Well, that’s a relief
Everyone is healthy and hearty and life goes on.
For a short and blissful while there, Chickadee was loving and cuddly and totally a Mama’s Girl. Of course, I didn’t know, in the beginning part of it, anyway, that it was largely due to the fact that she was miserable at school and had decided to hate everyone and everything… but we had some truly lovely moments while she viewed me as the best thing in her life.
Now that I’ve twisted myself inside-out and upside-down and gone to bat for her at school and the bullying situation has been (at least temporarily) resolved, however, I am back to being the stupidest, most loathsome creature she’s ever had to endure. So that’s fun.
I put pepper on her salad when I was packing her lunch and that was ALL WRONG and caused a screaming, crying fit. And I suggested she wear shorts rather than sweatpants to tumbling class, because I’m mean. And retarded. And clearly out to get her. read more…
Love holds on
Yesterday dawned and brought with it a fever and listlessness for the girlchild, so I got her brother packed off to school and her set up on the couch and tried to salvage the day. I worked, she dozed. Somewhere towards lunch I stopped to stroke her hair and prepare myself to murmur “Poor little bunny” as needed.
Whether this had been brewing for a while (I think it had) or she was just miserable enough with whatever yuck she was fighting (she was) or a combination of the two (almost certainly), before I knew it I was listening to a tale of woe, a catalog of complaints that ranged from typical friend politics right down to actual bullying.
And oh how I wished that “poor little bunny” would have any effect on the antics she was describing, that she’d been dealing with for months and not telling anyone. I did what I could; I listened, we talked, I contacted the school, and when she dozed I put dog toys on the couch with her so that Licorice would snuggle up. read more…
Totally changing her name
Licorice is pretty much exactly what we imagined, when people told us about how great it would be to adopt a rescue dog. “They’re just so grateful,” people said. “They bond to you in a way other dogs don’t. They just love you SO MUCH.”
[Come to think of it, people tried to tell me that about kids before I had them. And not ONCE in any of those conversations did anyone mention a hormonal tween screaming and incoherent with rage, stomping up the stairs, all because I said “Please go change into a pair of pants that don’t look like you just pulled them out from the laundry pile under your bed.”]
But Licorice, man. Licorice is LOVE. Wherever we are, that’s where she is. She spends every evening in my lap. Her whole body wags when the kids come home. She is completely, undeniably, OURS. read more…
And a punny time was had by all
Halloween dawned damp and full of expectation, here, and Chickadee was up and raring to go first thing in the morning. Monkey was still asleep at 9:30 when I went into his room to make sure he wasn’t dead, which meant, of course, that he was sick.
“I’m FINE!” he groused, as I took his temperature. “I feel FINE. I’m not sick!” The thermometer begged to differ. It was just a low fever, though, so as the day wore on and his protestations grew louder and the fever never went higher, we made an executive decision to let him go trick-or-treating, anyway. Because I really didn’t want to have to listen to a year’s worth of histrionics over missing out on candy due to a hardly-even-fever temperature.
Of course, when I called to make plans with friends for him (as Chickadee had already made plans for a GIRLS ONLY outing), I was quizzed as to his health and potential contagiousness. It was reluctantly agreed that he was okay, and then ANOTHER child in that group ended up leaving early with a vicious tummy bug, which is sad but makes me feel better about the whole low fever thing. read more…
So romantic
A few mornings ago, I let Licorice hop into bed with Otto after I let her out. She commenced furiously licking his neck, which—because we’d read some article that basically said, “You think your dog is kissing you when she licks your mouth, but really she is hoping you’ll vomit up whatever you just ate, just like her wolf ancestors would’ve done”—caused Otto to peer at her and say, “No matter how many times you lick my Adam’s apple, it’s not going to cause yummy vomit to come spewing out of it.”
We had a good laugh over that, because we are twisted individuals.
And then that night, lying in bed, there was perhaps a bit of smooching happening, and I kissed his neck, and he murmured, “I’m not throwing up out my Adam’s apple for you, either.” And I laughed until I choked, but seriously, now. I am going to have a big neon sign made up where I can just flick a switch, and the bedroom will light up with, “Foreplay: UR DOIN IT WRONG.”
