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."

Infinity

The Toad has yet another job. I'm trying hard to be positive, but I have no faith in him on this. It's sad to say, but it's the truth, and I'm not the kind of person (or mother) to put a happy face on something just because it will make others feel better about my relationship with my son, or my skill/competence as a mother.

We also got a nice shocker today.

Kevin opened the cable bill, and yet again, we got whammied with $72 in charges that we had no idea what they were. Of course, the back of the bill itemized it all, and I must say, that "All Sex Soccermoms" and "Asian Delight 7pac" certainly sound like they'd be worth $11.99 a piece.

So far, his porn fetish has cost ME upwards of $300, and can I take a moment to just say, "WOW." All this porn in my house, and I'm not enjoying one bit of it.

Kevin informed him that the $71.94 would be paid to him by the time he paid the bill--this Friday. Toadwort had to call his grandmother and ask her to lend him the money. Of course, she wanted to know why...and why his mother couldn't lend it to him.

We made sure we were listening, and he explained that he hadn't yet fully paid back the previous $267.50, and "it's the principle of the thing."

Kevin was worried that it was going to come 'round and bite us in the ass. I'm fed up with this whole life the boy is living, and I assured Kevin, in no uncertain terms, I was putting a muzzle on the dog and it was NOT going to bite anyone--except perhaps the smelly beast it's been feeding behind our backs.

My mother called us back about 20 minutes later. She was fine about it--as far as she goes, anyway. She was curious as to how the Toad managed to find a way 'round the block we put up. (He discovered that Virtual Adult channels are not blocked. Lucky us! We found out so cheaply!)

Anyway, Grammy is going to cover his ass--and I'll be waiting with baited breath to see if she really does bust his chops for the money to be repaid.

He's a smart boy--he just don't have the common sense God gave a stick.

Where Do Babies Come From?

How do they get out of their mommies' bellies?

Kevin warned me that the Howler asked him this earlier last week. Since she didn't pounce on me right away, I thought that whatever he told her was fine.

WRONG! She hit me with it last night while she was in the tub.

I had to explain the physical logistics of it, in a way that gave the 5 year old what she needed to know, but didn't tell her too much. And considering that she LOVES to natter on about things she's learned (and she likes to share the info with her classmates) I have to be careful in what (and how) I tell her anything.

She listens to what I have to say, then asks, "Does it hurt?"

I tell her the truth, "Yes, it does. But not that much, and it's worth it."

Remember when the little Worry Wort was stressing about going to junior high and high school? Oh, YEAH!

She started to tear up, get really stressed, and kept saying, "I don't never ever want a baby then. I don't want it to hurt. Does it always hurt? I don't want a baby ever then. Not ever. No, I know you want me to have babies, but I'm not going to ever. How do I not have babies? How? Help me to not never ever have babies. I don't want babies...."

I tried telling her that at 5 years old, this is something she can worry about YEARS from now. She's still wigging about it, 10 minutes later. Sweet Jesus! Even when I told her that it's okay if she doesn't have babies, she's not having any RIGHT NOW, so she can relax.

How did I get a child that stresses about future things so much?

We did not start singing "The Wheels on the Issue Bus" at this point, although I desperately wanted to.

We finally settled on my firm and sincere promise that if she doesn't want to have babies, she wouldn't, and when she was older--MUCH MUCH OLDER--I would make sure she knew how to not have any babies.

In retrospect, I'm just glad she was concentrating on getting the baby OUT, not how it got in there in the first place. (She probably would've thrown up!)

lol. Save me from the teenage years!

And the Worryfest continues tonight...Save me!

The Company You Keep

Apparently, it does matter.

The Toad came home Thursday, and was human and decent to be around.

Today, he spent time with Jerkwood & Co., and came home (after not showing up for dinner at his grandmother's), grumped through the house and went to bed.

I hate him right now, and I want to beat him bloody.

I won't, because I know that he'll either be getting a job, or getting away from them. If he gets a job, and is therefore staying, he's gonna have some choices to make.

I don't want to pick his friends, but I'm not living with a shitty attitude, especially not one that shows up mostly when he's around Jerkwood.

I don't care if he has NO friends what-so-ever in the process.

I'm truly fed up with this 16 year old snot-assed Jerk inflicted his doom upon me and my household.

Understanding

Well, my mom's next-door-neighbor is a teacher at the Howler's school.

So, I had the opportunity to ask her about the PTA.

She doesn't go, herself, because she has no children in the school. (Which I think is a crock, myself.)

Anyway, she doesn't know many who are on the PTA, but it is a very small group. I told her what I had experienced--the invisibility and all that.

I also told her about the letter from the person in charge of the Christmas Craft gig. She explained that things like that need to be approved by the principal, and they can't be sent until they are. The principal was off from Friday thru Wednesday, so that's why they didn't get out sooner.

At least that's been explained. And, I understand all that. I also understand the letters that I have sent in to the teacher to send to my parents (two so far) have probably been scrutinized in some fashion. Thank God I did them straight.

It still doesn't explain the invisibility thing, though.

Unanswerable Questions

Why are there fingerprints all over my computer screen?

And why do some of those smudges look like face prints?

*sigh*

I'm glad I don't own a copier.

Full House

For the record, I do have two cute urchins currently here. The *Twins*--Howler and Blondie--are coloring in the living room (I can only hope they're not coloring the living room).

The current debate seems to be over how you get an ear infection. Blondie says it's when someone yells in your ear. I think their definitions of yelling at each other are slightly different too. Germ sharing is not a sharing either of them wishes to experience. Lovely.

Anyway, they're not playing school because Blondie always has to be the teacher first, and the Howler's sense of fair play is offended at always having to be second in this game.

Occasionally, I get to hear about how Blondie doesn't think the exact same thing as the Howler, or vice versa.

We're headed pretty quickly for the "She's mean" chorus, but luckily that no longer devolves into asking my opinion. I fixed that while trick or treating--when asked, I announced to them both that they are exactly alike: both mean and bossy.

It's hilarious, once you get past the little girls/opk/mk thing. I love it. They have each met her match, and because of, or in spite of, that, they are still friends.

On a totally different note, the Toad came home. He's here, sleeping. Apparently, my sister used the method the government used to torture people into doing what they wanted: sleep deprivation. (Although how he's sleeping through the noise from *the twins* is beyond me.)

We've talked with him a bit about what is now going to be expected, and we'll do the full run tomorrow.

