We're doing too much.
Well, actually, the boys are doing too much.
Which means I am doing too much.
The boys are doing DI this year, again. The past couple of years I've managed DI but when I started working I realized I simply didn't have enough time for weekly meetings. Each team is required to have at least one appraiser and one volunteer, and out of sheer guilt I signed up to appraise - this is usually a hard role to fill.
The appraiser is a hard role to fill because the appraiser cannot appraise at the same meet their own child is competing at. Well, you can, but then you don't get to see your kids compete. So they give you an alternate assignment - another meet to appraise at. All day. From 7am to whenever it ends, frequently after 5pm.
The other meet date - aside from the one my boys are at - is the same weekend as the play Nick and Nate are doing. I also have the boys that weekend. While I haven't heard back from Steve, I am reasonably sure he will be able to watch the boys and get them to their performances. I can make three of the four. Still, I'll be spending a whole day doing something because of an activity they are a part of.
Today I spent the day training for this day of not-my-activity activity. This isn't even taking into account the day I'll spend at the meet my boys are actually attending.
Oh... and that play. The boys are having a great time and are doing such great jobs. But they parents were asked to volunteer both behind the scenes and ahead of time. I was hoping to lend my hand during the production, but now that I'm not there for Saturday's I can't. This doesn't mean I'm not stressing about being so awkward at finding props (my other assignment) or selling ad space.
It's tough, that play. Because the rehearsals are constantly conflicting with rescheduled basketball games and practices. Those were originally scheduled for Friday and Saturday, but keep getting rescheduled for Sunday and Tuesday due to kindergarten registration and snowstorms.
This week is going to be exceptionally difficult because the band concert that was snowed out is smooshed up against the previously scheduled violin concert, and now we have activities every afternoon this week.
I don't want to do all this. But I guess I didn't quite realize that, at this point at least, if the boys are doing something, I need to do it also. Only I need to know all of the details while the boys only think about it during the moments they are IN the activity.
We'll sign back up for karate in March.
sigh...
Showing posts with label General Insanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label General Insanity. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 03, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Call Me Maybe
I got a new phone.
This new phone replaces my iPhone3, which was an extra one Steve somehow had.
That replaced the other iPhone3 which I had dropped on the driveway and shattered - that one was also a hand-me-down from Steve.
That first iPhone3 replaced another phone - not a smart phone - that I left in the outside mesh pocket of a diaper bag during a heavy rainstorm at Santa's Village.
Before that I had my other cell phone, my first cell phone, purchase in 1999 at the mall. It was a flip phone and I thought it was the coolest thing...
Anyway... this is the first phone I'd purchased since then.
It isn't new, it's used, an iPhone 5. I like that it's used because not only is it less expensive but it makes me feel good to know I'm prolonging the life of a still useful item. People tend to go through cell phones like kleenex these days.
I love it. It's so fast and does so man things my old phone couldn't do. It doesn't just decide to shut down, like my old phone, or quit making sounds, like my old phone.
It's funny how attached I am to it. I think a lot about how technology grows and has morphed into our society. I just don't know the rules anymore.
Nick says he's one of the only 10 year olds who don't have a cell phone.
I'm not inclined to believe him, but I wonder... I want to think that I know what's right for my kids, regardless of what the masses are doing. On the other hand, if he is being denied something that everyone does have or do, then is it really a benefit?
I'm not getting him a cell phone. Not anytime soon. Not until he stops forgetting his completed homework at home or his agenda at school. But at some point, sooner than I'd like, I'm going to have to get him a cell phone. And my life will never be the same....
Maybe when he starts driving...
This new phone replaces my iPhone3, which was an extra one Steve somehow had.
That replaced the other iPhone3 which I had dropped on the driveway and shattered - that one was also a hand-me-down from Steve.
That first iPhone3 replaced another phone - not a smart phone - that I left in the outside mesh pocket of a diaper bag during a heavy rainstorm at Santa's Village.
Before that I had my other cell phone, my first cell phone, purchase in 1999 at the mall. It was a flip phone and I thought it was the coolest thing...
Anyway... this is the first phone I'd purchased since then.
It isn't new, it's used, an iPhone 5. I like that it's used because not only is it less expensive but it makes me feel good to know I'm prolonging the life of a still useful item. People tend to go through cell phones like kleenex these days.
I love it. It's so fast and does so man things my old phone couldn't do. It doesn't just decide to shut down, like my old phone, or quit making sounds, like my old phone.
It's funny how attached I am to it. I think a lot about how technology grows and has morphed into our society. I just don't know the rules anymore.
Nick says he's one of the only 10 year olds who don't have a cell phone.
I'm not inclined to believe him, but I wonder... I want to think that I know what's right for my kids, regardless of what the masses are doing. On the other hand, if he is being denied something that everyone does have or do, then is it really a benefit?
I'm not getting him a cell phone. Not anytime soon. Not until he stops forgetting his completed homework at home or his agenda at school. But at some point, sooner than I'd like, I'm going to have to get him a cell phone. And my life will never be the same....
Maybe when he starts driving...
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Runaway Train
So, last week Nick tried to run away.
We were on line at the grocery store, and Nick said he was excited about screen time, and I mentioned the fact that he had used up his screen time that morning, and also that he'd lost screen time for Sunday afternoon because the week before he threw a fit when I said it was time to turn everything off.
He didn't like that. And after the usual begging and pleading and protesting and expression of discontent, he said he was running away.
A lot of kids say they're running away. I ran away myself once, with my sister. She was angry and said she was leaving. She grabbed a sweatshirt and headed for the door, and I ran out the door with her.
That's me. I'm a rebel of the following sort.
We ran around the cul-de-sac and then went right back to the house, giggling about how everyone would be surprised when we got back. When we burst into the kitchen, the babysitter informed us that our rooms had been rented out.
I figured Nick's announcement was pretty much the same amount of bluster. So I played along.
I told him it would be pretty cold, and he should wear a coat and bring a blanket. I told him we'd miss him.
Then he came into the room and he looked like this:
This is when I started to really worry. Bursts of panic were seeping through the spaces in between my giggles. I needed advice, and I needed it fast. Not knowing what else to do, I posted a statement on facebook. It said Here's a question: one of my kids is running away from home. He has packed a suitcase, has a blanket, his DS, and his Doctor Who stress toy. And he's moments away from walking out the door. How long do I play along with this, and just how do I call his bluff?
I took the above photo and posted that on facebook. I told Nick I needed a picture of him to show the police, in case they came by, so we'd remember what he was wearing...
Then Nick headed out the door.
Nate was freaking out. Nate wanted to go with him, but it was 20 degrees. I said no.
I still figured Nick would make it up the driveway then turn around.
But he got there and kept going down the street.
This is when I really started to panic. Part of me wanted to let him go and get it out of his system, but we live on a busy street, and it was cold. I could follow him to make sure he was safe, but Nate and Andy couldn't be left alone. I could call for backup, but my cell phone was dead dead dead, and by the time I called anyone and explained Nick could be anywhere.
So I turned to Nate and told him to watch Andy while I headed after Nick.
I talked him back to the house, and he took a bath while I congratulated myself on my parenting skills.
Then he got out of the bath and what followed was four hours of yelling, screaming, threatening, tantruming, and tears on all sides.
We lived. We went to the therapist. We got a new plan. But I'm tired and worn out and scared because this is my kid's life and there are no do-over's.
I know this isn't an uncommon feeling. I read this blog entry from one of my favorites - worth a few visits.
How can something like this be so funny and so heart-wrenchingly scary at the same time?
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Saturday, September 27, 2014
How To See Your Doctor
The other day I had an issue come up. A medical issue. A "lady" issue. Something of a sensitive nature. And without going into details, I decided that I should probably make an appointment to see my OB/GYN.
So Friday morning I picked up the phone and called. This wasn't an easy decision to make because I'm not 100% sure where I stand on health insurance, and also any time I take off from work I don't get paid for. Also, I'm trying to do a great job at work so they will hire me, and that doesn't happen when you're in a doctor's waiting room.
