 31 points used.

Day one, and I've already gone in the hole and tapped the bonus points.

Sigh...

But about Day Four it dawned on me that the bonus points were sort of like the dollar amounts on Deal or No Deal. Everyone groans when the amount is high -- 100,000, say, or 250,000, but if those get turned over, the million still is in play. The penny is nice to get out of the way, and so are the other low amounts, but if you have a nice high amount in your chosen briefcase, you will have to turn over the other high amounts to get to that prize! The bonus points can't be saved, so I have to cross them off, anyway... it's OKAY to cross them off, it's not a sign of failure and/or rampant gluttony. (Well, sometimes....!)

I am making better choices these days, and learning little tricks as I go. Eating more fruits and veggies has made me crave them more, and drinking more water makes me thirsty for water more often! I swapped out an egg for the oatmeal and not only saved a point per meal, but I'm not frantic with hunger at 9 AM, either... so that's another 5 points I'm not throwing after the useless 3! And you know what? That blueberry-granola bar crumble was really good... and good for me, to boot! And it's only 5 points! LOL

Instant Fix

Have you ever taken a couple of Tylenol for a bad headache and then waited impatiently for the pain to go away? "Dang it, and I took the extra strength, at least fifteen minutes ago!!"

Doh!

I find it funny (in a sad, shake-my-head sort of way) that people expect the new president to be able to turn around every bad thing that is going on in our country simply by raising one hand and repeating an oath. Things take time, and effort, and more time.

Oh, and a couple of Tylenol probably wouldn't hurt, either.

History and the Collective Memory

Yesterday there was a "lock-down" drill at the middle school where my best friend teaches. This prompted a discussion in her sixth grade class about why a lock-down might happen... "Why would someone want to hurt us?"

In explaining the situations that might warrant a lock-down, my friend explained bullying (an ongoing topic in middle schools these days) and the warped desire of someone who has felt bullied to take revenge. She finished by adding, "Like Columbine."

There was a hush in the room, with the chirp of crickets. "What is Columbine?"

What is Columbine? Wasn't that a defining moment in our collective memory? Sure, the 1999 event happened when these students were 2, but surely the repercussions have lingered, and the reference is a benchmark in school violence... isn't it?

When I went to Japan to cover the Goodwill Series (baseball) a few years ago, I traveled with high school aged young men. We had an earthquake one morning, and no one noticed. (It was just over 5 on the Richter Scale.) I was talking to a few boys and I mentioned the Loma Prieta quake, from 1989. The silence was deafening: "The what?" I had to break it down to "the quake during the World Series" before I got a glimmer of recognition... they were too young to remember the event, themselves, but still...

I ran into similar blank history stares when I mentioned "Victory Gardens" at my editor job last year. (One of the magazines we worked on was a Farm Bureau publication in a very rural county. I thought an article about Victory Gardens, complete with interviews with local elders who remember "putting in and putting up" would be a fun piece.) The entire office stared at me. Some of them were in their 20s, sure, but there were older folks there, too -- some in their late 40s, some in their 50s, and even 60s. None of them knew what I was talking about, even when I gave them referencing high points: World War II, rationing, etc. At the time I remember being stunned, and sort of puzzled as to how I knew about the topic if so many of them didn't... I guess all my reading pays off, is all I can say.

A few months later my sister in law announced her wedding date, and I was the only one who noticed the historical significance of the date. When was it, you ask? November 22. Not ringing a bell? Think Dallas. The Book Depository. The Grassy Knoll. A pink pillbox hat... (Did you get JFK?)

I asked about a few other "biggies," including  June 6th (D-Day), December 7th (Pearl Harbor) and August 6th and 9th (the atomic bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki)... Nothing. I don't consider myself a history buff, but these dates and concepts have stayed with me because they represented something larger than just a moment in time. They seem a shorthand to explain so many complicated ideas, like September 11th...

 

Turning 40 Means Giving Up on 20/20 Vision

I guess I can't blame PNN, exactly... but I noticed when I began articles I had to raise the font to be able to see what I was writing. The little itty bitty letters were just too... tiny. Then I found myself moving the computer back a bit, sliding it an arms' length away on the dining room table to work. Finally I found myself holding a package of risotto at arm's length to read the cooking instructions, and it dawned on me: I need to get my eyes examined.

