Howler Haus

So, this year, because she didn't get enough toys, we had to haul the big empty box back out... and it has been appropriately called, "Howler Haus" (no, we're not German, but, it's the illiteration that counts, right?)

From the outside looking in:

Kilroy wuz here:

All moved back in (especially Barbie's shoes):

From inside out:

Jinxed

So, I started telling people that the Toad was doing better...that we, as his parents, were doing better.

I was wrong.

He seemed to take it as an "okay" to begin doing as he damned well pleased.

He also decided to milk the whole sickness thing.

I've been mad at him since Monday. He called off work because he was running late and cut himself while brushing the snow off his car. Then, he really did get sick with strep throat, and had to call off again.

While he had a doc's excuse to miss work on Thursday and Friday, he also decided that he "had a headache" and called off for Saturday as well.

In his favor, however, work called him this AM and asked if he could come to work today at noon. He said, "yes" and was in good spirits--mostly because this somehow balanced his work karma.

It's a helluva lot easier to "let go" and all that crap when he's doing what he needs to do, and not sitting around the house milking an illness. (Even if the illness is real.)

*sigh*

If It Weren't For Bad Luck...

He'd have no luck at all.

God, how can one person end up so pathetic?

The Toad, who was sick last week with the stomach crud, now has strep throat. For a person who was rarely sick as a child, he's picking up every infectious thing he comes across. It's like a collection of knick-knacks, only his is pretty nasty, and no one else wants to even look at it.

He complained yesterday that he didn't feel well, and while we left him alone, and he didn't complain too much, you could tell by looking at him that he wasn't feeling well. The glands in his neck did feel tender, but if you're coming down with a cold, that's expected, right?

Well, today, his voice was funny, and I could tell by looking at him he wasn't feeling better. At all. I am of the opinion that if Alka-Seltzer Plus Cold Medicine doesn't cure it, it's bad. (It didn't, and it is.)

Poor pathetic thing has strep throat. You know it's bad when the nurse looks at his throat and gets green 'round the gills. You know it's really bad when the PA looks at his throat and gets green 'round the gills and turns away and makes face.

I looked at it before we went to the doc's and, yeah, it's pretty gross.

He got an excuse to be off work today and tomorrow, and we have one in reserve for Saturday if he's not feeling any better.

He just can't get a break--and I feel badly, even though some of the worry over the job is his own fault. I wouldn't wish strep this bad on my worst enemy.

At least it wasn't his dependix.

Better

It's to the point where it's time to actually say the words out loud. Hope I'm not jinxing myself:

Since his Toadcoming at Thanksgiving, things have been better.

He's better.

My Sweetie and I are better.

We're better--all of us together.

Outside of the one Monday evening incident, he's making an effort to be decent to be around; he's doing his laundry (although not in the time frame we'd like, he's DOING it, and doing it all); he's actually nice to be around--no smell (okay, sometimes, but it passes; okay, HE passes, but if you crack a window and strike a match, it's survivable), especially.

He's not breathing like a sleztak, either. His room is cleaner, and since his clothes are cleaner, his sinuses seem to have opened up.

Don't get me wrong--he's still the Toad, and he's not doing anything to lose weight or be healthier, BUT that's got to be HIS decision, and HIS action, and we GET that now.

He's not-so-much happy with the job at Mickey D's, but he's taking it seriously, and GOING to work (except for last Thursday, and he had that nasty stomach thing; he did go in on Friday, even if was to turn green and need to come home.)

We still have work to do, and some changes to make, BUT things are better at our house--and it's a nice place to be, in general again.

And the letting go thing really does get easier, when you practice.

Finally, to those of you who have listened to us struggle with this, and have prayed/sent good vibes to us through this--please don't quit!--but we have felt them; you have helped us in ways that I cannot express. Thank you.

The Fry Guy

Toad announced early this week that he is, indeed, the Fry Guy at work.

How lovely. We're barred from calling him that, so it's not like we could enjoy it.

I don't think he likes his job much, really, but he's at least going, and trying to be cheerful about it--and that's more important.

He's been decent to be around, aside from the sucking up all the hot water when he showers, I mean.

This letting go thing is still hard, but with practice, it is getting easier.

A Christmas Howler

The Howler's class saw a 1st grade production of "A Christmas Carol" today. This is how the story goes:

There was a man who loved money. He liked money, too. He counted it and wrote it down.

When someone asked him for money to help the poor, he said, "No no no" about a hundred times. He said, "Bah Humbug" about a hundred times, too, but I don't know what a "humbug" is.

We all laughed and laughed then.

They turned out the lights, and it was dark. Some of them stood in a corner I think.

The ghosts came, and they wore hats and chains. The first one was his partner, and he wore the hat first.

The others came and sang songs.

They all came to Scroo. The black guy came too, but he didn't want to talk about it.

What Scroo learned was to share his money.

I think the Howler's version is about right, don't you?