When I was a kid, my mom would pick up the phone and dial for the doctor's office, and the doctor would get on the phone. "Hi Fred!" she'd say. "It's Jean. Another one of the kids is complaining of a sore throat." Then our doctor would say, "Probably caught the strep. I'll call in a prescription for that one, and may as well do the other two, also. They'll probably get it sooner or later."
I got the scheduling lady who listened to my brief description and made me an appointment. "With Dr. B. at ten fifty in Derry," she said. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did you say ten fifty? As in ten five zero? In Derry?" And she said,"Yes, ten five zero, ten fifty, in Derry."
And ten I left for work, happy that my issue would be taken care of.
At ten thirty I left work and drove tot he office. I walked in and gave my name. "Oh, Kathleen," a pretty blonde nurse said. "You're actually scheduled to see Dr. B. at 10:50 in the Bedford office."
Now I've been here before. I can't remember if I blogged about it, but this spring I actually went to the Derry office to see my General Practitioner and it turned out I was supposed to be in a different office. But since then I've been careful. Very careful.
"No," I said. "The lady said Derry. I know she said Derry."
I don't know what I expected. Maybe some sort of acknowledgement that I was not the one at fault, and since they messed up, to just let me have a 10:50 appointment?
"Would you like me to see what the rest of the day looks like in Bedford?" the pretty blonde nurse asked.
"I can't go to Bedford," I said. "I have to get back to work."
"You can wait here and see if we can fit you in later?" she said.
I stood there looking at her. I was actually struggling not to cry, because I was embarrassed, mostly because all the office people and the other people in the waiting room were obviously so embarrassed for me.
"Do you know how long?" I asked.
"We don't," she said.
I opened my eyes wider. "Time frame?" I asked. "Twenty minutes? An hour? Three hours?"
I waited for an hour and then walked out, heading back to work. Before I left I let the pretty blonde nurse know I was leaving and would try again on Monday, three days later. "She really did say Derry," I said as I walked out, holding back tears. Because I could hear them talking about me as I sat in the waiting room, feeling sorry for me, or laughing, or rolling their eyes because I was one of THOSE people who couldn't keep office locations straight.
When I got home there was a message on my home machine from the scheduling lady, apparently left five minutes after I hung up the phone and dashed off to work. "Your appointment will be with Dr. B in Bedford, so she'll see you at 10:50 in Bedford," she said by way of correction. Too bad I work until five.
This morning I got an email from the office.
The last time I'd been in for a regular visit, I had signed up for some online system the office had adopted. But I'd never used it. This one was telling me I had a message.
I was curious to see if it would be something personal. Maybe someone saying they were sorry for the confusion.
I was at karate, on my phone, but I didn't have anything else to do, so I clicked the link in the email to try and sign myself in.
I did a quick search of my email and found the one from the same service that provided me with my user ID.
Then I tried clicking the link. The link opened up a webpage asking me how I wanted to sign in. Google? Yahoo? Facebook? (why would anyone use Facebook for medical records?)
I tried Google. Because I have a google account.
But Google did not want to let me in, because Google had no idea who I was, even though I used the correct password.
I got an email. It was from Google. "We think your account was being hacked! Someone tried to log in! If it wasn't you, please change your password!"
Only it was me, and the email didn't say what to do if it WAS me and they still wouldn't let me in.
I gave up and waited until I got home.
At home I was finally able to find a way in without google.
I found that I had an unpaid bill. I found an email saying congratulations for signing up. I found that they'd downloaded all of my visits onto this system. And I found that they said I had two cancelled appointments from Friday. As though I'd simply just cancelled them. One from 11:10 in the office I had been sitting in, until 11:30.
I still have my medical issue, by the way. And I have to go back on Monday. I hate them.
So Friday morning I picked up the phone and called. This wasn't an easy decision to make because I'm not 100% sure where I stand on health insurance, and also any time I take off from work I don't get paid for. Also, I'm trying to do a great job at work so they will hire me, and that doesn't happen when you're in a doctor's waiting room.
When I was a kid, my mom would pick up the phone and dial for the doctor's office, and the doctor would get on the phone. "Hi Fred!" she'd say. "It's Jean. Another one of the kids is complaining of a sore throat." Then our doctor would say, "Probably caught the strep. I'll call in a prescription for that one, and may as well do the other two, also. They'll probably get it sooner or later."
I got the scheduling lady who listened to my brief description and made me an appointment. "With Dr. B. at ten fifty in Derry," she said. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did you say ten fifty? As in ten five zero? In Derry?" And she said,"Yes, ten five zero, ten fifty, in Derry."
And ten I left for work, happy that my issue would be taken care of.
At ten thirty I left work and drove tot he office. I walked in and gave my name. "Oh, Kathleen," a pretty blonde nurse said. "You're actually scheduled to see Dr. B. at 10:50 in the Bedford office."
Now I've been here before. I can't remember if I blogged about it, but this spring I actually went to the Derry office to see my General Practitioner and it turned out I was supposed to be in a different office. But since then I've been careful. Very careful.
"No," I said. "The lady said Derry. I know she said Derry."
I don't know what I expected. Maybe some sort of acknowledgement that I was not the one at fault, and since they messed up, to just let me have a 10:50 appointment?
"Would you like me to see what the rest of the day looks like in Bedford?" the pretty blonde nurse asked.
"I can't go to Bedford," I said. "I have to get back to work."
"You can wait here and see if we can fit you in later?" she said.
I stood there looking at her. I was actually struggling not to cry, because I was embarrassed, mostly because all the office people and the other people in the waiting room were obviously so embarrassed for me.
"Do you know how long?" I asked.
"We don't," she said.
I opened my eyes wider. "Time frame?" I asked. "Twenty minutes? An hour? Three hours?"
I waited for an hour and then walked out, heading back to work. Before I left I let the pretty blonde nurse know I was leaving and would try again on Monday, three days later. "She really did say Derry," I said as I walked out, holding back tears. Because I could hear them talking about me as I sat in the waiting room, feeling sorry for me, or laughing, or rolling their eyes because I was one of THOSE people who couldn't keep office locations straight.
When I got home there was a message on my home machine from the scheduling lady, apparently left five minutes after I hung up the phone and dashed off to work. "Your appointment will be with Dr. B in Bedford, so she'll see you at 10:50 in Bedford," she said by way of correction. Too bad I work until five.
This morning I got an email from the office.
The last time I'd been in for a regular visit, I had signed up for some online system the office had adopted. But I'd never used it. This one was telling me I had a message.
I was curious to see if it would be something personal. Maybe someone saying they were sorry for the confusion.
I was at karate, on my phone, but I didn't have anything else to do, so I clicked the link in the email to try and sign myself in.
I did a quick search of my email and found the one from the same service that provided me with my user ID.
Then I tried clicking the link. The link opened up a webpage asking me how I wanted to sign in. Google? Yahoo? Facebook? (why would anyone use Facebook for medical records?)
I tried Google. Because I have a google account.
But Google did not want to let me in, because Google had no idea who I was, even though I used the correct password.
I got an email. It was from Google. "We think your account was being hacked! Someone tried to log in! If it wasn't you, please change your password!"
Only it was me, and the email didn't say what to do if it WAS me and they still wouldn't let me in.
I gave up and waited until I got home.
At home I was finally able to find a way in without google.
I found that I had an unpaid bill. I found an email saying congratulations for signing up. I found that they'd downloaded all of my visits onto this system. And I found that they said I had two cancelled appointments from Friday. As though I'd simply just cancelled them. One from 11:10 in the office I had been sitting in, until 11:30.
I still have my medical issue, by the way. And I have to go back on Monday. I hate them.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Now is the time...
This has happened to me several times over the past few weeks.
I makes plans to meet someone. Could be anyone. An old friend, a friend from church, a date, just a person. Usually a person.
As the meeting time approaches I might get a wee bit... not excited, exactly. Lifted? What you feel when you're looking forward to something, but it's not Christmas. What is that word? Anticipation? Buoyant? You get the idea. The point is I don't get out much, and these meetings are a welcome break.