He has an interview with McDonald's on Monday (no hunting for our resident Bambi slayer until later, then), and, if he gets hired, he will have a job. He can earn money while figuring out how to accomplish what he wants to do.

However, if things slide back to the way they were, he will need to find somewhere else to live--we've all been happier, more relaxed, and less snippy while he was gone. I'm hoping against hope that he does not backslide, and that this all works out. Otherwise, he will need to find someplace that will allow him to be the big smelly slob he's been in the past.

As I have been practicing, it'll all work out.

Happy Thanksgiving!

HR Mom Stuff

I wrote a letter and decorated it (via my word program) to *my* parents.

I did not write:

Hey, People!

I went to a PTA meeting, and have discovered that I am invisible. I'd really like it if you all could come to the next one with me and help me find out if it's really true. The people I work with say it's not, as does my family. Let's find out! Worst case scenario, we discover that we all have this amazing power. How cool would that be?

Also, these PTA people need volunteers in our children's classroom on December 17 to help the kids with a craft. I'm not crafty myself, so instead, I'll be at work, schlepping trees for rude Christmas shoppers. If you are crafty, this is a healthy way for you to earn some good karma from the parenting gods. Call *A* at 000-0000 to volunteer. Leave me out of the loop on this one, if you can.

Finally, the classroom party is on December 21. I clarify that it's a classroom party, because the fuckwits at PTA didn't have a clue what I was talking about (I seriously think they thought I was desperate to know when their PTAer-Than-Thou-Self-Congratulatory Christmas Party was--as if I'd want an invite, much less expect one.) Anyway, yet again, I need bodies and booty to be there. It's to be from 1pm-2pm, then early dismissal. Let's sugar them up and send them home! lol.

I need to hear from you all, especially those of you who forgot to include your telephone information on the classroom list. You know who you are. If I don't hear from you soon, I'll have to chalk it up to sheer stubborness, and I know who will be the Homeroom Parent next year. I'll be sure to give 'em your name when they ask.

mumple
000-0000

Chicklings

One of Aunt Joy's chickens laid eggs. Nine *chicklings* hatched.

As you can see, the Howler likes her chickens!

She calls the peeps "chicklings" and as far as I can see, it fits them. So, now, along with dependix, annshinnigans, and cherronimoe (what you yell when you're falling down a steep hill), we have chicklings.

Our Howler is a trend-setter when it comes to command of the langridge.

Conferences

We had the Howler's parent-teacher conference on Friday. We were a little nervous going in--not from lack of faith in the teacher or in the Howler, but just because, as any parent knows, any time you (or your children) are being examined like this, something not-so-nice may be exposed.

We were lucky--there is nothing not-so-nice in the file. Mrs. W. kept saying what a happy and delightful little girl we have. She did not seem confused as to who we were discussing, so I can, with confidence, state that the Howler is doing well.

Really really well.

She's humming along nicely in the pre-reading and comprehension departments. She understands math concepts. She has friends.

Now for the bragging bit: She tests well and has been placed in the highest group for all subjects. They do challenging things, and this, in particular, is where the comprehension and deduction skills show up often. She responds to questions about stories and concepts on a level that leads her teacher(s) to believe she is constantly thinking, and thinking ahead. Basically, her little brain whirls in thought upwards to a level at least slightly higher than most 5 year olds.

She asks questions constantly. She has accepted that Mrs. W. is in command, and she responds well. Like most 5 year olds, she does have some trouble staying on task, but usually only needs one reminder to settle back down. She is very social (which usually leads to the opportunity to be reminded...lol).

Basically, things are going well, and she's doing well. She enjoys school, even when she whines that she doesn't want to go--she may be an absolute bear about getting out of bed and getting ready, but once she's there, she's delightful!

I'm happy that my girl is in a classroom that does allow her to be who she is; and I'm happy that she responds well to it. The whining and tantruming we see at home is due more to the effort she has to expend each day to be "not in charge" and, of course, I know how exhausting and exasperating that can be.

It's amazing to us at home how different she is from the beginning of this school year--and it's only been a few months! Her drawing and coloring is neater; she wants to write words and phrases all on her own. She identifies letters and letter sounds...even in the middle of words.

All in all, we're pretty lucky to have this little girl! She's a hoot and a half, and she makes me smile every day.

I Just Can't Get Over It

I know that this is wrong on so many levels, but I can't get over the PTA meeting thing. I really think I need to find a way to say these things:

When other parents say they can't come because of babysitting issues, it's an excuse. They have either experienced being invisible in your presence, or they've heard about it, and have no desire to do it themselves. No one in their right mind would suck up 2 hours of their own time, AND pay a babysitter, in order to be ignored by a group of people--any group of people.

How hard is it, really, to smile, say "hello" or introduce yourself to someone who is coming to join your group--a group, which, as far as I can see, has about a dozen people who do all the work and planning? Everything you needed to know about how to correct this situation, you learned in Kindergarten, then forgot by 6th grade.

I've been thinking on it, too, and I remember that during Open House (and the obligatory PTA membership drive) that no one at the table to accept my money and name even looked at me, let alone deigned to speak. They were too busy talking amongst themselves.

I think it's also sad, that as adults, two of the people in the room knew me from non-PTA/school things. One, I used to work with. The other, God help me, I'm related to. Neither of them could speak, or in any way acknowledge me.

I also have to wonder why there were no teachers present? Are they treated as second class at these meetings also? It wouldn't surprise me.

The worst part of all this? I've decided I'm going back. Every chance I get.

Why?

Because if there's one thing I know, it's that if there was ever a group of smug people who needed a strong dose of *Captain Obvious*, it's them. Also, since I have nothing to lose (I'm already invisible), I'm honestly curious to find out if they get the bodies to man their fund-raising events--and, if they do, how they pull that off.

It should be quite a show.

P is for PATHETIC

PTA meeting tonight:

I was about 3 minutes late. I walk into an practically empty room. It was sad--there were maybe a dozen people there.

They all looked at me, but no one spoke to me.

I sat at the end of a table. I had to ask for a copy of the minutes they were starting to hand out as I walked in.

The president isn't who I thought she was (that scarecrow was someone else). Her voice doesn't carry well, and she mostly spent her time talking to the Scarecrow.

The people at the other end of the table spent most of the meeting talking amongst themselves--just enough to make it hard to hear Leader1, whose voice doesn't carry.

I spent the first 5 minutes forcing myself to NOT correct the minutes--I realize that punctuation is free, but this was worse than even the "no biggie" thing. (Although, thankfully, no one said that.)

