That’ll learn him
This morning I am off to the 3rd grade breakfast, where one Monkeypants McGee will be part of “Are You Smarter Than a 3rd Grader?” Only one kid was picked from each class, so naturally we’re very proud and can’t wait to see him smoke a few of the other parents.
Last night we were going over practice questions, and he kept having trouble with the branches of the U.S. government and types of rocks. He kept insisting the government was made up of the Executive, Jubilant, and Legislative branches. Which was sort of adorable. (But wrong. The beatings helped, though.)
Finally, we were just about done, and I said, “Oh, by the way, Monkey… WHAT ARE THE THREE BRANCHES OF GOVERNMENT?”
He straightened right up and proudly declared: read more…
And then we stapled his lips shut
So, um, remember how Monkey got his braces on and a wire kept popping off? I’d already taken him back to the orthodontist to have them fixed the very DAY they were put on, then the next day they were closed and I had to fix them myself, and then for a couple of days they were okay.
That, of course, was followed by the Carnival Of The Wire Popping. The wire would pop off at least once a day. Sometimes twice! And because I actually have a few other things to do in this world besides remembering to call the orthodontist or spend the kids’ entire college fund on gasoline to keep trucking over there, somehow a week went by before I actually called them.
During that week, I had to drive to school to perform emergency wire surgery twice. Because I’m a orthodontist. Oh, wait. NO I’M NOT. And I’ll admit it—I was slightly cowed by the ortho’s assertion, at the first “fixing” appointment, that they were installed properly and Monkey just needed to stop messing with them. read more…
Politics and money
For years and years and years (apparently; remember, this is only our second year here) the kids’ school has done a Fall Fundraiser which primarily involves selling wrapping paper. Should you feel that you’ve reached your quota of overpriced wrapping paper, there are also crappy overpriced snacks. And things like baking mixes tied up with pretty bows that say, “Hahaha, sucker, you just forked over a 5000% markup on white flour.”
(I am not really a fan of this particular mode of fund raising. I’m sure you couldn’t tell.)
Last year—our first year here—apparently our PTA had been taken over by “the only people who cared” after some sort of kerfluffle at the end of the previous year. This small group… um, allow me to be southern here and preface this with “Bless their hearts,” managed to run things for a year, but I suspect their hearts really weren’t in it, and I’m just guessing, here, based upon how nearly every discussion started with one of them saying, “Well no one else was willing to handle this, so we’re doing it,” and the fact that all of them moved out of district at the end of the year. read more…
Wheedling for my fix
I began menopause unceremoniously at the tender young age of 33, thanks to a total hysterectomy. (Sorry for the rhyme, there; I tend to get all poetic when we chat about my uterus.) After having spent the majority of my lifetime at the mercy of everything that can possibly go wrong with those stupid organs (endometriosis! adenomyosis! infertility! ruptured ovarian cysts! hypermenorrhea, and I hope you’re not eating if you click on that link!), I was not one of those women who approached the surgical suite weeping for the loss of my womanhood, or anything like that. I believe the last words I said to my doctor before the anesthesiologist put me under were “Take it all out and don’t look back.”
I was ready, is my point. (I’ll take menopause for $200, please, Alex! What is The Lesser of Two Evils? YESSSSSSSSSS!)
And I’ve dealt with the fact that my internal thermostat is now permanently broken and I am always too hot, and I’ve dealt with the reality that unless I go on an all-calcium diet I’m a very likely candidate for osteoporosis, I’ve been through a breast cancer scare and the associated suggestion that I might have to stop taking hormones. But the thing that continues to drive me absolutely bananas is the insanity surrounding BUYING my estrogen. read more…
The “look at me” gene at work
I was just going to come tell you that if you’re in Atlanta, you can stop by the Beehive Co-op between 4:00 and 7:00 today to see me, Rita, and Kristen. I don’t know what we’re doing, really. Signing copies of Sleep Is for the Weak. Making out with each other. Dancing on the tables. Whatever.