And then, the day before, or the morning of, or an hour or two before, the other person will cancel.
The other person isn't being mean or malicious. Something else has come up, something that makes meeting with me inconvenient, or uncomfortable, or downright impossible. "I'm so sorry!" the person will say. "When can we reschedule? When's the next time I can see you?"
And this is why they are selling calendars for 2015 already. For people like me.
"What are you doing six weeks from now?" I ask.
I know, I'm booking so far ahead. I must have such a social life.
Wait.
Wait, no.
No, I don't.
The truth is my free time is so, so limited and rare that it runs out quickly. I mean, I have a weekend free every 2 weeks. That's 2 nights every 2 weeks that I am able to spend as I wish. Yes, I get a floating night during the week, and that night is usually Wednesdays. But Wednesdays is choir night, and nobody dares take that away from me.
So 2 nights every 2 weeks.
"Why don't you get a sitter?" some people might ask.
Well, in some cases I have, and I've shelled out the $40 it takes to go right from work to dinner and then drive home. But seriously, sitters are expensive. And my kids need pants.
The sad part is, I find myself home alone on these nights more often than not, and during vast portions of the day. I end up feeling lonely and depressed. "I should have made plans," I tell myself. And then I remember - I did!
The stupid part is, I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for being so difficult to make plans with. "I'm so sorry!" I say. "I know, I'm so difficult!" But hell, I'm not going to Yoga all week long. I'm not hard to meet with because I'm going to the gym, or getting my nails done. I've got my kids, for crying out loud! I shouldn't be feeling guilty! I'm not the one changing plans last minute!
The thing is, a lot of the time I don't try to make plans with people because I feel like I've already got them. And then the person cancels and I'm alone eating cereal out of the box and watching reruns of The Mindy Project.
What I should be doing is making tons and tons of plans. I should make plans with everybody! And then, an hour or two beforehand, I won't care if someone cancels. "I was going to have to back out, anyway," I can say. "I have all these other things planned." And then I'll take a look at all the remaining possibilities and make my choice, and cancel on everyone else.
I makes plans to meet someone. Could be anyone. An old friend, a friend from church, a date, just a person. Usually a person.
As the meeting time approaches I might get a wee bit... not excited, exactly. Lifted? What you feel when you're looking forward to something, but it's not Christmas. What is that word? Anticipation? Buoyant? You get the idea. The point is I don't get out much, and these meetings are a welcome break.
And then, the day before, or the morning of, or an hour or two before, the other person will cancel.
The other person isn't being mean or malicious. Something else has come up, something that makes meeting with me inconvenient, or uncomfortable, or downright impossible. "I'm so sorry!" the person will say. "When can we reschedule? When's the next time I can see you?"
And this is why they are selling calendars for 2015 already. For people like me.
"What are you doing six weeks from now?" I ask.
I know, I'm booking so far ahead. I must have such a social life.
Wait.
Wait, no.
No, I don't.
The truth is my free time is so, so limited and rare that it runs out quickly. I mean, I have a weekend free every 2 weeks. That's 2 nights every 2 weeks that I am able to spend as I wish. Yes, I get a floating night during the week, and that night is usually Wednesdays. But Wednesdays is choir night, and nobody dares take that away from me.
So 2 nights every 2 weeks.
"Why don't you get a sitter?" some people might ask.
Well, in some cases I have, and I've shelled out the $40 it takes to go right from work to dinner and then drive home. But seriously, sitters are expensive. And my kids need pants.
The sad part is, I find myself home alone on these nights more often than not, and during vast portions of the day. I end up feeling lonely and depressed. "I should have made plans," I tell myself. And then I remember - I did!
The stupid part is, I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for being so difficult to make plans with. "I'm so sorry!" I say. "I know, I'm so difficult!" But hell, I'm not going to Yoga all week long. I'm not hard to meet with because I'm going to the gym, or getting my nails done. I've got my kids, for crying out loud! I shouldn't be feeling guilty! I'm not the one changing plans last minute!
The thing is, a lot of the time I don't try to make plans with people because I feel like I've already got them. And then the person cancels and I'm alone eating cereal out of the box and watching reruns of The Mindy Project.
What I should be doing is making tons and tons of plans. I should make plans with everybody! And then, an hour or two beforehand, I won't care if someone cancels. "I was going to have to back out, anyway," I can say. "I have all these other things planned." And then I'll take a look at all the remaining possibilities and make my choice, and cancel on everyone else.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
What's For Lunch
I wasn't going to eat at all.
I wasn't going to eat lunch because the numbers on the scale have been creeping ever upward and today reached a high I haven't been since I was pregnant. Or shortly after I was pregnant. I'm despairing because I haven't stopped working out. I haven't been eating outrageously. And over the past few days I have been making a bit of an effort.
Anyway, I got home from church and realized that, even though I didn't want to eat, there were three small humans in the car I was legally obligated to feed. "What do you want for lunch?" I asked. I thought I could throw something quick their way and then do chores. "I have leftover spaghetti from the other day..."
The boys all stayed silent, their disapproval radiating silently in my direction.
"Or I can make you guys some PBJs"
"I hate those," said Nick.
"Well, I'm not making you three different lunches," I said...
I made three different lunches.
Only Andy wanted a PBJ, and he would have nothing else. Nathan wanted a leftover hamburger, and Nicholas refused to eat anything except for pizza.
I was angry and cranky and hungry and touching a lot of food.
What made it worse was Gunther licking the floor beneath me to catch every molecule of food.
I ended up eating more than half of a frozen pizza.
I wasn't going to eat lunch because the numbers on the scale have been creeping ever upward and today reached a high I haven't been since I was pregnant. Or shortly after I was pregnant. I'm despairing because I haven't stopped working out. I haven't been eating outrageously. And over the past few days I have been making a bit of an effort.
Anyway, I got home from church and realized that, even though I didn't want to eat, there were three small humans in the car I was legally obligated to feed. "What do you want for lunch?" I asked. I thought I could throw something quick their way and then do chores. "I have leftover spaghetti from the other day..."
The boys all stayed silent, their disapproval radiating silently in my direction.
"Or I can make you guys some PBJs"
"I hate those," said Nick.
"Well, I'm not making you three different lunches," I said...
I made three different lunches.
Only Andy wanted a PBJ, and he would have nothing else. Nathan wanted a leftover hamburger, and Nicholas refused to eat anything except for pizza.
I was angry and cranky and hungry and touching a lot of food.
What made it worse was Gunther licking the floor beneath me to catch every molecule of food.
I ended up eating more than half of a frozen pizza.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Screen Time
When I was a kid, I would wake up early in the morning and go down to watch TV. Sometimes I would be so early, the station hadn't come on yet. You remember that? When there would just be a barcode up with maybe a line of odd code on the bottom? Because people back then didn't usually stay up all night watching TV. Not yet.
Screen time was TV. My mother made an effort to control it. We could watch only certain shows (Sesame Street, Electric Company, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Rodgers...) And then all heck broke loose. We discovered cable. We watched hours of stupid cartoons on Saturdays, starting with the Smurfs, the Snorks, Spaceghost, the Shirt Tales... And my mother made a declaration. Only 1 hour of TV a day.
Mind you, we were only allowed to watch during the weekends, anyway, so...
I thought it was horribly unfair. My friends were playing V out on the playground, and knew exactly who the people were in Miami Vice. I was doomed.
Fast Forward to yesterday when a therapist was lecturing me on limiting screen time for the boys. She told me about 9-year-olds addicted to porn. She went on about desensitizing young men to the act of killing. And then she brought up the fact that all 3 of my boys had been terrified of a certain video game a friend of theirs had shown them.
I admit. She is right. I don't know anything about what the boys do on their screens. I mean, it is So BORING. I really don't want to know. But I cant just pretend that none of them had trouble sleeping the night after that stupid game walked into my home. Or that the internet is a safe place for children.
So, I made some changes.
It was hard, because the schools now assign homework Every Night that must be done on a computer.
The thing is, playing one spelling game can then lead to "I was just checking this thing out..." and before you know it they're all watching YouTube.
