Yesterday, she hurt her foot in gym class. Was given sympathy and an ice pack and she was fine. Really.
Apparently, though, she jabbed a boy with her straw in lunch, and since she's a Mumple, she did break the skin enough to warrant his needing sympathy. Then, to compound the problem, she lied about it.
And was found out.
And ventured back to the nurses office because her poor widdle toe still hurted.
My Preciousness discovered that her powerful Mommy is NOT impressed with the jabbing or the lying.
No, I didn't beat her, or berate her.
I simply decided that she would eat lunch at a table by herself today (which lead to copious tears last night at bedtime, AND she would apologize to the boy AND her teacher or she wouldn't go to the birthday party she was invited to tomorrow.)
Poor thing practically cried herself to sleep last night. I felt so bad for her--whether she knows the words for it or not, she knows what it feels like to make a jackass of yourself, and here was her horrifying mother, making her live the consequences of such a thing.
Poor Poor Pitiful Preciousness.
But, for the record, she did survive the ordeal, and is actually fairly happy this afternoon.
See, I do use my powers for good.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Mom Power
Two weeks ago, I got a call from the school.
The "Health Aide" (hereafter known as The Nurse) was calling. It seems that the Howler got into trouble in her classroom, and in the aftermath, was close to hyperventilating from the crying. "Can I give her a dose of her rescue inhaler?" Oh, by all means, please do.
I also got to speak with the Howler, who was still snuffly with a sad little lilt in her voice. She explained what happened: she was putting her things away, and Mrs N over reacted and didn't give her enough time to put them away. Mrs N was just plain wrong.
Now, what the Howler had, and was playing with, were a couple of things--one of which had been making the trip to and from school for weeks as a pencil case (no pencils were in it, though) and a change purse with a chapstick and her milk money for lunch.
So, Mrs N, following the classroom rules and prior precedent, confiscated the Howler's posessions until the end of the year. The Howler was beside herself, and, as near as I can tell, mostly inarticulate over it.
After I spoke with the Howler, reassuring her that I would NOT be demanding her stuff back RIGHT. NOW. I got to speak with her teacher.
I explained what had probably upset her the most (the milk money) and even when Mrs N said, "Oh, we can't have her not have milk or juice with lunch!" I told her about my evilness. I apologized for this, but there WAS milk money in the Howler's lunch box, because I knew that "soemthing" was gonna happen.
After getting confirmation that the Howler DID TOO know the rules, and had seen others lose their prizes throughout the year, Mrs N was to keep the Howler's prizes until the end of the year. Period.
The Howler sometimes gets it in her head that she is exempt from the rules. There's really no gray area here: she's seen others lose their prizes until the end of the year, and she's LUCKY, really, because she's only got 18 days (at that point) until she gets her stuff back. Some of her classmates have been waiting 6 months.
That evening, she tried to convince her father and I that it was really about the chapstick. Mrs N will use that chapstick (oh, I so think not!) and then, when that didn't work, she worried the money. Mrs N is going to take her money--or worse! give it to someone else!
Gotta love my girl--especially the part where she wanted to throw MY weight around, she almost had Mrs N convinced that I was gonna say, "GIVE MY BABY BACK HER STUFF!"
and she was gonna have to give it back.
I love that the Howler finds me that powerful, but am grateful that we had the opportunity to teach this lesson--and that we got it right.
The "Health Aide" (hereafter known as The Nurse) was calling. It seems that the Howler got into trouble in her classroom, and in the aftermath, was close to hyperventilating from the crying. "Can I give her a dose of her rescue inhaler?" Oh, by all means, please do.
I also got to speak with the Howler, who was still snuffly with a sad little lilt in her voice. She explained what happened: she was putting her things away, and Mrs N over reacted and didn't give her enough time to put them away. Mrs N was just plain wrong.
Now, what the Howler had, and was playing with, were a couple of things--one of which had been making the trip to and from school for weeks as a pencil case (no pencils were in it, though) and a change purse with a chapstick and her milk money for lunch.
So, Mrs N, following the classroom rules and prior precedent, confiscated the Howler's posessions until the end of the year. The Howler was beside herself, and, as near as I can tell, mostly inarticulate over it.