At the end, I had to ASK when the classroom Christmas party was--they all seemed confused when I just called it a "Christmas party". Apparently, there's more than one party on the premises this season. Luckily, the principal was there, and she did tell me the date and time. I did quietly explain that I had to have 3-4 weeks to schedule time off, and I have at least one parent who definitely needs at least a month, so having that date now will give plenty of time for that.

After the meeting, I spoke with 3 people--I had to introduce myself to two of them. I used to work with the third, and I said hello. She had stated she needed a picture, but that apparently meant a picture of just some of the special people who already knew each other. (Not that I wanted my pic taken, especially not by this piece of work, but, it was still odd to me to do it this way.)

Then, they all stood up and closed ranks to talk to each other, I had to practically elbow my way up to the woman in charge of the Christmas craft thing they're doing instead of a Santa's Shop for the kids to chose gifts or whatever. They said they wanted the Homeroom Moms to gather volunteers, and I had a legit question.

I introduced myself, and she did a double take--like normally she would shake someone's hand, but changed her mind. I did get her name and phone number, so I can get it to my parents and hopefully, I can be left out of the loop. She didn't catch my name, though, because she asked me which class I had. She checked that list ASAP after I left. No one even said goodbye, or thanks for coming.

How pathetic is that? I can tell them why no one's coming to their precious meetings. I'm currently debating trying to get an email addy for the prez and tell her, "Hey, it's no biggie, really, but maybe no one is coming to your meetings because NO ONE will speak to them if they do.

"DUH. You want people to come and be involved? MAKE THEM FEEL FREAKING WELCOME WHEN THEY DO COME! Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, how stuck on yourselves are you people!"

Anyway, they can't figure out why they don't have more people at their meetings, the snots.

News!

Actual, true, and for real news about the Toad.

I called my sister tonight, to talk a bit..and, of course, talk to the Toad. It's early yet, but he seems to be doing better.

Being outside this *village* and around other people seems to be doing him some good. He's spent 2 days at work with my sister, and helping her and a few other teachers with their children. He's enjoying it--feels as if he's accomplishing something.

He's now talking that he needs to get his clearances to be able to get a job in the school.

He's also talking about coming home to do this. My biggest fear is that he'll come home, and be right back where he was--in a lumpy rut, sitting around all day, waiting for his dorkass friends to get out of school.

He does want to be here next month when the Bishop comes to our church. He also remembers that he talked to the priest who will be planting a church in our diocese. I'm absolutely positive that EITHER of these men will be totally willing to talk with him about this opportunity, and about what it means for him. They'll also pray for him, and with him, so that he can make the best decision he can--and I'm sure they'll also be happy to hear that he may be finding himself a goal and a way to head into true adulthood.

Everything with him, though, is still so much up in the air. I don't like the airy part of it, but at least the direction is UP.

My mother, on the other hand, tried to comfort me tonight about the idea that he may be moving to Baltimore, at least temporarily. If he does, she'll be in tears and looking for someone to vent on..and God forbid, someone to tie herself to. (Terrifyingly, that person is the Howler. I don't know if the 5 year old has it in her--yet--to keep that from happening, and I know my mother, if she makes up her mind on this, will definitely try the same stuff she's already pulled with the Toad, but that's an entirely different rant!)

Right now, I'm not that bothered by it. Really. I've had the idea that if he did find something there, he may be going there, at least for a while.

Am I supposed to be devastated by this news? I don't get it. Am I supposed to be opposed to it? I'm not. Am I now supposed to suck the wind out of his unfurling sails and rope him into coming home and staying here? I won't.

Granted, I've had since September to adjust myself, resign myself, and work on myself. I have a head start on unloading the crappy emotional baggage in this, but I can't see myself, outside of just missing him--he is my boy, you know--and worrying about him and loving him being devastated by this. I see me as having my hands full in more ways than I imagined.

I heard his voice tonight. And I know my boy. If this sticks, he's headed where he needs to go. How can I argue against that? And what kind of fool would I be to try to?

Knowing this just confirms what I already knew--it was time for him to stretch those XL wings and fly.

It's Friday...

but Sunday's coming.

Okay, I know it's not really Friday, but if I tell you I'm referencing Zig Ziglar, would it make sense then?

No?

Let me explain as best I can:

Ol' Zig talks about how bad things can be in life. That's Friday--Good Friday, to be specific. Good Friday, as most people know, is when Christ was crucified. Imagine for a minute, if you can, that you are one of His first followers.

Your leader is brutally killed. Everything you've spent the last three years doing and believing has been judged wrong by your culture. Everything you invested your time, energy, heart, mind, and soul in is hanging up on that cross--bloody, bruised, and dying.

It's Friday.

You don't know, on that Friday, that Sunday is coming--the Resurrection, the rebirth of mankind. All those things that you've been believing, that you've been hoping will be true and real, is coming. It will be real, it will be manifest.It's Friday. Your whole life seems black.But Sunday is coming--the Glorious realization that everything you've lived the last three years is true, real, and coming....

But it's Friday.

On Sunday, you'll wake up and learn that Christ is risen from the dead. The promises of Life everlasting is true.

It's Friday. But Sunday is coming...

We got a call tonight from my sister. The Toad spent today at school with her--helping the teachers with the kids. He spent the day working, doing for others.

He did well. He was happy. She was happy with him.

I know it's early yet, but considering how much Friday we've been living, it's comforting to know that Sunday may really, truly be coming.

Embracing the Dark Side

of Homeroom Momdom:

I sent (through the school) hand written thank yous to the families who either came and helped, or who sent things to the class for the Halloween party. I tried to be sure and mention what they did, to be sure they knew it wasn't a generic gesture.

I never got so much as a verbal "thank you for helping" during the Toad's tenure in elementary school--matter of fact, I was usually made to feel that I was not only unneeded, but unwanted as well.

I just hope it wasn't dorky to so. (And I hope that doing them a week after the party was okay, I'm not so good on this etiquette stuff.)

I plan to do the same for the other parties that are coming up also.

What WAS I Thinking?

In an effort to extend my small kingdom full of Howler and Toad fans, I stumbled upon Mamablogga's Group Writing Project. And, of course, I'm winging it--as usual.

So, here goes:

I am grateful for my children because, with a 13 year age difference, it's a whole new experience all over again.

I am grateful that I have had all the teenage and toddler attitude I can handle all day, every day.

I am grateful I will never live in the same house with two teenagers (or toddlers, or preschoolers, for that matter) at the same time.