I made the boys give me everything. DSs, Laptops, tablets. I took the Wii U controllers and the remotes for the TV. And I put them in a basket in my room.
When it is time for screen time, I will let them choose a device. I will set a timer. And when it's over, then it's over.
Homework that involves the computer will wait until I get home to supervise.
I know it seems unfair. I know it seems a bit insane. But I guess it's just my effort to regain a little control over the situation. I'll have to see how it works out.
Screen time was TV. My mother made an effort to control it. We could watch only certain shows (Sesame Street, Electric Company, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Rodgers...) And then all heck broke loose. We discovered cable. We watched hours of stupid cartoons on Saturdays, starting with the Smurfs, the Snorks, Spaceghost, the Shirt Tales... And my mother made a declaration. Only 1 hour of TV a day.
Mind you, we were only allowed to watch during the weekends, anyway, so...
I thought it was horribly unfair. My friends were playing V out on the playground, and knew exactly who the people were in Miami Vice. I was doomed.
Fast Forward to yesterday when a therapist was lecturing me on limiting screen time for the boys. She told me about 9-year-olds addicted to porn. She went on about desensitizing young men to the act of killing. And then she brought up the fact that all 3 of my boys had been terrified of a certain video game a friend of theirs had shown them.
I admit. She is right. I don't know anything about what the boys do on their screens. I mean, it is So BORING. I really don't want to know. But I cant just pretend that none of them had trouble sleeping the night after that stupid game walked into my home. Or that the internet is a safe place for children.
So, I made some changes.
It was hard, because the schools now assign homework Every Night that must be done on a computer.
The thing is, playing one spelling game can then lead to "I was just checking this thing out..." and before you know it they're all watching YouTube.
I made the boys give me everything. DSs, Laptops, tablets. I took the Wii U controllers and the remotes for the TV. And I put them in a basket in my room.
When it is time for screen time, I will let them choose a device. I will set a timer. And when it's over, then it's over.
Homework that involves the computer will wait until I get home to supervise.
I know it seems unfair. I know it seems a bit insane. But I guess it's just my effort to regain a little control over the situation. I'll have to see how it works out.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
A List
Here's a list of things I forgot to do today, and so will do now, after I write this post:
Sign Nate up for Travel Basketball (Am I crazy? Probably)
Pay Homeowner's Insurance (which is overdue)
Set out Nate's homework for tomorrow night (because if I don't, the only thing he'll do is the bit on the computer.)
do my nails. (OK, who am I kidding. It's just easier to walk around with claws on my fingers and toes than do my nails at this point.)
Sign Nate up for Travel Basketball (Am I crazy? Probably)
Pay Homeowner's Insurance (which is overdue)
Set out Nate's homework for tomorrow night (because if I don't, the only thing he'll do is the bit on the computer.)
do my nails. (OK, who am I kidding. It's just easier to walk around with claws on my fingers and toes than do my nails at this point.)
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Ch-ch--ch-changes...
This summer have been more relaxed than the rest of the year.
The reason? I'm letting go. I'm changing it up.
I let the boys take July off of karate. It sounds minor, but it is costly for 3 boys. Also, that's a lot of time that is usually spent at the dojo now spend here, at the house, making dinner, tidying up, and just talking to the boys about their day.
I stopped making the boys practice piano. Nate won't be taking piano in the fall - he's going to do the violin. Nick will be taking violin AND flute. Andy will still be doing piano - I still haven't worked out the details. But I haven't made him practice for weeks. There's no fighting about it, no struggling to find time to do it.
Sometimes, when I'm having a particularly difficult day, I put on a TV show for us to watch during dinner. We watch an episode of Dr. Who, or part of a movie... once, an episode of Arrested Development. It seems so horrible, right? I mean, this goes against everything I've been taught, everything I believe. It's the HUGEST no-no. We're supposed to sit and talk and have healthy foods. Not eat grilled cheese while laughing about banana stands. But somehow we aren't having a bad time. It seems to work.
Also, I don't cook dinners anymore. I used to make a THING every day. Steak or chicken, a vegetable... These days I'll cook a "dinner" a week. And then the rest of the time I'll make eggs, hot dogs, french toast. Or sandwiches, mac 'n cheese, a quick pasta. I cook broccoli in the microwave or put out carrot sticks. It's quicker. It's cheaper. We're good.
Sometimes, even though we're in a rush and have things we need to do, like sleep, we just stretch out on my bed and surf the net for Weird Al videos, or research Portal, or play silly computer games or look at old photos.
All this makes it sound like we just lounge about. But that's not true either. I used to see dinner as a line drawn in the day - after dinner, the day was done. Everything else had to be done beforehand. But twice I've given the boys dinner and then packed them in the car for errands. No place very exciting - once to CVS and once to Target. The reality is, I don't want the sitter to have to stay an extra hour just so I can pick up eggs and deodorant. Also, more time with boys. And who says we can't do these things? What is it that makes them so horrible?
It's OK. It can work. If I just relax about it and don't worry about it, life is going to be fine.
The reason? I'm letting go. I'm changing it up.
I let the boys take July off of karate. It sounds minor, but it is costly for 3 boys. Also, that's a lot of time that is usually spent at the dojo now spend here, at the house, making dinner, tidying up, and just talking to the boys about their day.
I stopped making the boys practice piano. Nate won't be taking piano in the fall - he's going to do the violin. Nick will be taking violin AND flute. Andy will still be doing piano - I still haven't worked out the details. But I haven't made him practice for weeks. There's no fighting about it, no struggling to find time to do it.
Sometimes, when I'm having a particularly difficult day, I put on a TV show for us to watch during dinner. We watch an episode of Dr. Who, or part of a movie... once, an episode of Arrested Development. It seems so horrible, right? I mean, this goes against everything I've been taught, everything I believe. It's the HUGEST no-no. We're supposed to sit and talk and have healthy foods. Not eat grilled cheese while laughing about banana stands. But somehow we aren't having a bad time. It seems to work.
Also, I don't cook dinners anymore. I used to make a THING every day. Steak or chicken, a vegetable... These days I'll cook a "dinner" a week. And then the rest of the time I'll make eggs, hot dogs, french toast. Or sandwiches, mac 'n cheese, a quick pasta. I cook broccoli in the microwave or put out carrot sticks. It's quicker. It's cheaper. We're good.
Sometimes, even though we're in a rush and have things we need to do, like sleep, we just stretch out on my bed and surf the net for Weird Al videos, or research Portal, or play silly computer games or look at old photos.
All this makes it sound like we just lounge about. But that's not true either. I used to see dinner as a line drawn in the day - after dinner, the day was done. Everything else had to be done beforehand. But twice I've given the boys dinner and then packed them in the car for errands. No place very exciting - once to CVS and once to Target. The reality is, I don't want the sitter to have to stay an extra hour just so I can pick up eggs and deodorant. Also, more time with boys. And who says we can't do these things? What is it that makes them so horrible?
It's OK. It can work. If I just relax about it and don't worry about it, life is going to be fine.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Tuesday
Monday was long, right?
How could Tuesday top Monday? I mean, sure it's crazy and we've got a schedule that includes Karate, then Piano Lessons, and dinner in the car as I drive from one to the other.
Unless, of course, I get a text from the Babysitter saying "CALL ME ASAP!!!"
Given yesterday's fiasco with the baby and the phone, I would lean toward not freaking out. Until I read the next text.
"Gunther. Had a seizure. There's blood and I don't know what to do."
Gunther is a dog, people. A pet. A pet who, at 4am, decided to pee in the hallway despite being let out at 10:30pm, a good 2 hours later than usual. And at that moment I seriously wondered if it was time to consider putting him down. It's not like it was my 7-year-old child passing out.
But I rushed him to the vet.
And the vet looked at him and said "He seems fine." And the dog? He was acting fine. I knew he's actually had a seizure because Nate described it to me in great detail, and there was blood in his cone-of-shame, which was coming off tonight anyway. The blood was probably from biting his tongue while he was shaking.