I called on Monday and they got me in on Friday of that same week. (Either they're really efficient, or no one else was all that worried about eye exams the day after Christmas.) The first gal checked my eyes, and then the doctor did a follow-up, having me read charts and tell her which one looked better, 1 or 2? 2 or 3? 3 or 4? 4 or 1?

At the end the doctor looked at me and said something in doctor-speak, but then kindly translated: I need to have reading glasses for up-close work. 

Since my eyes need the same amount of correction, I can get the over-the-counter reading glasses ("cheaters") with a +1 rating, or I could choose to have a prescription filled. That's a no-brainer -- hand over the over-the-counter puppies and let's get reading, people!

The surprising thing is how well they work... LOL

THIS IS NOT MY OPINION!!

Advertising for positions on Propostions should not be allowed on blog pages -- especially when they are not the opinion of the person who posts the blog!

My ballot has already been turned in, and I have expressed my opinions and descisions in the voting booth -- although I vote absentee, so my "booth" is my dining room table.

I voted with my head and my heart; I gave careful thought to each cantidate and each Propostion, and I gut-checked each choice.

On Proposition 8 I voted NO. I have a brother in law who is in a committed relationship with a wonderful man, and I want them to be able to legally recognize their relationship. Love cannot threaten; their love of each other does not mean they can't love God, or God can't love them. Their love -- or desire to be legally married -- does not threaten my relationship with my husband, nor does it "cheapen" the institute of marriage in my eyes.

Oh, and by the way, anytime I hear someone trying to righteously quote the Bible to prove that God is on their side, I remember a verse about "even Satan can quote scripture." Not to mention the teaching to treat others the way we'd like to be treated, and to attend to the big stick in our own eye before we worry about the dust  motes in our neighbor's...

So now you know how I feel, and how I got there. And why the ads across the top of my pages is offensive to me...

bullies on the playground

I am not a confrontational person by nature. However -- and this is a big however -- I will stand up for myself, my children, or what I think is right.

Yesterday I got into a verbal exchange with someone while I was at work. My new job is being a yard duty on a kindergarten and first grade campus, so I spend a good deal of time "redirecting" children and reminding them to do the right thing. I never expected to have to have that sort of conversation with another adult, but there you go...

Another employee took it upon herself to act as my supervisor, despite both of our knowing she was no such thing. This person didn't suggest so much as order and belittle me, with an aggressive and very confrontational manner... and I called her on it. When she tried to escalate the altercation, I walked away to continue actually watching my charges (I know -- imagine that!) and she followed me to deliver her dressing-down. A direct quote: "I've been here for seven years and you've been here for two weeks, and you think you know everything? Get your head out of your... butt."

The whole thing was surreal, really. Here I am, supervising small children, and there is this woman in my face, hollering at me to "stop yelling at me and listen up, missy." (This was in response to me saying, "Excuse me, I am at work here, and if you want to continue this conversation later in the office, I'd be happy to talk then.")

After my duties were over I went up to talk to someone -- the person I was in dispute with, or a supervisor of some kind -- and the gal had already gone to "report" the incident. She was -- surprise, surprise -- nowhere to be found. I presented my side to the principal and guess what? I'm not in trouble.

1) The other gal is NOT my supervisor.

2) She admitted she had been "possibly unprofessional and may have said some things that were inappropriate." (Uh huh. You got that right.)

3) I was actually doing my job.

4) I was doing my job correctly. In fact, I've had numerous positive comments made on my behalf by parents, teachers, and other staff about what a good job I'm doing.

The lesson here? Don't mess with a gal wearing an orange vest and a whistle around her neck... and especially don't mess with a Mamabear. Oh, and we don't use words like that at school, missy.

BALANCING ACT

I am struggling with balancing these days... not balancing as in defying gravity, but balancing as in managing to do all things and be all things without somehow losing myself in the process.

At work, I'm torn with stress about things at home: laundry to do, homework to oversee, Girl Scout duties to perform. At home, I stress about work that needs to get done, and deadlines to meet: editing, writing, making sure this gets to that person, and that gets to this person. I worry about the strain on my temper, and the sense of never being done, in any arena. I also struggle with denying myself the things I most want to do, because I have to make sacrifices to just barely meet the basic needs of everyone else.

I know I'm not alone. I know millions of people struggle with my same issues... some just manage better than others.

How do you balance everyone's needs with your own desires?

How do you make it worthwhile?

How do you make it work?