(Of course, this all assumes that I don’t get lost driving into Atlanta. Hahahaha! I am funny!)
Anyway, first we sat down for our regular Saturday morning pancakes, and Monkey finished up first and asked if he could “go out on the porch and get some fresh air.” We said sure, have a good time. read more…
Worlds continuing to collide
Last night I grabbed a friend and headed to one of our local bookstores, because Hollis Gillespie was there doing a signing. I met Hollis last weekend in Decatur, and I suppose that if I’d had my life together I could’ve gone to her session (and gotten my books signed) there at the festival, but that’s not how it worked out, so I decided to go last night.
One of the advantages of going last night was that I was able to bring Chickadee with me, as well. Hollis has a daughter around the same age, and had said it’d be fun to have the girls meet, so off we went. Chickadee and Mae did make scintillating conversation towards the end, standing there pelting one another with pertinent questions, like “What time does YOUR school start? and “What size shoe do YOU wear?” It was totally cute. read more…
Even love can use some training
You name me a discipline method—other than corporal punishment—and I have tried it. I have punished for being bad and I have praised for being good and I have tied allowance to behavior and I have set marble jars on the counter (good deeds put marbles in, transgressions take marbles out) and I have overreacted and underreacted and just plain REACTED over and over again.
And any parenting book I could write, at this point, with ten-and-a-half years of experience under my belt would read like this: “Pray. Then buy rum. The end.”
This is to say that I think my kids are going to turn out alright in the end, but more through dumb luck and sheer perseverance than through any sort of remarkable parenting on my part. And particularly when it comes to my oldest, I am fond of observing that all of the behaviors which will make her a FABULOUS ADULT are the ones that make her a TRYING CHILD. read more…
We’re back, and here’s a funny story
In case I haven’t said so lately, there’s just no way to put a price on great web hosting. I mean, sure, between the people who want to fill my blog up with links to Haitian pharmaceuticals and my own bumbling attempts to fix things (not to mention Otto’s valiant efforts to remedy the situation), there are gonna be a few days that the blog, it done get blowed up. (Yes, that’s the technical diagnosis.) And then it was all fixed and immediately was attacked in a different way, and yet my hosting service (Fusix! Love them!) continued on, barely muttering “Yeesh, this is a total pain in the ass,” under their breath as they fixed it. AGAIN.
SO ANYWAY, now that things are fixed (for the time being, anyway), I have to tell you something I keep forgetting about. You know, before my blog blows up again. (You so think I’m kidding, but guess what! Fusix just called to say they had to block the ENTIRE COUNTRY OF KOREA due to excessive network requests. And I’ve always liked Korea. It’s just been a really weird couple of days, okay?) read more…
I know
Hi. Yes, I’m aware that the blog is sort of broken. Thanks for noticing.
Yesterday my blog was attacked because I’m a moron and hadn’t updated my WordPress install for a really long time. Once I deleted out all of the nasty spammage, the folks doing the attacking thought it would be charming to make the site disappear entirely! Which was then fixed by my good pals at Fusix (seriously, people—best. hosting. ever!), because they are rock stars. But since then we’ve managed to break things but good up in here.
If you’re some sort of WordPress ninja, feel free to shoot me an email. You know, because my comments are all broken. Woo, comments are fixed! Working on the rest; sit tight.
Nearly as exciting as the High
Hmmm, let me see. Where did we last leave off? Oh! Right! I said “Tomorrow I can tell you all about what country bumpkins do when they have a child-free day in Atlanta.” And of course by “tomorrow” I meant TODAY, which is technically two days later, but that’s just how it goes.
(Hey, I was still recovering. And time is a fluid concept, dude. Peace.)
ANYWAY, yes, my husband and I had all of Sunday spread out before us to have a Big Day in the Big City and Otto really wanted to go to the High, and I really wanted to go back to sleep for about three days, and so naturally we compromised and went to Ikea and Trader Joe’s, instead.
What? read more…