The vet said sometimes dogs will have one seizure and then never have another. Or sometimes they start having them every few days, or every 30 minutes. We'll have to see. Unless we want the expensive bloodwork to start now. I opted to wait.
There was no karate. There was no piano. Instead we had our sandwiches at the table. I let the kids listen / watch the beginning of Amadeus (after the suicide attempt) while they took a bath.
After the boys were in bed I realized that Andy had a concert tomorrow at 10am and that there was also an after school trip that the boys had to be at by 3pm, which was awkward and involved picking all three kids up early. (Because they don't let you pick up after 2:20. If you have to be someplace at 3:15, you need to get picked up an hour earlier. Even if it's down the street.)
Then I ate cheese and had a bowl of cereal.
Tomorrow will be better, right? It has to be.
How could Tuesday top Monday? I mean, sure it's crazy and we've got a schedule that includes Karate, then Piano Lessons, and dinner in the car as I drive from one to the other.
Unless, of course, I get a text from the Babysitter saying "CALL ME ASAP!!!"
Given yesterday's fiasco with the baby and the phone, I would lean toward not freaking out. Until I read the next text.
"Gunther. Had a seizure. There's blood and I don't know what to do."
Gunther is a dog, people. A pet. A pet who, at 4am, decided to pee in the hallway despite being let out at 10:30pm, a good 2 hours later than usual. And at that moment I seriously wondered if it was time to consider putting him down. It's not like it was my 7-year-old child passing out.
But I rushed him to the vet.
And the vet looked at him and said "He seems fine." And the dog? He was acting fine. I knew he's actually had a seizure because Nate described it to me in great detail, and there was blood in his cone-of-shame, which was coming off tonight anyway. The blood was probably from biting his tongue while he was shaking.
The vet said sometimes dogs will have one seizure and then never have another. Or sometimes they start having them every few days, or every 30 minutes. We'll have to see. Unless we want the expensive bloodwork to start now. I opted to wait.
There was no karate. There was no piano. Instead we had our sandwiches at the table. I let the kids listen / watch the beginning of Amadeus (after the suicide attempt) while they took a bath.
After the boys were in bed I realized that Andy had a concert tomorrow at 10am and that there was also an after school trip that the boys had to be at by 3pm, which was awkward and involved picking all three kids up early. (Because they don't let you pick up after 2:20. If you have to be someplace at 3:15, you need to get picked up an hour earlier. Even if it's down the street.)
Then I ate cheese and had a bowl of cereal.
Tomorrow will be better, right? It has to be.
Monday, June 16, 2014
The Longest Day
You know that feeling when you're in a rush to get somewhere, but traffic is inching along? And you're not even on the highway?
That's the traffic I was in after work this evening when my cell phone rang.
It was the babysitter. I immediately began apologizing for running late and saying I was on my way home. She asked if I had left yet, and I said yes.
And then she told me that the phone rang, and Nick tried to give her the phone, but she hadn't answered it and just put it down, and then her almost-year-old baby had somehow gotten hold of the phone, and you'll never guess who he called...
Did you know that when you dial 9112, it's the same as dialing 911? And that when you dial it and hang up, they will actually call you back? And once you call them, they are legally required to stop by your home to make sure you're OK? I did. Apparently our babysitter didn't.
So when I got home, there was a bit of craziness. She didn't want to leave until the police came by. Her baby was cranky with a tummy ache (I told him they were coming to take him away to baby jail!) and when the cops finally DID come by, she was busy changing his diaper. I was clearing out the boys' backpacks.
When I opened the door for the very cute and attractive police officer, I had my arms full of school folders, a thermos in one hand, and a pair of maracas in the other. I was holding a barking Gunther inside the house with one foot against his cone-of-shame. I asked if he wanted to come in (I thought he might want to yell at us and lecture us about faking 911 calls.) But he backed away pretty quickly and said he was just checking to make sure everyone was all right. One look at me, and he got the picture.
After that I started making dinner. I was interrupted by 2 girls - one with heavy eye make-up and a nose ring in her nostril - from the EPA to get me to sign a petition. I tried to get them to hurry the speech along so I could finish cooking dinner, but they were horrified by Gunther barking, and kept stopping to ask he he was all right. I finally got them to leave, but not before the guy who mows the lawn stopped by to talk about the job he did that weekend. Before I could chat with him, the phone rang - an automated message from the school letting us know about Step-Up Day, the day the kids visit classrooms of the next grade, just in case we didn't find out about it from the flyers, the emails, and the clearly noted "STEP UP DAY" on the calendar.
Dinner made, table cleared, dishes.... in the sink (I can't do everything!) I practiced piano with the boys (lesson tomorrow!) and finished reading the last chapter of House Of Hades.
Then I took a phone survey from some guy who asked a lot of questions about TV shows I watched (cable? Which channels? Where do I get my news?) and political candidates (On a scale of 1 - 100, how many points would I give the following candidates.)
Now I have to pay my bills, register my boys for summer programs, and re-do my budget so I'm not actually in the red (it's got to be possible, for crying out loud.)
It's Monday, folks. Gonna be a long week.
That's the traffic I was in after work this evening when my cell phone rang.
It was the babysitter. I immediately began apologizing for running late and saying I was on my way home. She asked if I had left yet, and I said yes.
And then she told me that the phone rang, and Nick tried to give her the phone, but she hadn't answered it and just put it down, and then her almost-year-old baby had somehow gotten hold of the phone, and you'll never guess who he called...
Did you know that when you dial 9112, it's the same as dialing 911? And that when you dial it and hang up, they will actually call you back? And once you call them, they are legally required to stop by your home to make sure you're OK? I did. Apparently our babysitter didn't.
So when I got home, there was a bit of craziness. She didn't want to leave until the police came by. Her baby was cranky with a tummy ache (I told him they were coming to take him away to baby jail!) and when the cops finally DID come by, she was busy changing his diaper. I was clearing out the boys' backpacks.
When I opened the door for the very cute and attractive police officer, I had my arms full of school folders, a thermos in one hand, and a pair of maracas in the other. I was holding a barking Gunther inside the house with one foot against his cone-of-shame. I asked if he wanted to come in (I thought he might want to yell at us and lecture us about faking 911 calls.) But he backed away pretty quickly and said he was just checking to make sure everyone was all right. One look at me, and he got the picture.
After that I started making dinner. I was interrupted by 2 girls - one with heavy eye make-up and a nose ring in her nostril - from the EPA to get me to sign a petition. I tried to get them to hurry the speech along so I could finish cooking dinner, but they were horrified by Gunther barking, and kept stopping to ask he he was all right. I finally got them to leave, but not before the guy who mows the lawn stopped by to talk about the job he did that weekend. Before I could chat with him, the phone rang - an automated message from the school letting us know about Step-Up Day, the day the kids visit classrooms of the next grade, just in case we didn't find out about it from the flyers, the emails, and the clearly noted "STEP UP DAY" on the calendar.
Dinner made, table cleared, dishes.... in the sink (I can't do everything!) I practiced piano with the boys (lesson tomorrow!) and finished reading the last chapter of House Of Hades.
Then I took a phone survey from some guy who asked a lot of questions about TV shows I watched (cable? Which channels? Where do I get my news?) and political candidates (On a scale of 1 - 100, how many points would I give the following candidates.)
Now I have to pay my bills, register my boys for summer programs, and re-do my budget so I'm not actually in the red (it's got to be possible, for crying out loud.)
It's Monday, folks. Gonna be a long week.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Crazy Long Week
It's been a long one.
In my heart I feel like so much has changed. Was that just last week I was sitting here, wondering why I had no plans for the weekend? I climbed into bed and sat there, drinking tea and writing until I feel asleep, completely ignoring all of the cleaning and shopping and general things that needed to be done.
And then the week happened. It was just full of things, emotional things. From meeting up with old friends to shopping for Steve's Birthday present. It's been like a trip down the Twilight Zone hallway, all spinning and blinking lights, but in black and white.
