Christmas Past p.2

Another unadulterated rerun, also from the Howler.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The Fat Virgin

It's Christmas.

And, of course, I bought myself a new Christmas CD--one specifically for the car, because I keep forgetting to take some to the car for my listening pleasure.

It's got a rockin' good rendition of "Jingle Bells" on it. Listen to it here (because you know I can't do this techno-marvel stuff).

She really likes it. We listen to it every day on the way to school, and the on the way home.

Tonight, we listened to it twice on the way to AWANAS. Daddy was with us, and since he has a cold, he's not quite into the whole "Jingle Bells" really fast thing.

We're driving along, the song ends. She's breathless from trying to sing it. As I drive past a house that has a blo-mold nativity in it's yard, she says, "It's good they put out the fat virgin."

Since she spends a lot of her time pointing out interesting things I should be noticing, I had to ask her to repeat herself. "You know, the fat virgin of Jingle Bells. It's really fun."

Ohhhhhhh.

I'm still not ever going to look at a blo-mold nativity set the same way again.

Christmas Past p.1

This year, the Howler announced that, "Duh, you and Mom are Santa." So, I'm spending this holiday season, remembering the Howler That Was.

With that said, I bring you an unadulterated rerun, from 2007:

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

A Christmas Howler

The Howler's [kindergarten] 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?

Amazing

I have been in a state of high-level self-righteous piss off. I don't like it. And it's scary to think that I actually used to LIVE this way. All the time.

Anyway, tonight, I received an apology for how I was treated. Was it sincere? I believe so. And I feel better already. It's amazing, because an hour ago I was just about frothing at the mouth hurtangryinsane and swearing like a ... well, you fill in the blank.

That was part of the problem--treating people shitty is NOT how I know the people on the board to be. I would not have given my time and efforts to the PTA if they were. When there were others running things, I made myself scarce, because I knew this is what it would be like, and self-preservation (and realizing that high-level self righteous piss off is not a good place to be) making it easy to just shrug and walk away.

I still don't like how the trip is being handled. I think we have 3 queen bee wanna-bees deciding what they (and their snotty daughters) want, and doing that.

Now that I am calmer, I see that their letter actually states that they want every parent to help with fundraising for the trip. They want my money, and my silent support. They don't want my (or anyone else's) opinion and they sure as shit don't want my participation beyond what scraps they deign to toss our way.

I know 2 of the 3 women who are now making all the decisions for this trip. They were like this in high school, and they're like this now. They have no concept that they are snotty, nasty, self-serving *ahem* (yes, there IS a word I won't use here. Go figure. Betcha you know which one!) I'll be conserving my energy for the fight it will be for me to be allowed to be a chaperone, because I'm sure they'll "lose" and then "forget" that I signed up.

I already know that there are several kids who don't want to go to an amusement park, mostly because they don't ride the rides. Apparently, though, their opinions won't be needed, because, really? If they're not friends with these 3 women's spawn, they obviously aren't worth worrying about. I hope there's a revolt and the other parents totally take over the trip and these women find themselves with no power, no PTA funding, and no one but themselves to blame. That's a meeting I'll go to.

I wish the PTA president and his board Good Luck--I already know they're gonna need it.

Vocabulary

The Howler, as we know, as murderized the langridge for years.

Recently, the Toad moved out. That left the largest bedroom in the house vacant. We debated taking that room ourselves...or moving the Howler into it.

We decided that no one would move into it (there's always a chance that the Toad will move back--let's all hope to hell not, tho) and it could become, effectively, a playroom.

We moved the dollhouse, several bins, large and small, of toys and whatnots and whoozzits into the room. An old TV with a DVD was also installed. The fold out red cushiony chair/bed thing went there, as it the folding chair originally purchased for the Howler's room.

My sister had a futon she no longer wanted, and that was also put in there.

Shortly after the that was moved into the room, the Howler came to us asking how to fold the crouton down so she and Missy could lay on it to watch a movie.

I love that even at 10-going-on-11, the Howler still manages to make me laugh by re writing the dictionary.

Thanks for Nothing

This is a rant. I will be swearing (yes, the F-bomb.) So you've been warned.

The Howler is in 5th grade. This is our last year in the elementary school. Over the course of the past 5-point-something years, I have been Homeroom Mom, PTA Secretary, Fundraising Chairperson, and last year, I re did the by laws. One year, we even had a special spring event that I chaired. Totally made up, no previous year's guidance, blah blah blah. I have volunteered to take pictures for the yearbook, be on committees, and help at events and fundraising that didn't even effect my daughter, namely, sold hoagies and crap for 5th graders when she was not a 5th grader and help corral incoming kindergarteners when she wasn't one.