Identity crisis
So we had this Big Important Meeting at school this week. The nice thing about completely obsessing and worrying over such an event is that it rarely turns out to be as bad as you’ve imagined. Really, the worst thing about these meetings (so far) is that no matter how much notice we give about the kids’ dad wanting to be teleconferenced in, the school seems to be chock-full of conference rooms without phones. And as much as I like Monkey’s classroom, spending a Big Important Meeting sitting in a child-sized chair isn’t really my idea of a good time.
Ahem.
Anyway, part of what we did was go over Monkey’s test results and review the Giant Report of Monkey-Related Information. [Side note: I like how such reports generally start out with something like “Monkey Lastname is a fourth grader at Local School. He is outgoing and eager to please.” Like perhaps we’re planning to list him on Petfinder and want people to know that he’s a very good puppy.] The test results include all sorts of background and family information, too. read more…
Love makes sense of it all
I haven’t slept in about a week.
That’s an exaggeration, of course; I’ve slept, but not well, and not for long.
There’s a kind of worry that gets into my brain that makes it hard for me to compartmentalize and move around it. That worry is almost always something related to the kids; I get stuck in an endless mental loop of “But if A, then B. And if B, then C. And if C, OHMYGOD, D-Z! We’re all DOOMED!”
It’s not particularly productive or helpful. But I haven’t figured out how to circumvent it, yet. It leaves me with two choices: Accomplish nothing, so I am free to worry all day, or still accomplish stuff, but then lay awake at night catching up on worrying.
This week has been full of Option B. And coffee. read more…
Invasion
Fall has finally come to Georgia, and that means the temperatures have finally dipped below 70. Otto and I spent a day wrestling the pool cover in place, which made it all the more fun the next time the children accused us of planning wild partying for when they go off with their dad; usually we tell them that we swim naked while eating candy. This time, of course, Monkey said, “NO YOU CAN’T! The cover’s on the pool!” He looked so triumphant that I almost felt bad for telling him that, naturally, we grease up with frosting, slip under the cover, and use our empty pixie stick wrappers to suck air from the surface.
(He knew I was kidding, but that flicker of uncertainty—however brief—made it worth it.)
I’ve brought in the last of the green tomatoes, and one night when we had a freeze advisory I even brought in all of my miniature trees, which was interesting, because suddenly the dining room was transformed into a tiny forest.
There is a problem with dropping temps, though. read more…
It must be Monday
How was your weekend? Our was pretty good (aside from the recital bloodbath on Saturday, of course). Almost relaxing, even, considering all of the running around we did and errands we ran and such. Plus we FINALLY figured out Halloween costumes, after months of vacillation, so that was a relief. (I lovingly helped things along: “Anyone who hasn’t made a costume decision by the end of the day will be on their own completely. Who wants more pancakes?”)
Otto and I enjoyed a game of Scrabble last night and went to bed at a decent hour, rather than what has become our Sunday night routine of staying up too late to watch Mad Men and then running around with last-minute Sunday night stuff and not getting to bed before midnight.
The stage was set for a perfectly pleasant Monday. Or so I thought, because I am a dumbass with bad karma. read more…
Live and learn (and cringe)
Chickadee had a piano recital today. It’s been a bone of contention around here for quite a while, because Chickadee loves playing the piano but she hates to practice.
Go ahead. I’ll give you a minute to puzzle that one out. (If you figure it out, could you let me know? Thanks.)
So the recital pieces got handed out, and Chickadee promptly did that thing that kids do, the thing where “Oh, it’s fine,” is the answer to everything. It was fine that she wasn’t practicing, or practicing for just three minutes at a time. It was fine that really, this was supposed to be her PRACTICE piece in preparation for a harder one, but due to her failure to actually learn this one with any alacrity, she’d never been promoted to the next piece. The recital would be fine, MOM, SHEESH.
I went to her teacher and asked what I should do, and was told that I should just let her be. So I did. read more…