And that brings me to here. Another Friday night. No plans - well, for tonight. I am meeting up with Lillian tomorrow to see a play. I'm putting off cleaning my house. I'm putting off putting shopping for a car. I'm stalking more than one person online. I have no judgement. One minute I'm bugging a person so much via technology that I'm afraid he / she will block me and refuse to take my calls. The next moment I wonder how this person will know I'm serious about hanging out with her / him if I don't put myself out there and express my interest.
What I should do is laundry. What I should do is clean the house. I should go grocery shopping. But instead I want to sit in bed and watch bad TV while eating Honey Bunches of Oats out of the box.
In my heart I feel like so much has changed. Was that just last week I was sitting here, wondering why I had no plans for the weekend? I climbed into bed and sat there, drinking tea and writing until I feel asleep, completely ignoring all of the cleaning and shopping and general things that needed to be done.
And then the week happened. It was just full of things, emotional things. From meeting up with old friends to shopping for Steve's Birthday present. It's been like a trip down the Twilight Zone hallway, all spinning and blinking lights, but in black and white.
And that brings me to here. Another Friday night. No plans - well, for tonight. I am meeting up with Lillian tomorrow to see a play. I'm putting off cleaning my house. I'm putting off putting shopping for a car. I'm stalking more than one person online. I have no judgement. One minute I'm bugging a person so much via technology that I'm afraid he / she will block me and refuse to take my calls. The next moment I wonder how this person will know I'm serious about hanging out with her / him if I don't put myself out there and express my interest.
What I should do is laundry. What I should do is clean the house. I should go grocery shopping. But instead I want to sit in bed and watch bad TV while eating Honey Bunches of Oats out of the box.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Jenga and Ice Cream
I had a hard day at work, I told the boys.
Did you staple your fingers again? Andy asked.
My first week at work I actually stapled my fingers together. That happened. But not this week.
Nope, I said. It was just a hard day.
It was a good day at work, actually. I learned a lot of new things and was happy to learn them, but as things need to be completed by certain times the day wasn't very forgiving to my learning curve.
The first two weeks I went back to work, in January, I cried every single night. I was so tired, so overwhelmed. I felt incompetent at work. I felt out of control at home. The careful balance I'd created over the past 10 years of childcare and laundry, housework and homework, came crashing down like a Jenga tower with the wrong piece pulled from the bottom.
The thing about these block towers that come crashing down? They can always be rebuilt. Sure, the new tower won't be like the old tower. But maybe it'll be even better. Maybe you can build that extra part on the corner and expand the fortress walls... or rip the wallpaper down in the bathroom and pick a nice paint shade to brighten the place up a bit.
I keep having to remember that.
So, Thursday I had a hard day. It was crazy and frantic and I left wanting to do nothing but kick my shoes off and go to sleep. It was all I could think about when I picked the boys up from karate.
But then came the Ice Cream Social.
Every year the PTA has an Ice Cream Social at the school. Everyone is invited. The teachers and volunteers serve small bowls of ice cream and large bowls of toppings - gummy bears, sour patch kids, sprinkles, cherries, chocolate chips - they have chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Everything but nuts. No nuts.
Everyone goes to the Ice Cream Social. All students and their parents and their siblings and next year's kindergarteners and their families and siblings. The kids eat large bowls of sugar and go running around playing ball at the back of the gym or on the playground, and parents try to have conversation where they make themselves heard.
Last year we went to the Ice Cream Social, and it was not a good experience. Oh, I bet it was for the kids. I think the kids were fine. I think that they were too distracted by Ice Cream and Loud Craziness to notice anything was amiss. But for me, it was a defining factor in making the decision to proceed with divorce. Without going into too much detail, that night was the last straw. Now I don't usually make rash decisions, especially where my family and my children are concerned, so know there was plenty of thought that went into it before then. I'd weighed my options, I'd given thought to what I wanted, what I needed, what all the choices would mean.
And then came the Ice Cream Social.
Last straw. I heard the snap. I felt the pull of that Jenga piece and the wobble of the tower as it started to crash.
Thursday at karate the boys reminded me the Ice Cream Social was that night. And I'd promised them we'd go.
I was tired from working a new part of the job, overwhelmed with what I was going to do for dinner. Lonely. Missing my family, missing my friends. Making plans for the long weekend that didn't include cookouts and friends or trips to the beach, but laundry and vacuuming and putting screens in windows, and working number magic with finances to allow me to pay my bills, send the boys to summer camp, and buy a new car. I was in tears already with the lot of it.
And here comes the Ice Cream Social.
I cried.
I went.
I took the boys.
And it wasn't that bad. I mean, how can a bowl of 1 part ice cream 2 parts chocolate sauce 3 parts topping be bad? There's some good that comes out of that. And watching the boys scramble around for a few minutes in a large group of other boys? That's good, too. These are good moments.
And yes, I felt more out of place than ever, sitting there, trying to be a normal looking mom. Yes, I was tired from work and wanted to be home. And yes, I was and am still harboring resentment towards the school figureheads for certain interactions we've had this year. BEcause the principal wears those dresses and calls the children kiddos and smiles and nods at me while not outright saying anything but insinuating that my child might not be good enough. And also because for some reason I was seen as not good enough to work in this place.
But whatever.
Despite all of that, I survived. I ate my ice cream and then went home and went to sleep.
And the next day I woke up and the sun was shining. I worked out and make the boys breakfast (cereal) and got them to school and I was feeling pretty OK. Actually, I felt rather good and upbeat.
Because we move on. We pick up our Jenga blocks and we stack them again, one at a time. We go to build a different block tower, one with stronger walls and a better view and a hiding place for all the treasures we've collected.
Did you staple your fingers again? Andy asked.
My first week at work I actually stapled my fingers together. That happened. But not this week.
Nope, I said. It was just a hard day.
It was a good day at work, actually. I learned a lot of new things and was happy to learn them, but as things need to be completed by certain times the day wasn't very forgiving to my learning curve.
The first two weeks I went back to work, in January, I cried every single night. I was so tired, so overwhelmed. I felt incompetent at work. I felt out of control at home. The careful balance I'd created over the past 10 years of childcare and laundry, housework and homework, came crashing down like a Jenga tower with the wrong piece pulled from the bottom.
The thing about these block towers that come crashing down? They can always be rebuilt. Sure, the new tower won't be like the old tower. But maybe it'll be even better. Maybe you can build that extra part on the corner and expand the fortress walls... or rip the wallpaper down in the bathroom and pick a nice paint shade to brighten the place up a bit.
I keep having to remember that.
So, Thursday I had a hard day. It was crazy and frantic and I left wanting to do nothing but kick my shoes off and go to sleep. It was all I could think about when I picked the boys up from karate.
But then came the Ice Cream Social.
Every year the PTA has an Ice Cream Social at the school. Everyone is invited. The teachers and volunteers serve small bowls of ice cream and large bowls of toppings - gummy bears, sour patch kids, sprinkles, cherries, chocolate chips - they have chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Everything but nuts. No nuts.
Everyone goes to the Ice Cream Social. All students and their parents and their siblings and next year's kindergarteners and their families and siblings. The kids eat large bowls of sugar and go running around playing ball at the back of the gym or on the playground, and parents try to have conversation where they make themselves heard.
Last year we went to the Ice Cream Social, and it was not a good experience. Oh, I bet it was for the kids. I think the kids were fine. I think that they were too distracted by Ice Cream and Loud Craziness to notice anything was amiss. But for me, it was a defining factor in making the decision to proceed with divorce. Without going into too much detail, that night was the last straw. Now I don't usually make rash decisions, especially where my family and my children are concerned, so know there was plenty of thought that went into it before then. I'd weighed my options, I'd given thought to what I wanted, what I needed, what all the choices would mean.
And then came the Ice Cream Social.
Last straw. I heard the snap. I felt the pull of that Jenga piece and the wobble of the tower as it started to crash.
Thursday at karate the boys reminded me the Ice Cream Social was that night. And I'd promised them we'd go.
