Pancakes and intrigue for breakfast
We have a new family tradition of pancakes on Saturday mornings. The kids like this because they love pancakes, and I like this because Otto is in charge of making them, which generally means he not only makes the pancakes, but empties the dishwasher and does all the dishes, as well.
(After four and a half years of being a single mom, that right there is as close to a wet dream as I’ll ever get.)
So this morning started out typically enough: Monkey arose before everyone else, came down to our room and hopped into bed for a quick snuggle. I hugged and kissed him and suggested he go watch cartoons. Off he went. Otto and I fell back asleep. Then Chickadee got up and came and hopped into bed for her snuggle, and asked when we’d be getting up. I said “soon.” She went off to watch cartoons. Otto and I fell back asleep. Chickadee came back and asked if we were getting up now. We said “soon.” She left. We fell back asleep. Chickadee came back and said “I AM REALLY HUNGRY WHEN ARE YOU GETTING UUUUUUUUP?” and we got up. read more…
Time to admit that banks hate me
I am beginning to think that I am just not very lucky when it comes to finances.
Oh, I don’t mean that it requires luck to manage your money. I’m all about personal responsibility when it comes to one’s finances and such. I’m fastidious about such things, to the point where I should probably be medicated or at least someone should assist me in yanking this enormous stick out of my butt. But in terms of general money karma, if you will, I think there is a measure of luck involved.
I have a friend who faces an unexpected home repair WITHOUT FAIL any time she comes into a bit of extra money. That’s bad karma. And me, well, I’m fine as long as I don’t have to deal with any actual banks. read more…
Unusual initiative in sibling squashing
Even if the principal is just humoring me in getting the children lined up for gifted testing, the school is doing a bang-up job of making us feel special about it. Letters came home yesterday indicating that my signature was needed to proceed with the testing. That was fine. There was then a very impressive chart of what the requirements are for children to qualify for the program (99th percentile on several indices, 96th percentile on a couple of others), and a fill-in line to indicate the source of the referral.
Remember how the principal told me that the kids had already been referred by their teachers? Both sheets said they’d been referred by “parent.” That would be me, I guess, the pushy yankee bitch who thinks her children are SO SMART.
It was the next part that really tickled me, though. read more…
Word to your AYP
This week the kids’ school is hosting a series of curriculum nights, and although some parents I’ve met have skipped it because it’s probably about the same every year, I went because we’re new to the school and also I don’t want to be marked as an uninterested parent. (There’s plenty of time for that later on in the year when they need volunteers and I’m “busy,” after all.)
My impression of this school—the school that I pestered every member of the administration whose phone number and email I could get my hands on to get the kids into—is that they are the epitome of the old expression about making lemonade out of lemons. This SHOULD be a lousy school, for a variety of reasons I’ll talk about in a bit. On paper, some would argue that it IS a lousy school, although I (obviously) disagree. One thing I can say for certain is that this school (really, this district) is making me realize how spoiled we were back up north. read more…
And we lived predictably ever after
Oh, my. My my my. Thank you to everyone who rushed to stroke my hair and tell me I’m a GOOD AND KIND AND VERY USEFUL ENGINE. You are sweet and silly because of course I wasn’t saying that I suck in every possible way, I was just venting on having done something I regretted, and then life goes on.
Of course, those of you who took this opportunity to lecture me on what I should say or do remind me that yes, one DOES need to be careful about what they blog, because there is always someone out there who 1) assumes they know you inside and out from just a peek into your life and 2) therefore feels entitled to tell you how to behave. Yes, I am duly chastened. Thanks for that. Now, given that we’re so close and all, maybe you could get your ass over here and do the dishes? I mean, since we’re on such intimate terms. Thanks.
As for us, amazingly the earth continued to spin and our routines marched onward. read more…
More on being an asshole
(Not to be confused with this rockin’ mama over here, you understand, but I believe there’s enough asshole to go around.)