After I spoke with the Howler, reassuring her that I would NOT be demanding her stuff back RIGHT. NOW. I got to speak with her teacher.
I explained what had probably upset her the most (the milk money) and even when Mrs N said, "Oh, we can't have her not have milk or juice with lunch!" I told her about my evilness. I apologized for this, but there WAS milk money in the Howler's lunch box, because I knew that "soemthing" was gonna happen.
After getting confirmation that the Howler DID TOO know the rules, and had seen others lose their prizes throughout the year, Mrs N was to keep the Howler's prizes until the end of the year. Period.
The Howler sometimes gets it in her head that she is exempt from the rules. There's really no gray area here: she's seen others lose their prizes until the end of the year, and she's LUCKY, really, because she's only got 18 days (at that point) until she gets her stuff back. Some of her classmates have been waiting 6 months.
That evening, she tried to convince her father and I that it was really about the chapstick. Mrs N will use that chapstick (oh, I so think not!) and then, when that didn't work, she worried the money. Mrs N is going to take her money--or worse! give it to someone else!
Gotta love my girl--especially the part where she wanted to throw MY weight around, she almost had Mrs N convinced that I was gonna say, "GIVE MY BABY BACK HER STUFF!"
and she was gonna have to give it back.
I love that the Howler finds me that powerful, but am grateful that we had the opportunity to teach this lesson--and that we got it right.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
News Flash
Ringling Bros. is having Clown College rehearsals in Philadelphia, and I have a few questions.
1) How much is a bus ticket to Philly and what would it take to get the Toad on that bus?
2) Do you pay for Clown College with Funny Munny? (boo hiss boo, couldn't be helped.)
1) How much is a bus ticket to Philly and what would it take to get the Toad on that bus?
2) Do you pay for Clown College with Funny Munny? (boo hiss boo, couldn't be helped.)
Monday, May 18, 2009
Live and In Person...
The Tongue, and the damage done.
And, you can be as grossed out as I am by it.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
*Sigh*
We are, after all, the Mumples.
Case in point:
The Howler's hearing problem? Turns out to be non-existant. She did, however, have a large wad of gross and icky black gunk in her ear. The doc's best guess? Ear wax, and possibly blood from when it all ran into her ear last fall when she whacked her head and needed glued. It was, until Wednesday evening, the grossest thing I've seen since the Toad burst his finger like a sausage at church camp and needed it stitched up and the fingernail sewed back on.
Ahhhh, but then, it's all perspective, innit?
Wednesday evening, she was playing nicely with Dude Jr (believe it or not.) On her swingset teeter-totter (not safe, people! not safe!) He slipped, so she slipped, and VIOLA! Something as gross, if not grosser, than Frankenfinger (the aforementioned smashed at camp finger.)
She bit her tongue. Two very deep, very bloody, tooth marks in her tongue. No less than 25 minutes of profuse bleeding (enough blood to make a crime-scene reporter ill) and, in the end, a trip to the doc's office to discuss how quickly the tongue heals and what to do to help deter infection.
Did I mention how easily she gags? Did I mention how easily I gag? Yeah, baby.
It's still really gross looking, and I still get queasy thinking about it.
Case in point:
The Howler's hearing problem? Turns out to be non-existant. She did, however, have a large wad of gross and icky black gunk in her ear. The doc's best guess? Ear wax, and possibly blood from when it all ran into her ear last fall when she whacked her head and needed glued. It was, until Wednesday evening, the grossest thing I've seen since the Toad burst his finger like a sausage at church camp and needed it stitched up and the fingernail sewed back on.
Ahhhh, but then, it's all perspective, innit?
Wednesday evening, she was playing nicely with Dude Jr (believe it or not.) On her swingset teeter-totter (not safe, people! not safe!) He slipped, so she slipped, and VIOLA! Something as gross, if not grosser, than Frankenfinger (the aforementioned smashed at camp finger.)
She bit her tongue. Two very deep, very bloody, tooth marks in her tongue. No less than 25 minutes of profuse bleeding (enough blood to make a crime-scene reporter ill) and, in the end, a trip to the doc's office to discuss how quickly the tongue heals and what to do to help deter infection.