I was tired from working a new part of the job, overwhelmed with what I was going to do for dinner. Lonely. Missing my family, missing my friends. Making plans for the long weekend that didn't include cookouts and friends or trips to the beach, but laundry and vacuuming and putting screens in windows, and working number magic with finances to allow me to pay my bills, send the boys to summer camp, and buy a new car. I was in tears already with the lot of it.
And here comes the Ice Cream Social.
I cried.
I went.
I took the boys.
And it wasn't that bad. I mean, how can a bowl of 1 part ice cream 2 parts chocolate sauce 3 parts topping be bad? There's some good that comes out of that. And watching the boys scramble around for a few minutes in a large group of other boys? That's good, too. These are good moments.
And yes, I felt more out of place than ever, sitting there, trying to be a normal looking mom. Yes, I was tired from work and wanted to be home. And yes, I was and am still harboring resentment towards the school figureheads for certain interactions we've had this year. BEcause the principal wears those dresses and calls the children kiddos and smiles and nods at me while not outright saying anything but insinuating that my child might not be good enough. And also because for some reason I was seen as not good enough to work in this place.
But whatever.
Despite all of that, I survived. I ate my ice cream and then went home and went to sleep.
And the next day I woke up and the sun was shining. I worked out and make the boys breakfast (cereal) and got them to school and I was feeling pretty OK. Actually, I felt rather good and upbeat.
Because we move on. We pick up our Jenga blocks and we stack them again, one at a time. We go to build a different block tower, one with stronger walls and a better view and a hiding place for all the treasures we've collected.
Monday, March 03, 2014
He Goes To The High School... Kinda
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I took this picture moments before he walked out the door.
He came home raving about the gym and how big it was, how he could hear someone yelling at the High School students, and also, the Kona Ice truck came by as a treat, just in case they needed more
I was nervous, too.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Why Nick Is In High School
So... our town has these schools...
When we first moved to town, there were three schools. The Lower Elementary School for 1st and 2nd grades, the Upper Elementary School for 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades, and the Middle School for 6th, 7th, and 8th grades.
That was it. 3 schools. All High School students were bussed over to the next town for High School, and Kindergarten was private or nothing.
And then the town we sent our High School students to told us we had to find a different solution. We had too many kids and we were straining their resources. So the citizens of the ton fought and argued and bickered and we ended up building a High School.
Just around the time we built the High School, a law was passed that made public kindergarten a requirement. I fully support this. Our town, however, did not. Why should we do that when most kids went to private kindergarten anyway? But the law is the law, and after pushing it off and extending the deadline as long as we could, the town purchased a number of portable trailers to temporarily house the kindergarteners.
Let me say that part again.
The town purchased a number of portable trailers to temporarily house the kindergarteners.
This is where Nick went to Kindergarten. It's also where his Transition year was spent. It's also where Nate went to Kindergarten, and where he spend 1st grade.
Because somewhere along the line, it became apparent that we had to do something more permanent. So the town fought and argued and bickered and finally built a Kindergarten Extension to the Lower Elementary School. Not large enough to house all kindergarteners, but large enough to house the kindergarten only if the Half Day Schedule (less than 3 hours a day) was continued.
And it's a good thing it was built when it was, because about that time it was discovered that the Upper Elementary School was TOO CROWDED. So the town argued and bickered and instead of building anything, they came up with a temporary solution. Four 3rd grade classes would be moved from the Upper Elementary School to the Lower Elementary School. The Kindergarten would move to the newly constructed Kindergarten wing, overlooking the playground the 2.5 hour day did not give them time to use, and many 1st grade classrooms would be moved out to the 'temporary' portable, previously occupied by the kindergarteners.
Which is how Nate spent his 1st grade year there.
That brings us to this year. This year, we had no one in the portables, All 3 boys were in the same school, something that wouldn't happen again until High School.
AND THEN!... And then And Then And Theeeeeennnnnn....... They found mold.
In the portables. Remember the portables they got as a temporary solution? The ones I've had kids living hours and hours of their lives in? Yes. Mold.
As soon as they discovered this, all 8 1st grades classed were crammed back into the main building in ever available space. Kindergarten classes doubled up so 1st graders could have a room. Music rooms, art rooms, the library - all became 1st grade classrooms, 2 classes to a room.
What would they do? The school couldn't function like that!
Well, we recently received an email informing us of the solution.
The 4 3rd grade classes at the Lower Elementary School will now be held... AT THE HIGH SCHOOL!
But don't worry. They won't have to take busses with High School Students. They will take their regular busses to the Lower Elementary school, then get on another bus to take them to the High School (which we pass on the way to the Lower Elementary School). At the end of the day, they will take special busses back to the Lower Elementary, and then their regular busses back home.
This is Nick.
As thrilled as I am by the prospect of Nick spending an additional 30 minutes on a bus, I'm kind of horrified.
The school claims they will still have their Unified Arts - Music, Art, Library... but how? Where will the books be? Will they only have the 3rd grade books? And who will teach them music? Because the music teacher at the Upper Elementary didn't travel to the Lower Elementary, so will the High School music teacher be taking over? How about art? What about violin? Where will that happen - at the High School? At the Lower Elementary? What if he misses the bus? Do they realize just how many additional places they've created for Nick to forget things? And what if he gets lost? What about the bathrooms? Won't that be a little awkward for both High Schoolers and 3rd graders?
Seriously, this is Bizzaro World, people.
And I got really prickly when the teacher sent out a peppy email about change and our approach to it. Life is change, people! Your attitude when it comes to changes will affect how your child blah blah blah and all I could think was "God Dammit! HE's had ENOUGH CHANGE already!"
The thing of it is, Nick couldn't really care less about it. I'm the one freaking out. New Schedule starts in March. I'll let you know how it goes.
When we first moved to town, there were three schools. The Lower Elementary School for 1st and 2nd grades, the Upper Elementary School for 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades, and the Middle School for 6th, 7th, and 8th grades.
That was it. 3 schools. All High School students were bussed over to the next town for High School, and Kindergarten was private or nothing.
And then the town we sent our High School students to told us we had to find a different solution. We had too many kids and we were straining their resources. So the citizens of the ton fought and argued and bickered and we ended up building a High School.
Just around the time we built the High School, a law was passed that made public kindergarten a requirement. I fully support this. Our town, however, did not. Why should we do that when most kids went to private kindergarten anyway? But the law is the law, and after pushing it off and extending the deadline as long as we could, the town purchased a number of portable trailers to temporarily house the kindergarteners.
Let me say that part again.
The town purchased a number of portable trailers to temporarily house the kindergarteners.
This is where Nick went to Kindergarten. It's also where his Transition year was spent. It's also where Nate went to Kindergarten, and where he spend 1st grade.
Because somewhere along the line, it became apparent that we had to do something more permanent. So the town fought and argued and bickered and finally built a Kindergarten Extension to the Lower Elementary School. Not large enough to house all kindergarteners, but large enough to house the kindergarten only if the Half Day Schedule (less than 3 hours a day) was continued.
And it's a good thing it was built when it was, because about that time it was discovered that the Upper Elementary School was TOO CROWDED. So the town argued and bickered and instead of building anything, they came up with a temporary solution. Four 3rd grade classes would be moved from the Upper Elementary School to the Lower Elementary School. The Kindergarten would move to the newly constructed Kindergarten wing, overlooking the playground the 2.5 hour day did not give them time to use, and many 1st grade classrooms would be moved out to the 'temporary' portable, previously occupied by the kindergarteners.
Which is how Nate spent his 1st grade year there.
That brings us to this year. This year, we had no one in the portables, All 3 boys were in the same school, something that wouldn't happen again until High School.
AND THEN!... And then And Then And Theeeeeennnnnn....... They found mold.
In the portables. Remember the portables they got as a temporary solution? The ones I've had kids living hours and hours of their lives in? Yes. Mold.
As soon as they discovered this, all 8 1st grades classed were crammed back into the main building in ever available space. Kindergarten classes doubled up so 1st graders could have a room. Music rooms, art rooms, the library - all became 1st grade classrooms, 2 classes to a room.
What would they do? The school couldn't function like that!