All of that is apparently nothing. And I received the thanks for all that nothing yesterday.

This year, I volunteered to be the chairperson for the 5th grade trip & recognition--I was told that the two usually go together and are done by the same person/people. I was also told to wait until the December meeting to begin any planning for fundraising, etc.

I missed the November meeting because we were supposed to go to Church Convention, and instead, I was sick. Not only did we miss going, but I also missed 3 days of work the following week because I was THAT sick.

The first notice of the 5th grade trip from the chairperson came home yesterday. It wasn't from me. It has a note at the bottom reminding parents that someone needs to organize and plan the recognition thing, too.

Now, I'm not mad that someone else is doing it (less stress for me) but I am fairly well pissed off (and yes, hurt) that no one could contact me BEFORE this fucking paper came home to inform me that someone else wanted to do it. I'm mad that I spent all that time and energy and effort to help re organize the fucking PTA when it had fallen apart. I worked at being nice to people to be sure that no one got treated this way. I spent time at fucking events that had nothing to do with me or mine, and sold shit so other kids could have a nice experience. I fucking dealt with OPK, and OP.

And I can't even get a fucking courtesy call to inform me that I've been replaced? I've been telling myself that it has been worth it, because when we did have problems, they were addressed quickly and while not always totally to my satisfaction, they were handled, and I wasn't (and the Howler wasn't) treated as some sort of fucking nuisance because I complained.

It's still a shitty thing for them to do.

And I'm wondering if I'm still the Homeroom parent for the Howler's class. God knows they wouldn't bother to tell me if I wasn't. The assholes.

Mine! Mine!

The Howler, over the past year or so, has been slowly stealing my clothes.

On one hand, it's actually a compliment, because she's so stinking picky about fabrics and fit. She's always saying, "It's uncomfortable." She'll reject things that normal people wear, and limit herself to mostly T-shirts and sweatpants. I've managed to force her into wearing jeans, mostly by telling her that she cannot go through life in sweatpants and shorts.

On the other hand, those clothes are MINE, and I LIKE them, and I WANT them back! I have given her some T-shirts to sleep in, a sweater or two for church, but in general, if the clothes have spent any quality time in my closet, or on me, I consider them MINE and don't expect to see them tromping home from the bus stop after school. But if the picky Howler is actually stealing them, I'm at least not dressing like my mother.

Two nights ago, she came to me, holding a brand new pair of jeans. MY jeans. MINE. She said, "It's spirit day tomorrow at school, and I am wearing these jeans." (bolding by the Howler. Yes, she talks in bold. shooosh, you.)

I said, "Those are mine."

She replied, "Maybe not."

"They don't fit you."

"Oh, yes, but they do."

"Prove it."

And she did.

GRRRRRRRR.

Breaking News

Last evening, at approxiatmately 8:17pm, the Howler announced, "Duh. You & Mom are Santa."

The child has been desperately clinging to the myth that Santa is real, probably because she believes that when you stop believing, your gifts devolve into the realm of new socks and underwear, eventually dwindling to nothing.

Last year, she was adamant about polling everyone on their belief in Santa. Not one to lie, I told her I believe in the spirit of Santa. Considering her shaky history with the fat jolly old elf, we should have crossed this bridge ages ago.

In a nutshell, her history with Santa includes, but is not limited to:  9 months old at her first Christmas, she shrieked in fear when walking past the Visit Santa area of the local mall, with her aversion to all things fat, bearded and jolly culminating on a refusal to sit in a Santa shaped stuffed bean bag chair; a few years later when she stopped sleeping for fear Santa would pull a Charles Manson Family inspired creepy-crawl thru our house on Christmas Eve (gifts that year spent the night on the porch); the on-going fear of meeting the fat man in person, up to and including climbing up me like a Sherpa on Mt. Everest; the screaming and crying Christmas photo session at Walmart when the hapless photographer innocently announced, "Let's take your picture with Santa now!"; the near freak out experienced when the Toad, decked out in his brand new fancy Santa Claus suit, walked thru the house. Dude didn't even have the beard on yet because he knew the freak-out over Santa in the house was gonna happen; of the two photos I have of her with Santa, one features the neighbor's granddaughter, as it was the only safe way to get her there (don't let the neighbor kid know your pathological fears is a pretty strong motivator.)

To say I feel not one bit of sadness over this is an understatement. It stopped being fun for me years ago--I think the screaming fit at the Walmart photo booth did me in.

I'm not really looking forward to what has taken it's place, though. She has now adopted the stance of shadowing me relentlessly while asking what we got her for Christmas, and it isn't a whole lot more attractive. (Not that the adamant belief that we're bound to ruin her Christmas dreams by refusing to get her the stupid crap she desperately desires is much better.)