I am grateful that with each, I have a special and totally different relationship. They have, other than the attitude thing, very little in common--whether it's interests, or ideas, or issues. I will never have to run between two soccer games, sit through an entire elementary school music program in order to see both my children, I will never consider dressing them in the same or similar clothes.

I will never have to daily deal with two booster seats in the car, and, because there will only ever be these two--and one is definitely not going into a booster seat again! I will never feel outnumbered (outsmarted, absolutely! but never outnumbered).

Most of all, I am grateful for the way my children have changed me--I am not the same kind of person I was when I had either. I am softer, more compassionate, and more aware of the impact I have on the world around me. I am less selfish, less rested, and less likely to just say any old thing that comes into my mind.

Mutiny

Daisy Scouts, in case you didn't know, aren't allowed, by the GSA rules, to raise money themselves. Parents can, or dues can be collected, but the urchins cum Daisy Scouts aren't allowed to beg. Yet.

A catalog, form, and letter came home Monday night.

I was, to put it mildly, less than thrilled. The PTA Money Grab will be coming up soon, and I was soooooo looking forward to that being my first begging foray this year. {vomiting smiley inserted here}

Have I mentioned how much I don't like people? How little I relish enforced contact with them?

I've decided: I am taking the hint from a very wise woman and I am sending them a check (or money order LOL) for $20 instead of selling (or buying) stuff I don't need.

I'm sure it's very wonderful stuff. From the pictures, it looks useful and well-made.

BUT I have drawers full of stuff I barely use (and neither of us has the heart to circular file most of it), and I would rather the troop/clan/gaggle get the full use of my $20--rather than force someone else to deal with the forms and headaches.

I consider it more of an Individualistic Expression of Self in the Form of Non-Compliance to Arbitrary Group Rules. I hope it's a fancy enough term, coupled with the payoff in greenbacks, to appease them and earn me forgiveness (if only I had a phone list--I'd call the other parents and encourage a mass-mutiny of the fundraising powers-that-be.)

The Saga of the Homeroom Mom

It begins:

I agreed, in a non-awake fit of stupidity, to be the Homeroom Mom for the Howler's class.

Good Glory! I looked at these people on orientation day, and again at Open House. I don't want to have to have contact with them.

Does agreeing to do this exempt me from other forms of volunteer work in the school--while still affording me to be clearly present as an interested party in my child's education? If it doesn't, I'm gonna be majorly pissed off.

At the same time, I discovered that Daisy Scouts are not currently in need of a leader.

The Karma balances, I think. I'm still wondering what I did in a past life to deserve this kind of Karma--did I torch a one-room school house? Terrorize neighborhood children and threaten their little dogs, too? Seriously. What?

I consider:

The *up* side of being the Homeroom Mom is that it qualifies (mostly because I said so) as the volunteering gig for the PTA.

The *down* side is that they want me to have CONTACT with these people.

I think I'm gonna never be asked to do this again.

The game plan:

I've decided that all that communicating the PTA people expect from me, to the other class families will be conducted thru the school. I hope the teacher understands this.

Seriously, I don't need to be slapped with a lawsuit for harassment over it--and I have a funny feeling that the nutbags who don't include their phone number for the Girl Scouts will do just that, if I just up and call them. Even if it's for a school related party or something.

Geez. There's a reason I hate people.

Action:

I don't suppose I could just send them all a note that said:

Listen up, people. I agreed to do this in a fit of stupidity, and I'm not gonna do it all myself. If your kid has a crappy year, it's YOUR fault, not mine.

And, for the record, this letter makes you included. If you don't feel included, that's YOUR fault, too. Join the freaking PTA, get your sorry asses to the meetings. God knows I'm going to be nagged into being there, and I could use some company.

This is the deal: We have 3 parties this year, and the end-of-year picnic. I figure with 18 families to chose from, we can have 6 volunteers for each party. I need at least 2 other people at these parties. I figure the picnic can be an every man for himself deal, whether the PTA Prez likes it or not. If she's who I think she is, I'm not impressed anyway.

They're pushing their "healthy" snacks bit, this year, too. So, we're limited on what kind of crap we can feed our kids. We're supposed to have 100% fruit juice to drink. I need 2 people to volunteer to send this, as well as someone to make cupcakes or cookies. We need healthy snacks otherwise, but what, exactly they mean by that is beyond me.Thank God for small miracles, we didn't get the "no peanuts" nazis this year. (Never had one before, and I'm so sincerely hoping to make it through the next 13 years without them, too).

If I don't get volunteers, I'll volunteer you for what the class needs, when they need it.

Again, I can't stress to you all enough that if you don't like the way I'm doing it, we all know who's gonna be up shit creek (instead of me) next year.

Mrs. Mumple

Reflection:

I suppose that last post was a bit rough.

Seriously, though, I can't imagine what it would be like to be a people person--you know, someone who truly likes other people, and who might even genuinely give a crap about them.

I just keep thinking, "I've seen these people, and they scare me." and I don't mean in a funny way, I mean in a screeching at me over the phone way.

And I can see it now--those who refuse to participate will be bitching to the PTA about how I didn't include them. I see this getting really ugly, really fast.

I also see the PTA being told, "Well, maybe then, they shouldn't swear at me when I call. It'd be easier to ask them to be involved that way. DUH."

(if the Prez can use the phrase, "Hey, no biggie" in her letter about the membership drive, I can use "DUH" and an eyeroll on a regular basis. God, I love it when I refuse to acknowledge inane and subjective rules.)

Obsession:

I feel ranty, bitchy, and mean. If I had a puppy, I'd kick it.

I know I'm making the whole PTA thing worse than it really is, but you know what? I know those women are snobs, and I know I can't change them, and I know I don't really give a rat's ass about fitting in, but you know what? I'm too damned old and too damned tired to even work up the energy to ignore it.

God, I hate people.

Finding the humor:

In discussing the nightmare called PTA, why is it that so many people find it to run from being unbearably snobby to being absolutely full of every asshole woman in the immediate area?

What I don't get is if so many people find it to be so horrible, where do these assholes come from really? Do they bus them in?

The nitty-gritty:

Just hit a commercial break.

I made 6 last minute calls (a week before the party is last minute, right?!) and got 4 more parents to send stuff AND come help!

I'm sure my luck won't last, and this is just a fluke.

Although, I am wondering why these parents (one Dad is making popcorn balls and treat BAGS!--how cool is that!) aren't the Homeroom Parent, and I am.