Did I mention how easily she gags? Did I mention how easily I gag? Yeah, baby.
It's still really gross looking, and I still get queasy thinking about it.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mother's Day
For me, Mother's Day is just another day. Believe it or not, I don't care if I get cards, or gifts. And I sure as anything don't want to have to send them to anyone, either.
In part, it's because my mother's expectations for Mother's Day were, when I was growing up, unrealistic. As in, it is totally unrealistic, bordering on insanity, to expect 3 children to NOT argue at least a little, on Mother's Day. It's also unrealistic to expect to go out to eat that weekend in May and not have it be crowded, and stressful. It's also unrealistic to expect your children (or anyone, really) to have any clue what, exactly, you would be expecting as a gift, unless you tell them.
Add that all up, and what you've got is a Hallmark sanctioned holiday from Hell.
There's no one Mother's day that stand out, but honestly, even after I became a mother (no comments from the peanut gallery, please) HER expectations of what MY Mother's Day should be overshadowed any joy I might find on that day.
There was the one in which the Toad (as a smallish child) and I made plans--plans in which my mother DEMANDED that I change because "Sunday is Mother's Day." When pressed for more information, she claimed to not have any plans, and while I modified our original plan to suit her and her cryptic comments, I ended up changing my plans for nothing. Sure, she sent me a card, and I got a card from the Toad, but otherwise, there was no real reason for me to NOT do as he and I had wanted, and originally planned.
It was totally lame.
Mother's Day, much like birthdays, Christmas, and Valentine's Day, is a bigger deal to the greeting card & crappy gift peddlers than it is to me.
But this year, it's been worse than usual. No, not because of my mother, but because I feel like I've been hit by a bus. My entire body aches--bones, muscles, and brain. I have no other cold or flu symptoms, and I've slept for 12 of the last 36 hours. My family, God love them, agreed to give me uninterrupted quiet time, and the Howler has been exceptionally (remember, this is the Howler) well behaved and mostly unwhiney.
So, to those who enjoy the commercialized celebration of motherhood, I hope you had a happy one; to those who would rather not spend the time, money, or energy pretending to be enthralled by over priced ugly pink gifts and cards, come sit next to me.
In part, it's because my mother's expectations for Mother's Day were, when I was growing up, unrealistic. As in, it is totally unrealistic, bordering on insanity, to expect 3 children to NOT argue at least a little, on Mother's Day. It's also unrealistic to expect to go out to eat that weekend in May and not have it be crowded, and stressful. It's also unrealistic to expect your children (or anyone, really) to have any clue what, exactly, you would be expecting as a gift, unless you tell them.
Add that all up, and what you've got is a Hallmark sanctioned holiday from Hell.
There's no one Mother's day that stand out, but honestly, even after I became a mother (no comments from the peanut gallery, please) HER expectations of what MY Mother's Day should be overshadowed any joy I might find on that day.
There was the one in which the Toad (as a smallish child) and I made plans--plans in which my mother DEMANDED that I change because "Sunday is Mother's Day." When pressed for more information, she claimed to not have any plans, and while I modified our original plan to suit her and her cryptic comments, I ended up changing my plans for nothing. Sure, she sent me a card, and I got a card from the Toad, but otherwise, there was no real reason for me to NOT do as he and I had wanted, and originally planned.
It was totally lame.
Mother's Day, much like birthdays, Christmas, and Valentine's Day, is a bigger deal to the greeting card & crappy gift peddlers than it is to me.
But this year, it's been worse than usual. No, not because of my mother, but because I feel like I've been hit by a bus. My entire body aches--bones, muscles, and brain. I have no other cold or flu symptoms, and I've slept for 12 of the last 36 hours. My family, God love them, agreed to give me uninterrupted quiet time, and the Howler has been exceptionally (remember, this is the Howler) well behaved and mostly unwhiney.
So, to those who enjoy the commercialized celebration of motherhood, I hope you had a happy one; to those who would rather not spend the time, money, or energy pretending to be enthralled by over priced ugly pink gifts and cards, come sit next to me.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
It's Summer
Or might as well be.
We are, again this year, overrun with the small fry.