So, my little Howler, there is no Santa Claus. The world will go on spinning, and your parents will still by you good gifts.

Moody

The other day, the Howler informed me, "I think I'm going to start having mood swings."

REALLY?!

"Soon, like a YEAR AGO?" I asked.

We both laughed.

Just Her

I love having a daughter. I really do.

BUT.

She's so WTF weird.

Really.

Tonight, I was reading, minding my own business, and I hear My Sweetie yelling for the Howler. He's in the kitchen, and she's where ever it is she is.

The words I can hear are "freezer" and "socks"

I don't want to know, and am very very glad I am in the basement.

Now, we spent the better part of this past spring finding all sorts of odd Howlerphernialia in the freezer. After finally spazzing out about it (at one point all the dishtowels in the house had been drenched and placed in the freezer. Considering that they were NOT frozen in a huge lump, it was obvious that it had been an entire day's mission to get them all in there and frozen.)

My Sweetie comes down to the basement and asks me if I could hear any of "that." I start laughing. He starts laughing.

We spend a few minutes saying, "that's your side of the family" and then come to the conclusion that this particular WTF is just her.

Just HER.

OUT OUT OUT!

The Toad moved out.

He didn't make it out of the yard.

He moved into the other side of the duplex we live in, that my mother owns. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! His landlord. Is. My. Mother.

In preparation for his big move, I made it clear to all parties that I will not be playing the Gator's flunky on anything. He doesn't pay his rent? I DON'T CARE. He doesn't do much housework? I DON'T HEAR ABOUT IT. She's unhappy because...oh, hell, why would she be happy? NOT MY PROBLEM!

He moved out just over a month ago. It's been great! I also don't have to answer questions about what he's doing, where he is...blah blah blah.

We see him more often. He's in a better mood. He's not here STINKING UP MY HOUSE.

His room is slowly being converted into a playroom/hang out room for the Howler. We're not going crazy here--we're not even going to any great expense to have it be livable. And it doesn't matter! Who's going to complain? The 10 year old OPK who are watching a movie in there? HAH!

Toad moved out. Life is good.

Growing Up

I haven't been blogging much.

And I actually have a pretty good reason for why.

The Howler is getting older. We've now hit the beginnings of the Pre-Teen things, and, especially for girls, there are some things that she'd probably rather I didn't blog about. So I have to scale back on some of the totally out there with it all stuff I usually rant about.

She's only 10, and things officially kicked off on her birthday back in March. Pity the poor man who lives with us.

Parent Problems

Here's the thing. I knew years ago with the Toad that weird parenting would be part and parcel of what we're doing here. I just didn't know how weird that would actually be.

There are many many things you expect, as a parent, to have to explain to your children. Especially things that are wrong, and that they shouldn't do. You try to head some of these off, and clue them in before they actually do the wrong thing.

But sometimes, no matter how proactive you try to be, you still find yourself explaining to your 10 year old daughter that it's inappropriate to hit other people's grandmothers with dismembered body parts.













Okay, so you've scrolled down to get the full story: at some point last year, a disembodied doll leg appeared in my yard. From the length of the leg, I'd guess that this is one of those 3 foot tall "just like me" dolls. Like my sister had, that when she was left propped up in a corner, my mother would talk to it, thinking it was either me or my sister.

Anyway, leg appears last summer. At various times, the leg may appear to be abandoned in the yard, on the porch, or in the garden. I would giggle, step over it, and wonder who the leg belonged to.

Friday afternoon, Bonk's Grandma, Omi, was here at my house to meet the bus, as Bonk's Mom, and I both had to work until shortly after the bus would show up. The Howler, I'm told, was in rare form, and when Omi was leaving, the Howler brandished "the Widow Maker" and tapped Omi on the back of the head with the leg.

Is it just me, or is that image bizarre even for the Mumples?

Bee Afraid

The Howler arrived home today, brimming with news:

She made the first cut in the Spelling Bee! She is one of 5 children from her class who will go on to the next step:  the "all school" Spelling Bee. That's right, folks:  the Howler, one of the worst spellers in the history of spelling (3rd only behind my brother and her brother, I think) is one of the top 15 spellers in the 4th grade. Bee afraid.

She brought home this huge list of words:  and, considering how horribly she usually shrieks at any kind of work in this magnitude, she is undaunted. Bee even more afraid, because, dude, she's GOT THIS.

Also, I am proud, because last year, she made me proud too:  she wanted no part of the extra work last year and deliberately misspelled the first word they gave her, because there was no way she was getting involved in THAT. (leave it to my girl to figure the out!)