They're going to be sadly disappointed, I'm sure. I'm gonna show up and smile a dopey smile...and hope they all have a Halloween sugar buzz going too.

Finally, the Payoff (and a related rant thrown in):

It's Halloween. And that means it's time for the Homeroom Mom to put up or shut up.

God help me, I have to go today, for the party, and deal with OP and OPK. Pray for me.

I did have a parent ask me if it'd be okay to bring homemade caramel corn for the kids--I'm not going to tell someone "no" if they're trying to help or do something nice for the kids. I don't give a flying fuck what the PTA says. I told her to go ahead and bring it, and if anyone says anything, refer them to me. (I'm good at executive decisions--mostly because I'm willing to take the heat if it's wrong.)

I figure if anyone on the PTA notices, and decides to say something, they can have the balls to come say it to me--and they'll be told my Homeroom Mom motto: "Find someone more Stepford to do it for you, then."

I can't say it enough: I understand the thinking and the concern behind the "limit sweets" thing. I honestly can. And not all parents will be food nazis at home, and certainly, there are parents who have little to no interest or inclination to understand, research, read labels, etc., on the foods they feed their kids. BUT I honestly don't think it's the PTA's job to assume the censorship or food nazi role--especially considering that there's more CRAP in a fruit roll-up than there is in a fun-size Hershey bar AND my child can buy the crap fruit roll-up, but can't buy the Hershey bar at school.

If they're going to BE the food police, then, by all means, BE the food police. But don't spit your healthy propaganda at me on Halloween. Instead of policing the classroom party, police the cafeteria, it's menu, and it's treats. After you've cleaned up the trans-fat, salt, and HFCS laden offerings, THEN come to me and hand me your restrictions and qualifications.

In the meantime, PTA, expect to be told, "Hey, it's no biggie. We've got our children curbed and under control."

Excitement!

Several things have the Howler quite excited. And bouncy.

First, one of Tiny's sisters has babies. Nine fluffy and brown peeping peeps. (Pics will follow soon.)

Second, she's relaxing in the lunch routine at school, and is now trying more of their menu items. (More on Food Nazis in the School soon, too.)

Third, she's invited for her very first Sleep Over playdate on Friday. She was bouncing, literally, off the walls last night. She's very much looking forward to going to Blondie's house and spending the night.

They ended up Trick or Treating together, both as witches. It was fun to hear the comments, "Oh my! TWO witches!" as if, such a thing had never happened before.

Neither appreciated it, though, when I informed them (after yet another bout of whining at/about each other) that they were BOTH bossy and "MEAN" to each other. "MEAN", apparently, is when one little girl doesn't get her way. It is also applicable when the other little girl pronounces it, in retaliation.

At the end of the night, my ears were still ringing with the whines of "She's MEAN"; I was still smiling at the memories of my own childhood trick-or-treating adventures; I thanked Kevin profusely that I will never live in a house with TWO little girls at the same time, too.

Something Else

To like about the Howler's teacher:

She puts the *love notes* the children give her up on the closet door. She has 5 or 6 of them up right now.

The entire classroom is about the kids--their artwork is plastered everywhere for a delightfully cluttered look. BUT those *love notes* are posted where everyone can see them every day. They are NOT circular filed. They are not stuffed, stashed, or stifled.

How wonderful!

The Howler is very lucky, and very blessed, to be in this lady's classroom.

The Pumpkin Patch

From the Big Day

The top pic is just before we start to move. The second is from when we got to where we were going to stand. As you can see, the Toad is unhappy to be anywhere, and the Howler is unhappy that she isn't playing in the sandbox with her cousin Rose (and that she's standing in front of a bunch of people).

Duh

Thursday night at supper, the Howler was telling us about the test she took that day.

Now, keeping in mind that the Howler could work for the CIA, and ANYTHING she tells us about her school day is a good thing, her mother innocently asked, "And what was the test on?"

"On a piece of paper."

*sigh* I should've just agreed to wear the kick me sign.

Ambi-Who?

The Howler is ambidextrous. I suspected, but have recently gotten confirmation.

The writes using, literally, both hands. That pencil, pen, or crayon will be swapped back and forth between her hands. She's smooth and she's quick about it--you hardly notice, unless you are sitting, and watching her. The trick is to be distracted by nothing--that's the only way you'll notice it.

She seems to have better control with her right hand for some letters (I, R, T) and with her left hand for others (E, K, S, Y). I don't understand the way it works, exactly, but I have seen it in action. It's a bit mystifying, and it does make me dizzy to watch her (Okay, it almost always makes me dizzy to watch her do anything, but that's not the point).

Either her teacher hasn't noticed, or has chosen to not say anything. I'm guessing it's the latter, and that's fine.

I think it's interesting that both my children were ambidextrous/lefties. Toadly was until he broke his arm at 3--and those experts out there who want to tell me that he was not left-handed that early can kiss my.... He's ended up, due to the broken arm, to be more of a rightie, BUT there are still some things he does better if he's using his left hand. He didn't do the switching thing, though. She's more ambi than he was.

Of course, on some level, I worry about this: What if she runs into a teacher who does try to force her to chose, especially this early? What if she can't choose, and ends up having trouble learning cursive writing because it's more difficult to switch when writing than when printing?

I didn't sweat these things with the Toad. Apparently, having a daughter brings out the worry in me.

Good Things

The Howler is absolutely my wonderful girl.

She may be a high-maintainence child, and she may be stubborn, noisy, frustrating, and boisterous, but, she's totally lovable and totally fun, too.

Here's why:

She is one of three "muskateers" at school. Three little girls who apparently adore each other. One seems to have a slight socializing skills deficit, and possibly not like not being the Alpha, but I'm sure that will adjust itself as the year goes along. Since this one is the odd-initial-out (the Howler and the one little girl share a first initial) that may be part of the problem too.

She ran around for the past two days wearing one orange flip flop and one pink gator. She has two very similar pairs. We insisted on shoes, but we weren't very specific, so I guess this qualifies as a *loophole*--my children are *loophole* oriented--it must be hereditary.

She lost her second tooth. She was excited because it didn't bleed much. And, it means she gets money from the Tooth Fairy. It also came out really easy, especially since she ate that apple with the crust still on it.

Finally, after bedtime prayers, she tells me as I'm leaving her room and saying goodnight, "Now, remember. I'm right here if you need me."

Bad Germs

The Howler has strep. She started on the antibiotic on Monday, and we kept her home from school on Tuesday, too.