Already Done Did It

The PTA Homeroom Mom co ordinator sent home a memo today--the dates and times of the crafts and party, and a reminder to begin making calls to get volunteers and stuff lined up.

HAH! I already done did it! I'm done. The only calls I'd need to make at this point are returning calls (as if they're gonna call back--it's been 4 days!), should anyone decide to call me now.

LOL. I'm so pleased with myself. I don't have to scramble, and I've already got my ducks in a row: volunteers line up, signed up; treats and prizes planned and in capable hands.

I even, today, bought the cutest snowman cards for those who come for the craft day. I'll find some, hopefully on clearance, after Christmas to send right after school reopens for the party.

I have to work for the PTA meeting this month, so I guess I won't be missing much. I will make sure I have off for the January one--I'll need info (date & time) of the Valentine's party by then. They're going to think I'm obsessed with these parties, I'm sure.

In Loving Memory

of Tiny. She was just a tiny little chicken, and she wasn't growing...she didn't grow. She died this week.

How on earth are we supposed to tell the Howler? This was her chicken, and the silly little bird would actually follow her around, and sit and wait for her if she went inside.

Of course, there are nine chicklings still, and I'm sure the Howler could chose one, name it herself, and possibly even train the little thing to be her pet. (Rumor has it that chickens are very trainable.)

It's still sad to us that Tiny is gone, and we know the Howler will be sad over this Christmas.

This is the 3rd *pet* in three years that she's lost: first, it was Big Dog, Grandpa's big, lovable mutt; then last year, Pebbles, our cat. Now, Tiny. We still miss B-Dog and Pebs. I'm just hoping it won't dampen her Christmas spirits.

*sigh* Poor little birdie.

Inviso-Girl Strikes

I completed my calls (left many messages) for the PTA sponsored Craft Day in 2 weeks.

I think the *Yesses* I got were, in part, that I sent Thank You notes to the parents who helped out at Halloween. I plan to send them to the parents who help with the craft day, and the Christmas party, too. Sucking up? You betcha. I would normally say that I'm not someone who would do that sort of thing, but, whatever these parents do, I don't have to do...or I get to do just a little bit, too.

Considering that for the Halloween party, I saw parents hauling in BINS of stuff, and overheard one conversation about "I just spent $80 on this party. I hope someone else agrees to send stuff next time." (which, to me is a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a classroom party)

Anyway, I got 4 yesses and 2 maybes for the Craft day. One family's phone number is no longer their phone number, and another family has a number that rings infinity. I was able to at least leave a message for EVERY family. Ain't NO ONE going to say that they didn't *know* or weren't *contacted*. My new mantra is "answer your stinking phone" . It's a nicer one, and more repeatable in mixed company.

After that, I called the Craftier-than-thou person in charge of the craft thing, she had no idea (still) who I was...and even asked me TWICE if I got the message that the date in her later-than-thou letter was wrong: she called and spoke to me; I had identified myself by name and faux-title at the time. I had to firmly tell her that I was at the PTA meeting and had the correct date (although, I notice it took her 2 weeks from when it was dated for her to notice that the date was wrong.) I betcha she's still trying to figure out what I look like.

Not that the PTA would be able to come for me anyway. They'd have to know who I was first, and considering that those who do ain't talking, it really is rather freeing. Add to it the fact that there is no "PTA Food Police", we're doing what we want, and I ain't gonna say "NO" to any parent who is willing to help out and contribute. (My mama may be mortified by me in many ways, but she knows she didn't raise no fool.)

Now, for the best part--I may not have appeased the Karma gods enough. The letter came home that Daisies are up to 15...and if any more girls join, they'll need another parent. I think I may need to be that parent (God help me!)

So, on top of everything else, I may be spending my time with some munchkins in the near future.

The Howler Meets Santa

NOT!

Yet again, this year, she's not going anywhere near the Jolly Fat Man. No how, no way.

I took her to the Mall last Thursday, thinking, surely by now, she's over this wigging out thing. Sure she is. She didn't caterwaul, she didn't actually climb up me like a freaked-out cat, but she hid behind me, and starting whining as soon as she spotted the "ENTER HERE" sign.

We walked by, I waved. Santa, luckily, had be previously warned (I work with him at his day job). lol. So, he knew what to expect, but I think, honestly, I'm warped, and that I've warped her in some way.

I swear to God, her father and I had NOTHING to do with this. NOTHING. She freaked as an infant; she panicked as a toddler. She flat-ass refused as a preschooler, and now, as a Kindergartener, she cowers.

There's something bizarre about this. Hell, I remember 2 years ago, taking her to Walmart to have her picture taken, and she literally burst into hysterical tears when the photographer said something about taking her picture with Santa--it was a PICTURE of the Fat Man, and she cried and carried on like I was sticking her with red-hot pins.

This just ain't normal--and it's beyond even the usual "just ain't normal."