Recently those of us participating in BlogHerAds were asked to state for the record whether or not we could commit to profanity-free writing as—go figure—some advertisers would rather not spend their dollars on pottymouths. Although I didn’t have to think twice about checking the “I do hereby solemnly swear to use my genteel language and only fart butterflies” box over on Want Not, after some thought I decided that I wasn’t comfortable making that pledge here. Because although as a writer I generally feel that there are better ways to express yourself than profanity, sometimes nothing else will do.
Sometimes you just have to be able to say, “God. I’m such an asshole.” read more…
Fleeting mobility
The good news: For my birthday, Otto’s brother Wild Thing drove their mom’s car down here all the way from Boston. The reason? She’s giving it to us. It is old and battered but runs fine and—most importantly—the air conditioning runs ice cold. I am thrilled to have a set of wheels again.
The bad news: Otto and Wild Thing headed out this morning and I waved them off, saying that the kids and I would swim a while and then go run errands. Because TWO WHOLE CARS THAT WORK—that means we can do different things at different times! Except that I just realized I don’t actually have the keys to the new car. Whoops.
Edited to add the following corrections: The car is not old, it is simply older than my previous car. It is not battered, it just has a couple of dents. I am very very very very very grateful to have it and it was incredibly generous of my mother-in-law to give it to us and equally generous of my brother-in-law to drive it down. The keys were here and I didn’t see them because I’m a moron, and in fact this entire post was written because I’m an asshole who doesn’t know how to just say “thank you” and shut up. In fact, all clarifications can more or less be summed up by pointing out that I’m an asshole. Which I am. I hope that clears up any confusion.
And cake makes everything better
Today is a particularly good Friday. The children have nearly made it through their first week of school, and to celebrate that we decided they could ride the bus home this afternoon. This has less to do with any reward logic (because, let’s face it, they’d much rather be picked up and we’re all a bit worried about what happens on the bus) and more to do with things like since it’s the end of the week, if the experience scars them horribly I have all weekend to help them get over it; plus yesterday the crossing guard lady yelled at me in the pick-up line and I realized that if I continue picking them up every day I am going to die young. Because for days now I have watched people cut in front of me in line and I have seethed in silence, and yesterday I went around a PARKED AND EMPTY car and this lady came up to my car and told me to GO TO THE BACK OF THE LINE FOR CUTTING. At which point I reverted back to my most primitive New Yorker roots and said to her, “You have GOT to be kidding me, lady.” So.
Also, tonight we are having what I have been promised is the best cake in the world on account of I have managed to stay in (more or less) one piece for thirty six whole years. read more…
A tale of two cars (part 2)
No, you didn’t miss anything. This is a two-part story (see? tale of TWO cars?), but I’m not ready to tell you part 1, just yet. Part 1 cannot be told without flames shooting out of my eyeballs and veins bulging in my neck. Part 1 is the story of why—nearly eight weeks after moving—I still do not have a car of my own. Part 1 should come first, I’ll grant you that, but, um, too bad.
This is part 2. This is about Otto’s car.
So I moved down here, carless, and Otto and I were drunk on love and possibly cheap beer, and we said that me not having a car would be NO PROBLEM for a little while, because Otto has a car! And Otto would not be going back to work until August (oh, hey, look—it’s August) and also, Otto had an extra car so we’d be perfectly fine. Hahahahahaha. read more…
Briefly (because I have a date)
Someone commented on the last post that they’ve noticed that I’ve switched to posting in the morning now that I’ve gotten married. Actually, I was still posting at night until this week, when I realized that 6:00, she arrives EXTREMELY EARLY. That is always true, I supposed, but she arrives PARTICULARLY early if you’ve been up late working, blogging, or beating the pants off your husband in Scrabble. (I joke. We have never played strip Scrabble. But now that I think of it….)
So I’m trying to get to bed earlier, and I’m trying out posting in the morning instead of at night. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll keep it this way, but so long as it continues to be dark when I get up (even though it’s the middle of summer), I’m going to try to get to bed at a reasonable time.
Because I? Am old. And I need my sleep. read more…