She brought home a crap-load of papers to work on tonight. Daddy and the Howler got through about half of them.

She's been good about taking her medicine, which is good, because the last time she was on antibiotics, she got a tummy ache and refused to take them. It was horrifying to get her to take them.

She's apparently been dragging this around with her for at least a week. She suddenly got more energy than she's had. It's annoying.

She's also hugging and kissing the crap out of everybody that doesn't escape. I'm just glad that while she's sharing the love, she isn't tackling me anymore.

The Proverbial Wall

The Toad is now living Jerkwood and Magic The Gathering Card FREE.


The Jerkwood thing is apparently, due to the fact that I am right. Always. Ol' Jerky has been demanding rides and wherefores from the Toad. And the Toad is plenty tapped. The Money Tree has died, the Well is dry...and, the Toad is still kicking himself because Jerky helped him out of a job. (Don't get me wrong, I know that the Toad made the bad decisions and all that, but if Jerky hadn't been so demanding--remember this is the kid who got on the phone with me and started making demands--Toadly would still be working at the convenience store, making as much an hour as I am. Idiot)



What kills me the most is that the Toad has no qualms what-so-ever with looking me in the eye and lying his ass off, but he somehow, can't bring himself to lie to Jerkwood. Even if I'm the one still coughing up money (albeit in the form of continued meals and access to the electricity), and Jerky can't even pay him back properly--what do I mean? If Toad lends him money to get something to eat at McDonald's off the $1 menu, and Jerky eats $3.18 worth of food, Jerky only pays him back $3. Jerkwood, Kevin surmises, is Tax Exempt in the Reality Based Realm.


And I still get lied to.


What I need to know now, though, is this: How much can I get for a Patriotic Fuzz Nut deck of Magic the Gathering cards? I am now the proud owner of one such deck, and I need the cash. Bail money will be needed soon.

Mutually Exclusive

Seems to be something only I understand.

My mother is now encouraging the Toad to lie to us. It's "only about one thing", and he's telling us this is what's going on, but c'mon! Am I the only person who sees this encouraging him to lie so he can attend a church thing as mutually exclusive?

I don't honestly think that lying is the way to accomplish anything, but especially if the "anything" involves church.

Exclusively from the Howler

This post is all about the Howler. She's "exuberant", according to her Kindergarten teacher. I think she's just plain spiffy.

Her langridge skills never cease to amaze (and amuse) me:

langridge: what she speaks, how she speaks it

dependix: what's in your tummy, and if it goes bad (and we all hope hers doesn't) you have to get it removed in the hossible

hossible: where you go to get better when your dependix goes bad

threeth: the place after two-th

Open House was Tuesday. Her teacher, no lie, says that she's exuberant and enthusiastic. I refer to it as a "social bulldozer", but her teacher clarified that she's also very loving. It's a very nice way to explain having to teach the Howler to keep her hands to herself.

Also, the *positive attitude* thing--Daddy was half right. The Howler does have a tendancy to want to do things perfectly the first time 'round: she'll try two or three times and then give up, pronouncing herself unable to "get it". But it's also, says Mrs. W, a tendancy to roll her eyes when she's asked to do something (or stop doing something) that she doesn't want to. Apparently, the Howler really is 5 going on 15 because the eye roll is also a mental/body langridge thing. (Mrs. W knows what this is--she has teenagers herself!)

All in all, I'd say that, yes indeedy, we've got us a spiffy girl.

Tiny

The Howler had a little chicken

Her feathers were fluffy and gray

And when she called "Here Tiny Tiny!"

That chicken would come right away.

epiph·a·ny *

i-'pi-f&-nE
3 a (1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure b : a revealing scene or moment

Much like the prophet Jonah, I am heading to my very own Nineveh. Lucky me. Usually, when threatened with being swallowed by the fish, it's because I need to do something that is a continuation of what I've already been doing, or it's stretching out into an unknown area, but one in which I already know I have the skills or the knowledge to accomplish it. It's generally just something I do not want to do.

This time, I'm being told that I need to do the cliche "Let Go; Let God."

It comes from having spent the last few years raising a teenager. It comes from my knowing, without a doubt, where he is to head--where he is to end up, what he is to do with his life. It comes after yet another instance of the boy's blatant stupidity, arrogance, and sheer determination to do the wrong thing.

On Friday, September 7, 2007, I had an epiphany. One that was so clear on intent and so vague on details.I have to let the boy go. I have to stop trying to get through to him, I have to stop trying to teach him, reach him, better him, guide him...you name it. The only thing I am to continue in reference to him is to love him.

The epiphany went like this: I got in the shower. I started thinking about the latest round of stupid.I had a vision that was of the boy, in a church, being ordained to something. I was not in the picture--in any fashion. I was glimpsing this from the very back of a church, dimly.

Stepping out of the shower, I was crying. It was clear to me that whatever it is the boy is to accomplish, it is to be totally without me.

Basically, I saw God gently showing me to "sit down, shut up, and get out of My Way."

I choose to listen, although I'm sure God knows (better than even I do myself) how hard this is going to be for me. I have control freak tendencies, and I do have an inordinate amount of emotion attached to this boy.

And, said boy is being a total screw up.

For the last three days, I have been concentrating on NOT barking, shrieking, screaming, yelling, offering advice, giving instruction, trying to explain, asking for explainations...and it's killing me. So I am also, at the same time, concentrating on not clenching my jaw, neck, and back muscles. Mostly because that ends up being a physical manifestation of my emotional pain. Both of which are intensely stupefying.

I am comforted by the fact that I have peace with this. And that peace is how I know that this is, truly, what I'm supposed to do: If I get out of the way, the Toad will eventually cease being a Toad, and become the person he is intended to be. I need, to quote the cliche, to get my oar out of it, and let it ride.

Having a strong tendancy to be a control freak (and the obligatory being-nearly-always-right that goes with it) isn't helping him, or me, be who we are supposed to be. Or, if truth be known, continue to exist on the same plane with the other.It will, I'm sure, prove to be the single hardest thing I've ever had to do.


*found at: http://www.m-w.com/dictionary/epiphany (Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary)

What If?

Shel Silverstein once wrote about the "What Ifs." He must've known the Howler.

She is fundamentally a walking, talking "What If."

She started Kindergarten recently, and has spent at least a short time every evening going over some of the "What Ifs" that run, unsupervised, through her head. (She has begun to worry about 1st grade, 3rd grade, and 5th grade simultaneously. She isn't sweating going to high school--yet--because she knows she's not as big as those big kids--yet.)

