There's a certain magical thing that happens as your children get older; at least, it's happening to me. In the very beginning, when they were tiny babies, I was sure I had no idea what I was doing. Over time, I gained confidence, and ever-so-steadily inched into a place where I felt like a competent parent. But then they turn into teenagers and once again I have no freaking clue how to do anything right when it comes to them. It's just that instead of a colicky baby I now have stressed-out humans who are larger than me. Neat! But if I actually DID know anything, I'd write about it all...
Life! Life, you so crazy. Or maybe you so normal and my coping skills are not. Hard to know. Maybe best not to dwell! Various and sundry, because I am still suffering from the illusion that anyone gives a damn: * School has been in session for about a month. Two excellent weeks at the beginning gave way to... reality. Reality kind of sucks. * Speaking of school, I promised to share the poster grades once they were in, and I didn't forget, this teacher is just a slow grader. Chickadee got a 100, Monkey got a 97. Both were pleased. (I may or may not have muttered "grade inflation" under my...
Every time I think I'm getting the hang of this parenting gig (don't worry, it doesn't happen all that often; just the rare, delusional flash of perceived competence), something new comes up. Chickadee's been doing marching band for years, y'know, so I figured I had the routine down and everything would be old hat with Monkey. But I forgot that he's a boy and she's a girl. I mean, it's not like I didn't know, but I forgot that once they got into uniform fittings there are... ahhhh... different concerns for boys and girls. Marching band uniforms are... very form-fitting. VERY. FORM-FITTING....
This summer kind of flew by with a great sucking *WOOOOOOOSH*, and I don't know how it happened. I mean, I do---we went on a trip, then Monkey went on a trip, and Otto went on a few trips, and for the first time in forever I had One Giant Job rather than Lots O Little Jobs, and Duncan kept acting like he was dying and had to have surgery, and then there was band camp, and POOF: summer's over. It was just... weird. It kind of makes me long for those days when summer seemed to drag on and on and I did a little jig when the kids headed back to school, because there's just no pleasing me. We...
Consider this my white flag of surrender for this week. I am done. DONE. I give up. There's a stomach bug being circulated around band camp, because of course there is. Both kids have had it. One of them had it twice. (Overachiever!) I may have also had it, but it's hard to tell because this weekend I threw out my neck (making a bed, because I'm all gangster like that) and in a moment of extreme pain and poor judgment decided I could take some of these leftover painkillers here, I'm sure it'll be FINE. Hey, not fine! Turns out that Tylenol and Advil do exactly fuck-all for a frozen neck, but...
Alternately, Stuff I did while avoiding doing actual work. Or even, I am super productive when I'm procrastinating. * Missed seeing a friend on her birthday because I am so disorganized. * Apologized to said friend and made plans for later this week. * Realized I hadn't seen another friend in far too long; made more plans. * Talked with a third friend about future plans when she returns from a trip. * Spent a full five minutes marveling at how far I've come since my cave-dwelling hermit days because THREE FRIENDS! PLANS! SOCIAL! WOOOOOO! * Stripped all beds, washed sheets, made up all beds....
So the Very Good News is that Duncan is now two weeks out from his surgery and got his stitches out and his inflatable collar off and never have you seen a dog so happy. He loves everyone and everything, and this is even in light of the Not So Good News that wearing that stupid collar (to keep him from eating his stitches, mind you) ended up giving him a whopper of an ear infection. (Apparently having your ears sort of pushed closed for a couple of weeks is bad.) By the time I discovered it, his ear was seriously grody and caked with... stuff. Ear cheese. Doesn't everyone call it ear cheese?...
I have a love/hate relationship with my garden, as many of you know. Mostly it's love. Really. I love growing my own food, and I love the excuse to go outside and graze like a cow. (Ummmm. Maybe not like a cow. I don't stand out there and eat grass, or anything. But I've been known to park myself by the cherry tomatoes, is all I'm saying.) On the flip side, I do hate bugs. All bugs. Many, many bugs. And I'm not super-fond of my yearly "quality time with the children" fantasy being disrupted with petty concerns like "It's HOT OUT HERE!" and "I'm getting eaten by mosquitoes!" and "Why do you...
I feel like I could probably write an excellent Dr. Seuss-esque book about some of our recent adventures, although small children might not find them as entertaining as I'd like. Into the kayak you'll go, You'll plan to go slow... But oh, the river goes fast, Until sanity's flown past! And then you might need a plaster cast. I kid, of course. No one is injured. Much. (Otto doesn't want to talk about it, though.) But we did go kayaking. And then I wrote about it for Alpha Mom. You should read it, maybe. (Also, I am mulling over Things I Can Write About because I know it's been a while. The...
