Calling In Dead

The Toad's little friend, Jerkwood, has left the building. Apparently, Jerkwood (the nasty little troll) managed to piss off every friend he had. They all decided to have nothing to do with him, and stuck to it. Good for them! The Toad finally admitted that we were right all along (ahhhh, I guess we're hitting the part where we got A LOT smarter over the past few years.)

The Toad and his friends have been celebrating--not in an excessive, obnoxious way, but it's celebrating just the same. A collect sigh of relief, if you will.

The Toad also, several months ago, agreed to join a vocal group his former voice teacher was part of. Every night they meet for practice, she unfailingly calls to find out if he's going to be there (he's managed to attend about 50/50.)

Tonight, he announced, in front of the magpie like Howler, "if she calls, tell her I'm dead." When pressed for answers, he said, "I made plans with my friends and then I remembered...so I'm not going. If she calls, tell her I'm dead."

As grown ups, we did not agree to say this. The Howler, as the Howler, said nothing for a change.

Shortly after supper, the phone rang, and neither My Sweetie nor I answered it immediately. Upon climbing the basement steps (smoke break, if you must know) we hear the Howler on the phone.

"He said that if you called, we're supposed to tell you he's dead."

"Well, that's what he said, anyway."

"He's doing stuff, with people, at places." (another Toadism)

My Sweetie and I are now almost in pain from not laughing out loud. No, it's not very mature of us, and it certainly encourages the Howler at her most annoying...and most funny.

"No, I don't think he's coming to practice."

"Okay. Bye then."

My Sweetie tells me that I should call her back and explain. I maintain that, at 21 years old, I am not responsible for his idiocy any longer, I did not sign him up for that gig, he knew she would call, and he knew where he should be tonight.

I did not call her back, but I did call the Toad. He, of course, didn't answer. But when he did call back, I informed him of the most amusing turn of events, and encouraged him to be more responsible, mature, and careful about what he said within earshot of his magpie Howler sister.

Mostly, I just laughed.

Gym Classes in Elementary School

I think the Howler's Gym Teacher makes this stuff up.

The Howler tells me about a game they played today in gym class called "Pirate Ship." Basically, the children need to know the bow, stern, starboard, port, barnacle, and starfish. (barnacles are flat up against the wall; starfish take 5 people with their legs straight out)

It sounds like the teacher spends a lot of time making up games that will cause these children to run from one end of the gym to the other, stand against the wall, and sometimes lay down on the floor in a team effort.

If I remember correctly, when the Toad was this age, his gym teacher spent a lot of time making up games that would do essentially the same thing, even if I don't remember the details from 13 years ago.

Of course, I wish I had a room big enough (and clear of furniture enough) for that.

Stupidity Insurance

I have to admit that today has caused me to reconsider. I don't know, now, if that woman is insured against her own stupidity, or if it's Gross Self-Centeredness.

This morning, we arrive to drop off in plenty of time. The aides are standing out where they are supposed to be.

This same woman is immediately in front of me at drop off. She does not pull her vehicle forward to where the aides are standing, so it's just her small fry unloading. No one else can--he's waaayyy to special to be allowed to be one of many children entering the building. Oh, and apparently, she needs to do a full head lice check on him before he's to exit her vehicle (did I mention that she got a new car? Yeppers. It's bigger than the last one--and so, of course, she sucks up way more space than she did before.)

He finally exits the vehicle. She pulls forward, to the spot she should have been in, you know, so that others could have unloaded their children at the same time, and rolls down the passenger window so she and one of the aides can chat.

I've pulled as forward as I can, and the Howler disembarks. They're still chatting, with the aide glancing at the pile-up of waiting vehicles behind this Blonde fiasco looking to happen.

I pulled out around this dynamic duo of ditz and, like Elvis, I left the building.