Three years after moving to Georgia, I am still learning the lingo. I am still learning that there is a segment of the population here that is always going to believe that 1) I talk too fast and 2) I am blunt to the point of rudeness. Me, I don't think I speak particularly fast, nor do I think of myself as rude (though I'll agree with blunt), but this is a dixie/yankee thing, I guess. One of the things I've learned since moving here is that it's "polite" to let other people be wrong and/or assholes rather than to stand your ground. That goes over with my personal stance on life (give me...
Oh, public school. Our love affair has trod upon a very rocky road, but I always come back to you. I'm starting to feel a little like a battered wife, but I come back! Because I love you! And you love me! Rather, you love my children. Sometimes. You certainly love my children when it's time to Leave Every Child Behind and do state-mandated standardized testing, anyway. And public school, it's not me. It's you. Seriously. Oh, I was dazzled by your promise. I want to believe in the System. You know the one---the one that's utterly, completely broken. And from where I sit, as a person of...
Part of what we do as parents is walk a constant tightrope between what makes our kids comfortable and what makes them grow. I think we all do it. It's such a delicate balance to strike, under the best of circumstances, and what I'm learning with my son is that his particular tightrope is thirty stories up. And occasionally lit on fire. And I'm on it, trying not to fall off. In Monkey's case, he has a specific set of social and behavioral challenges, right? And we desperately want to help him overcome those challenges. But a lot of things are hard for him that just aren't for me or Otto or...
I spent much of the weekend licking my wounds, except it was figurative, of course, which was a good thing, because if I'd been trying to LITERALLY lick anything on my body I might've screwed up my neck more than it was already screwed up. [Typical conversation with my chiropractor over the last few days: Her: Does this hurt? Me: IT ALL HURTS. Her: But does it hurt MORE? Me: Maybe. Can you make it hurt LESS? Or could you maybe just KILL ME?] So my neck was hurting and my ego was hurting and my everything-is-going-to-be-fine meter was freaking out and I figured I would just sulk for a few...
I seem to be on an F kick lately. I cannot imagine why. I'm sure it has nothing to do with a barely-even-subliminal desire to say a DIFFERENT word that starts with F, repeatedly. No no, of course not. It's not as though I'd like to stick my head out the window right now and bellow... ... um, Frankenstein. Ahem. After yesterday's fudge incident (and yes, there are recipes that use evaporated rather than sweetened condensed, but then they call for things like marshmallow fluff, which I also didn't have) I instead opted to make a giant batch of cookies and say "Screw fudge! Fudge is stupid!"...
Dear Dr. Jerk, Mamas know. Mamas know when their babies are sick, and mamas know how their children react to pain. Do not roll your eyes when my child who has sensory integration issues complains that you are pressing too hard, nor may you prove some sort of point by pressing twice as hard on the other side (and then act surprised when he screams). Do not smirk or make condescending remarks like, "Oh, REALLY?" when I try to explain to you that his assessment of pain being a "2" on a scale from 1 to 10 means absolutely nothing on account of the aforementioned sensory disorder, as well as a...
Just because Monkey has this nasty cold and I woke up this morning feeling logy and thick and sluggish does not mean that I am coming down with his cold. Just because I never actually, you know, stop kissing him on the mouth until he's leaking snot from every visible orifice doesn't mean I'm prone to picking up his virus. I mean, I drink ORANGE JUICE. That stuff is like Kryptonite to cold viruses. For Otto, anyway. Just because I have this weird cold sore thing that sprang up yesterday on the wayyyyyyy back left side of my tongue (in an impossible place to view, but likewise in an impossible...
Good news! Chickadee doesn't have mono! Bad news! Chickadee is apparently severely anemic! Worse news! The doctor is now out of town until next week, so sorry, he'll call when he returns to talk about "next steps." Helpful tip: Do not ask Dr. Google about children and anemia. Seriously. Just don't. If you need me, I'll be spending the day hand-feeding my child popsicles, buying her ponies, and also bleaching my brain. [Edited to add: Got a second call from the doctor's office to schedule a follow-up, and this time had the presence of mind to ask for actual blood test results. Hi, my doctor's...
[Alternate title: You Damn Kids Get Off Of My Lawn.] [Alternate alternate title: No, Seriously, Knock It Off.] [Alternate alternate alternate title: You Really Might Not Want To Tick Me Off Right Now.] I'm willing to cop to being fairly irritable. I'm easily riled. It's true. I try to take it in stride. I also try to recognize when I'm overreacting, even if only to justify having more chocolate ("It's my MEDICINE!") or whatever. But sometimes too many annoying things happen in too short a span of time for me to digest them in a calm and rational way. So here are a few things I feel the need...