Anyway, she stresses about things that have happened; about things that haven't happened; about things that will never happen; about things that are going to happen. She will get in a jag about it...and go on for hours, talking incessantly about all the stuff that's in her head.

Good or bad, all those real and unreal events stroll through her consciousness like a never-ending badly edited movie.

Last night was the best one yet:

She had filled her sandbox with water from her pool, and Daddy said that we wouldn't cover her sandbox so it could (hopefully) dry out.

The Howler about had a heart attack.

"What if a raccoon POOPS in it?" (Keeping in mind that in the 39 years I've lived here, I've never even heard of someone seeing a raccoon, let alone a raccoon POOPING in, on, or near anything.)

The morning, Daddy looks out the kitchen window and notices that her pink gators had been left out on the patio. Now, it's 6am, and there's not enough oxygen out to be kidding around...

He says, "Uh-oh. Howler shoes on patio. Hope a raccoon didn't POOP in them!"

(and then, tonight after supper, she raced out the door to play with Blondie--whom the Toad refers to as "the twin" because their given names are similar--we tell her to get her shoes off the patio...but be careful putting them on. They may have raccoon POOP in them.)

Not Really Funny

But we couldn't help but laugh. We're horrid parents. We're probably really horrid people.

The Howler has been told, repeatedly, to not go into the Toad's room. She takes his stuff, and usually either loses it (role playing game dice, Magic, The Gathering cards) or she breaks it (sleeping bag zipper, RC airplane). She's been warned.

The Howler and her friend, Blondie, were upstairs playing today. They ventured into Ass Caverns.

Toad had caught them, and they, of course, scampered to the Howler's room. We were on the patio, and can hear them telling him to "stay out!" and "get out!" and "you're not allowed in here!"... and the Toad telling them calmly (yes, calmly) that he'll be gone in a minute.

He proceeds to tell them off, quietly and rather more politely than usual for him, about going in his room. When he's done, he leaves.

As he leaves, the Howler tells him, "Yeah, get lost, Loser."

We laughed.

We did, I hope, redeem ourselves when we told him that he was right, and that how he spoke to them was okay (he usually gets really worked up--and then they actually fight. Someone always gets hurt then, and it's not always the Howler.)

Stop Me If You've Heard This One

Did I ever tell you the story about how the Howler actually became the Howler? It's a funny little story and it perfectly defines who we are (and how much we laugh at ourselves).

Before our daughter was year old, I worked full time--and that included a good number of Sundays. Those days were stressful for Kevin, because our daughter is certainly an independent little red hen ("I'll do it myself!").

Anyway, even after I dropped to parttime, I still worked a lot of Sundays. One Sunday, back when we still closed at 6pm, I got home a little before 6:30. Kevin met me at the door, and while getting our daughter's shoes on her to go outside and play, he says, "Hi, Honey. The howler monkey missed you today."

As if on cue--as if they practiced this greeting--the little girl lets out with an "oooo ooooo oooo" and a make-yer-ears-bleed shriek that, did, sound remarkably like a monkey. His eyes rolled involuntarily and he announced, "Yeah, that. ALL DAY LONG."

The nick stuck, and in a few short weeks, we made reference to her by saying "The Howler."

We didn't (and don't) call her the Howler as a nick. We just refer to her as "The Howler." The really funny part is, on the forums I am members of, at work, and even with family, she is "The Howler." (Yeah, with the capital 'T' and all.)

If you call her "Howler" and think she'll answer you, she would politely, but defiantly, inform you that "I not 'Howler'." Her grammar has improved, but she still tells people that--hand on hip, finger waggling..."Don't call me that. I'm not a howler."

Oh, but you are, baby. You are.

Day 2

The Howler is really enjoying school.

They do a thing with the Gingerbread Man to make it easier for the Kindergarteners to learn their way around the building. She's loving it!

She also had gym class today, which, apparently, for 5 year olds, has stayed the same: basically, get them stretching and moving and jumping. No hollering yet, at least she didn't say so. She's loving that, too.

Grammy took her this morning and since Grammy worked for 2 years as a sub in the cafeteria (at several schools in the district), the Howler was introduced to the cafeteria ladies.

She's more comfortable about the whole school thing tonight, although, she seems to think that she goes to Kindergarten for 4 days, gets a summer off and then goes to 1st grade. lol.

They have snack time, and when I asked her if I could make a suggestion for snack time tomorrow, she said in a disgusted voice, "Applesauce?" I told her, "No, not applesauce." Since we were at dinner (roast beef, potatoes, carrots and applesauce), she said in a depressed and slightly scared voice, "Roast beef?"

I laughed. I suggested some carrots from our garden, which she grew from seeds. She's all for that!

The school has *asked* that we not send cookies, candy, or gum for snacks. The Howler gets disgusted by too much "helfy" food, so we have to keep things rotating and interesting. Yesterday was water and apple; today was pretzels and water. (She enjoys drinking the small stubby bottles of water, so we're sending that as much as possible--especially in this heat!)

I suppose we're horrid parents for pairing the carrots with Ranch dressing, but I am a firm believer in getting kids to eat the healthy stuff any way you can! (She also usually has pink milk--low fat milk with a few drops of strawberry syrup. It gets her to drink milk when for a while there, she wouldn't drink it at all! Worth the trade, I think.)

Anyway, tomorrow is another day--and another chance to catch the Gingerbread Man!

Wallowing in the Quiet

The first day of school.

She was so excited last night that she was fairly vibrating.

She woke up this morning unable to eat...and then decided as soon as she was dressed that "It's time to go, Mommy!" and all but ran out the door.

She tolerated pictures. She tolerated the brief wait until it was actually time to go. Then, off we went--the Howler, the Toad (he was oddly interested in this rite-of-passage of hers) and I.

Walking into the school, I barely kept up with them.

Full nervousness didn't hit until we got to the appointed meeting place--the library. It was, obviously, full of people she didn't know, and none she recognized. The Toad wandered off--in search of personnel he knew, I suppose.

Anyway, I forgot her name tag. She was nervous about so much, she didn't think to yell at me.

I hugged her (the Last Hug in Public?) and zipped home to get it.

Toad took it back in. He seemed delighted to be revisiting his old school. He looked inordinately large--I mean, he is LARGE, but this building and it's scale model people made him seem HUGE.

I shed about 4 tears and had to blow my nose.

