The Howler has developed the lovely habit of taking my stuff. It started out funny: a pair of shoes, a brand-new pair of jeans... we've now progressed to my walking around like a crazy person.
"STOP DESTROYING MY PENCILS!"
"YOU OWE ME $1 TO REPLACE THE 400 PAPERCLIPS YOU'VE TAKEN!"
and my personal favorite:
"I WANT MY SCISSORS BACK!"
A few years ago, I went batshit crazy looking for left-handed scissors. When I finally found where in they hide them, I about died from the sticker shock. They were more expensive than the pinking shears I needed 4 years ago (and them suckers wasn't cheap neither!) Does the child use them? Oh hell no.
The child, who is obviously getting more and more like her brother, actually told me tonight that she can't use the left-handed scissors anyway. So I'm all "WHAT?!" and she said, "Yeah, they don't work right for me either." (Used as right-handed scissors, they just kinda cut, kinda gently tear the paper in an annoying uncontrolled way. GRRRRRR, I say!)
I asked her if she tried using them with her left hand...she admitted, that, why, no, she didn't.
I asked her if she knew she was left handed.
She actually looked surprised to hear it.
Can you guess what that popping noise was?
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Monkey Wrench
The Howler decided to sign up for afterschool intermural volleyball. On the very first day, she wrenched her neck. Apparently, her head zigged when her body zagged.
She calls me at work, 15 minutes before her Grandpa will be there to pick her up. Ugh. While I can here the pain in her voice, I also know my girl is a Drama Queen, so I have to quantify the Drama of it before I'll agree to leave work. Finally, I have no choice but to ask her, "do you neeeeeed ME to come?" Her final answer was, "Yes, I want you, Mom."
THAT doesn't happen often enough for me to be bored with it, so I scramble and call...and Grandpa has already left. I instruct the Gator to call him and tell him to wait there for me. I get there, and hot damn! The Howler really did pull something badly enough that she is in legit pain.
On the way home, while fully stopped at a red light, the Howler squeals in pain...and then tells me to "don't hit the brakes so hard." I tell her we are fully stopped, and that I AM TOO being careful with my driving!
I get her home and tell her that she has NO CHOICE but to do EXACTLY as I say. If it hurts as bad as all that, she will, for the first--and probably only--time in her life do what I say, when I say, how I say.
Miracles happen: she actually does what I say, when I say, how I say. And then she tells me I'm right. (Which is why I'm documenting this here.) I manage to get her to giggle about "Duh de Mayo" and other G rated rants about general things.
Later in the evening, I tell her more what to do. And again, a short time later I get the payoff: I am right. Twice in one day, she tells me I'm right.
I think she was high from the Tylenol.
She calls me at work, 15 minutes before her Grandpa will be there to pick her up. Ugh. While I can here the pain in her voice, I also know my girl is a Drama Queen, so I have to quantify the Drama of it before I'll agree to leave work. Finally, I have no choice but to ask her, "do you neeeeeed ME to come?" Her final answer was, "Yes, I want you, Mom."
THAT doesn't happen often enough for me to be bored with it, so I scramble and call...and Grandpa has already left. I instruct the Gator to call him and tell him to wait there for me. I get there, and hot damn! The Howler really did pull something badly enough that she is in legit pain.
On the way home, while fully stopped at a red light, the Howler squeals in pain...and then tells me to "don't hit the brakes so hard." I tell her we are fully stopped, and that I AM TOO being careful with my driving!
I get her home and tell her that she has NO CHOICE but to do EXACTLY as I say. If it hurts as bad as all that, she will, for the first--and probably only--time in her life do what I say, when I say, how I say.
Miracles happen: she actually does what I say, when I say, how I say. And then she tells me I'm right. (Which is why I'm documenting this here.) I manage to get her to giggle about "Duh de Mayo" and other G rated rants about general things.
Later in the evening, I tell her more what to do. And again, a short time later I get the payoff: I am right. Twice in one day, she tells me I'm right.
I think she was high from the Tylenol.
Dos de Mayo
Have I told you lately how very much I hate the Middle School? I hated it when I went there? And how very much I hated it when the Toad went there? So I have 3x times the hate for the place right now.
Honestly, I'm not overly impressed with the teachers. At least not the Howler's teachers. The coolest one (and the only one I think I'd actually want to know) is her math teacher. He puts off a hippie vibe...just kinda laid back, even while taking the whole teaching math thing seriously. The Howler likes him a lot. He doesn't wear shoes when he's teaching. Or so the Howler sez. He also doesn't mind her going shoeless in his room either. He impresses her with his acknowledgement of her hatred of shoes. Good for him.
The other teachers? Yeah, I don't like 'em so much. Other than her reading teacher, I don't think these people fully understand that they are teaching 11-12-13 year olds, with all their individual insanities added to the collective age related insanities.
I won't start about the music/chorus/band teachers. That's a whole rant that I avoid, because while it's valid, it also makes me sound too much like my mother.
But this isn't about the teachers themselves. This is about the notice that the students will be celebrating Cinco de Mayo, since they're studying Mexico right now. Cinco de Mayo is on a Monday this year. The Howler et al will be celebrating it on the Friday before.
That's right: They're celebrating Dos de Mayo (although I've been saying "deux" because if said properly, it sounds very much like a "duh". She giggles. Worth it!) The Howler refused to let me near the paper I was to sign in agreement to present some form of Mexican foodstuffs or wrapped candy for someone else to stuff into a piñata or three until I promised not to write a note about the teachers totally missing the point of Cinco de Mayo.
Don't worry. I promised. I was a good Mom.
And the Howler was a good Howler, and notified her Social Studies teacher of what I had said.
Honestly, I'm not overly impressed with the teachers. At least not the Howler's teachers. The coolest one (and the only one I think I'd actually want to know) is her math teacher. He puts off a hippie vibe...just kinda laid back, even while taking the whole teaching math thing seriously. The Howler likes him a lot. He doesn't wear shoes when he's teaching. Or so the Howler sez. He also doesn't mind her going shoeless in his room either. He impresses her with his acknowledgement of her hatred of shoes. Good for him.
The other teachers? Yeah, I don't like 'em so much. Other than her reading teacher, I don't think these people fully understand that they are teaching 11-12-13 year olds, with all their individual insanities added to the collective age related insanities.
I won't start about the music/chorus/band teachers. That's a whole rant that I avoid, because while it's valid, it also makes me sound too much like my mother.
But this isn't about the teachers themselves. This is about the notice that the students will be celebrating Cinco de Mayo, since they're studying Mexico right now. Cinco de Mayo is on a Monday this year. The Howler et al will be celebrating it on the Friday before.
That's right: They're celebrating Dos de Mayo (although I've been saying "deux" because if said properly, it sounds very much like a "duh". She giggles. Worth it!) The Howler refused to let me near the paper I was to sign in agreement to present some form of Mexican foodstuffs or wrapped candy for someone else to stuff into a piñata or three until I promised not to write a note about the teachers totally missing the point of Cinco de Mayo.
Don't worry. I promised. I was a good Mom.
And the Howler was a good Howler, and notified her Social Studies teacher of what I had said.
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