Well, we recently received an email informing us of the solution.
The 4 3rd grade classes at the Lower Elementary School will now be held... AT THE HIGH SCHOOL!
But don't worry. They won't have to take busses with High School Students. They will take their regular busses to the Lower Elementary school, then get on another bus to take them to the High School (which we pass on the way to the Lower Elementary School). At the end of the day, they will take special busses back to the Lower Elementary, and then their regular busses back home.
This is Nick.
As thrilled as I am by the prospect of Nick spending an additional 30 minutes on a bus, I'm kind of horrified.
The school claims they will still have their Unified Arts - Music, Art, Library... but how? Where will the books be? Will they only have the 3rd grade books? And who will teach them music? Because the music teacher at the Upper Elementary didn't travel to the Lower Elementary, so will the High School music teacher be taking over? How about art? What about violin? Where will that happen - at the High School? At the Lower Elementary? What if he misses the bus? Do they realize just how many additional places they've created for Nick to forget things? And what if he gets lost? What about the bathrooms? Won't that be a little awkward for both High Schoolers and 3rd graders?
Seriously, this is Bizzaro World, people.
And I got really prickly when the teacher sent out a peppy email about change and our approach to it. Life is change, people! Your attitude when it comes to changes will affect how your child blah blah blah and all I could think was "God Dammit! HE's had ENOUGH CHANGE already!"
The thing of it is, Nick couldn't really care less about it. I'm the one freaking out. New Schedule starts in March. I'll let you know how it goes.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
What's In Your Future?
I've been spending a lot of time thinking about this blog.
"Really?" you say. "Because you don't seem to spend an awful lot of time writing it any more!"
And you are right. I don't. I got distracted, and busy. I've started working - at a grown up job at a grown-up place. I can't write during the day, and when I come home I try to fit everything else in the world into the 2.5 hours I have with my kids - get them home from karate, feed them, make sure they do homework, practice piano or violin, bathe them, read to them, get them into bed.
After that I'm exhausted, but still I have a to-do list of issues I need to research, emails I need to return, things I need to do... It's backlogged because I make myself stop once it gets to be too close to 11pm so that I can sleep.
Only, depending on what I was just doing, sleep doesn't always come easily.
Time constraints aside, I'm not sure what to write about anymore. I don't want to write too much about work, because employers don't tend to like that sort of thing. I can't write about this divorce that I am consumed with because it involves another person who might not appreciate it and might take legal action. I'm speaking about my lawyer, although Steve might not like it either.
But I haven't given up. I'm still going to write. I'm still going to post when I can think of it, and when I have something to say. For the time being. Until the people viewing this blog trickles down to such a tiny little trickle and I don't feel like it any more.
So there.
That's my plan.
"Really?" you say. "Because you don't seem to spend an awful lot of time writing it any more!"
And you are right. I don't. I got distracted, and busy. I've started working - at a grown up job at a grown-up place. I can't write during the day, and when I come home I try to fit everything else in the world into the 2.5 hours I have with my kids - get them home from karate, feed them, make sure they do homework, practice piano or violin, bathe them, read to them, get them into bed.
After that I'm exhausted, but still I have a to-do list of issues I need to research, emails I need to return, things I need to do... It's backlogged because I make myself stop once it gets to be too close to 11pm so that I can sleep.
Only, depending on what I was just doing, sleep doesn't always come easily.
Time constraints aside, I'm not sure what to write about anymore. I don't want to write too much about work, because employers don't tend to like that sort of thing. I can't write about this divorce that I am consumed with because it involves another person who might not appreciate it and might take legal action. I'm speaking about my lawyer, although Steve might not like it either.
But I haven't given up. I'm still going to write. I'm still going to post when I can think of it, and when I have something to say. For the time being. Until the people viewing this blog trickles down to such a tiny little trickle and I don't feel like it any more.
So there.
That's my plan.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Got Snow?
Old snow + New snow = a lot of freakin' snow.
I hate snow. Right now. I hate snow, I hate snow days. I hate delayed openings and I hate early release days.
I hate snow boots and snow pants and mitten and gloves, and how easily they are left at school or on the bus or in the car. I hate how wet they get.
I hate how the driveways needs plowing, only now there's no place to put the snow because the banks are higher than my head.
I hate how every time it snows I think "This will be the last one this year," only a few days later we get another 8 inches.
I hate the color white. Or grey.
I hate snow. Right now. I hate snow, I hate snow days. I hate delayed openings and I hate early release days.
I hate snow boots and snow pants and mitten and gloves, and how easily they are left at school or on the bus or in the car. I hate how wet they get.
I hate how the driveways needs plowing, only now there's no place to put the snow because the banks are higher than my head.
I hate how every time it snows I think "This will be the last one this year," only a few days later we get another 8 inches.
I hate the color white. Or grey.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Overheard Chez Moi
He's that religion, you know? The one where they believe in church and God?
************
Me: Feed the cat, please.
Child: This is the worst day of my life!
************
Andy: I just saw your old spots.
Me: My WHAT?
Andy: You know, the ones on your hands that you get when you're old?
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Thank You, Universe. Also, Help.
I am working.
And my that I mean I'm working outside the home. Someone actually hired me to do something for them. It's not an exciting something, it's a business something. It's so boring I want to stab my eyes out with a pencil, and I under estimated both how much I would miss my kids during the day and resent having to go to work because of it. I also underestimated how big of a transition this would be for my kids. I also underestimated how freakin' difficult it would be to come home at 6pm to make dinner, try and force children to do homework they've been ignoring, bathe them, clean up what I can, and prepare everything for the next day.
Honestly, I'm not getting paid enough.
Honestly, they'd have to pay me twice as much for this to feel worth it to me.
Honestly, I feel like such a slacker when I think of working parents who do this all the time.
Honestly, I've only worked two days, and once my kids are asleep I cry about it. I feel like I'll never have enough patience again. I'll never sit down at the dinner table with the kids again. I'll never be able to sit and read them a nice relaxing story because their bedtime is always going to be forty minutes ago.
Also, since I've started working we've had a number of home repairs happen, Andy ran a fever, Andy was "Star Of The Week" and I could neither come in and help decorate his "about me" board nor come in and read a story to the class. And then Andy got a rash I'm pretty sure is bedbugs. He won't stop itching his elbows, and I've had to do a lot of unexpected laundry.
I keep reminding myself that there are really good reasons I'm doing what I'm doing. I keep reminding myself this is a temporary job. I'm sure things will get better.
But it doesn't feel like it right now.
Right now this feels exactly like what I don't want.
There has to be a better way.
There just has to.
And my that I mean I'm working outside the home. Someone actually hired me to do something for them. It's not an exciting something, it's a business something. It's so boring I want to stab my eyes out with a pencil, and I under estimated both how much I would miss my kids during the day and resent having to go to work because of it. I also underestimated how big of a transition this would be for my kids. I also underestimated how freakin' difficult it would be to come home at 6pm to make dinner, try and force children to do homework they've been ignoring, bathe them, clean up what I can, and prepare everything for the next day.
Honestly, I'm not getting paid enough.
Honestly, they'd have to pay me twice as much for this to feel worth it to me.
Honestly, I feel like such a slacker when I think of working parents who do this all the time.
Honestly, I've only worked two days, and once my kids are asleep I cry about it. I feel like I'll never have enough patience again. I'll never sit down at the dinner table with the kids again. I'll never be able to sit and read them a nice relaxing story because their bedtime is always going to be forty minutes ago.
Also, since I've started working we've had a number of home repairs happen, Andy ran a fever, Andy was "Star Of The Week" and I could neither come in and help decorate his "about me" board nor come in and read a story to the class. And then Andy got a rash I'm pretty sure is bedbugs. He won't stop itching his elbows, and I've had to do a lot of unexpected laundry.
I keep reminding myself that there are really good reasons I'm doing what I'm doing. I keep reminding myself this is a temporary job. I'm sure things will get better.
But it doesn't feel like it right now.
Right now this feels exactly like what I don't want.
There has to be a better way.
There just has to.
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