Loads of noise, toys scattered everywhere, and bike riding on my patio.
It's gonna be horrible this weekend, though--I'm getting new patio furniture, to go with my new awning. And once the furniture comes out, there's no more riding bikes across my patio.
It's not the fanciest furniture, because we are the Mumples. And it's not what I really want, but let's be serious--what I really want would cost $1000, and not only am I not taking hits off anyone's crackpipe, I know that the really nice set I really want will not hold up to the scrutiny of the 14 billion 5-to-9 year olds that will swarm over it. And, when I look at that set, I have visions of the thousands of ways those wild things will be damaged by the fancy new furniture. I can't bring myself, by cost or corruption, to justify the shrieking I will do, or the bleeding and bruising that they will do.
So, I'll get kinda-sorta what I want--what I can live with--and be happy with it until such time as the noise level and insanity level drops over the coming years.
And, I'll get to not be the shrieking demon at the Howler's house.
Fair trade.
We are, again this year, overrun with the small fry.
Loads of noise, toys scattered everywhere, and bike riding on my patio.
It's gonna be horrible this weekend, though--I'm getting new patio furniture, to go with my new awning. And once the furniture comes out, there's no more riding bikes across my patio.
It's not the fanciest furniture, because we are the Mumples. And it's not what I really want, but let's be serious--what I really want would cost $1000, and not only am I not taking hits off anyone's crackpipe, I know that the really nice set I really want will not hold up to the scrutiny of the 14 billion 5-to-9 year olds that will swarm over it. And, when I look at that set, I have visions of the thousands of ways those wild things will be damaged by the fancy new furniture. I can't bring myself, by cost or corruption, to justify the shrieking I will do, or the bleeding and bruising that they will do.
So, I'll get kinda-sorta what I want--what I can live with--and be happy with it until such time as the noise level and insanity level drops over the coming years.
And, I'll get to not be the shrieking demon at the Howler's house.
Fair trade.
Miss Cleo Will See You Now
Since the PTA election, we've had Miss Thang resign from EVERYTHING PTA related. She's renounced us all as Satan, and, in all honesty, she actually looks like she's getting some sleep. God knows that before the election and her email snitquit, she looked like Hell. And she acted like it. (And her children did too.)
Anyway.
Shortly after Miss Thang took her toys and went home, The AWOL Prez, she of the Royal Uselessness, sent an email to a select few. And I was lucky enough to be a recipient.
While I'm still trying to figure out how, exactly, that happened, considering that since January of '08, she didn't know who I was, got my name wrong (and called me by that wrong name for two months) and only learned my name when she wanted something, and then, STILL refused to return my calls, OR do the one very simple thing she needed to do for me to organize a fun Dad-and-Child activity.
I mention this again, or still, because the last PTA meeting of this year is rapidly approaching, and I want a record showing that I predict:
The AWOL Prez will show up, and berate us all for our "bad behavior," while refusing to conduct the business of the meeting.
I predict that she'll discover that her delusions of grandeur are just that--delusions. And that, if she does decide to claim that her broken leg was the reason for all her lack-of-action, she'll be called on it. Too many people have been treated badly for too long for any of 'em to sit like good little boys and girls and put up with her version of reality anymore.
Anyway.
Shortly after Miss Thang took her toys and went home, The AWOL Prez, she of the Royal Uselessness, sent an email to a select few. And I was lucky enough to be a recipient.
While I'm still trying to figure out how, exactly, that happened, considering that since January of '08, she didn't know who I was, got my name wrong (and called me by that wrong name for two months) and only learned my name when she wanted something, and then, STILL refused to return my calls, OR do the one very simple thing she needed to do for me to organize a fun Dad-and-Child activity.
I mention this again, or still, because the last PTA meeting of this year is rapidly approaching, and I want a record showing that I predict:
The AWOL Prez will show up, and berate us all for our "bad behavior," while refusing to conduct the business of the meeting.
I predict that she'll discover that her delusions of grandeur are just that--delusions. And that, if she does decide to claim that her broken leg was the reason for all her lack-of-action, she'll be called on it. Too many people have been treated badly for too long for any of 'em to sit like good little boys and girls and put up with her version of reality anymore.
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