Then a quiet day, and off to pick her up. She was Little Miss Big-For-My-Britches all night long. Not attractive.

But, she's upstairs now, sleeping...recharging for another day of hunting the Gingerbread Man (who mysteriously kept one step ahead of them!) and patiently awaiting recess.

Vacation Is Over

Tomorrow, Kevin goes back to work. I don't go back until Wednesday (1st day of school is Tuesday).

But, summer, and this vacation are over.

It's been a good one, and I realized during this one how beautiful my daughter is--inside and out. She's busy, she's bossy, and she's beautiful. She also likes chickens, but that's another blog.

For the Toad, I think reality is finally truly settling on him. And it's not attractive. It's finally occured to him that on Tuesday, he may be off work, but his annoying little friends will be in school. Also, he's discovered that even if they pay you, work is still a PITA sometimes--and he doesn't like working overnights.

Ahhhh, I love it when a plan comes together. *stick cigar in mouth and mug at the camera like George Peppard.*

Growing Up

We also, while on vacation, took the Howler to Waldameer Park.

We've had many, many good days at Waldameer, and this year was no different. Actually, this year was wonderful! I haven't had that much fun at Waldameer since the Toad was little.

She was just at the 46" line, so she was able to ride a good many rides that last year, she was definitely too small for. And some of the rides that needed a "responsible adult" (HAH! I qualify on height, if not actual responsibility) she was tall enough to not need me!

The Howler discovered that the Endless River in Water World was fun--she could touch the bottom, and as long as she kept the tube with her, she could swim and dunk and go under the waterfalls...for a little girl who was religiously opposed to the River, she didn't want to get out.

The Kiddie Pool is always fun, with its slides and new friends.

This year, she started asking about the larger slides. She met that height requirement this year also. So, up the stairs we went. First, in individual tubes. Mommy first, to meet her at the bottom. Then the Howler, laughing the entire way down. Daddy came last. He was laughing too.

We ended up doing that three times--and I, of course, got dumped, a** over tincups, and that was fun too. Daddy and the Howler went down twice in a double tube, and she thought that was fantastic!

Listening to her laugh was worth the cost of admission. She enjoyed everything except the Wacky Shack--it was "scary" to her. She attached herself to me like ugly on an ape. It hurt!

I did go on the newest ride--the X Scream. It goes up and up and up and up...and then WHAM! Free Fall drop. I almost hyperventilated. The Howler looked scared for me (Daddy and Howler watched), but it might have been that I crossed myself right before it started going up.

It was a good day--full of fun, and the Howler laughing. I can't wait until next year--she'll be tall enough (and brave enough, I think) for every ride there.

What I Love Most

about the Howler: Wherever she goes, she finds friends.

She doesn't care who they are. The only requirement she has is that they want to play with her.

We went to the Crawford County Fair on Tuesday. It was rainy, and wet. And, at some point, in racing from ride to ride, she found little girls to run from ride to ride with. Never mind that her father and I, with our adult observation, see these children's families as "interesting". In one case, both mom and grandma followed along, both looking like, well, bar hags. The little girl's hair was uncombed (not windblown). In the second case, the little girl ran from ride to ride, with no visible adult nearby. (Mom was apparently sitting at a picnic table at one end of the six-ride "kiddie land".)

While it wasn't terribly crowded due to the weather, this little girl was probably 30 pounds or more lighter than the Howler, and at least an inch smaller--easily lost in a marginally crowded area that was open to the public, really.

And both girls were the Howler's friends.

She has shown this absolute of hers many times--at day care (she befriended a child with Down's that the other children were wary of because she "looked different"); at preschool (even the bossiest little girl I've ever seen in my whole life--this little girl told me off at every birthday party we attended); at playgrounds; at home (see: OPK).

It's wonderful to watch her make friends everywhere she goes. She has no pre-conceived ideas of who is acceptable and who isn't.

I wish I could unlearn what I've learned and be like that.

The Reality Check Has Cleared

The first one, anyway.

Toadwort got his schedule for the coming week: he works 4 hours on each of 6 days, and has a mandatory meeting on the one day off he was scheduled to have.

HAH!

He complained to me. I reminded him that they PAY him for his time.

He complained to our cousin when he stopped by. He reminded him that they PAY him for his time.

He complained to Kevin. He reminded him that they PAY him for his time.

It does my heart good to know that the Reality of Life has come seeping into his Toad colored glasses.

BTS Shopping

Good Glory! It's expensive.

And I hate it. The other people (with their children) weren't so bad--but the prices!

I know it's not everyday that your baby goes to her very first-first day of school, but criminy! I bought 2 dresses, 2 packages of tights, a pair of denim capris, a pair of khakis, a pair of jeans, two pairs of shoes--one sneakers and one black dress shoes--and the few remaining supplies the available "general BTS supply lists" all say she needs, and it cost me over a hundred dollars!

Not to mention the stuff we've been cautiously buying across the summer months to get her ready.

How do people who have more than one in school at a time afford it? The supplies alone, bought on sale and for cheap, have cost at least $50. Criminy!

I'm not going to do the rant about how "when I was in school", because I know that budgets are tight and in many places they don't have the funds for books, let alone pencils and cheap writing tablets, but this is ridiculous!

I'm also not looking forward to the BTS Money Grab that I've heard horror stories about--you know, the ones where you are expected to provide supplies for a *kitty* or community pot. I have no problem coughing up a box of crayons, or some pencils for the *kitty*, but I better not be expected to produce a filled in checklist of supplies for another child.

Sorry, but I know that the school that my daughter will be attending has some of the more wealthy families' children in attendance...I will not provide crayons and an unlimited supply of writing paper for a doctor's child. He's pulling in enough income to afford two-two week European vacation for his four children and a friend apiece, he's able to pay up front for no less than five vehicles for he and his wife....he can afford a 12 cent box of WalMart crayons for each of his children, 3x a year.

And he can suck it up.

But I digress. Now, since most of the shopping is done, I now have the task of labelling everything properly, and making sure that my little Howler Monkey tries everything on again. She hates trying things on. She likes them once they are on, but she honestly thinks that she should be trying on no more than ONE item per day. And I did manage to get her to try on about a billion pairs of shoes (two kinds, combined try-ons) today. That may have blown my budgeted try-ons for the rest of the year.

I also have to whine about how tomorrow is my baby's last true day in day care. These ladies have loved her, cared for her, and known her since she was 3 months old. It's been a relatively easy time--no major breakdowns on my part; no traumatic "do we find other care for her?" questions--and now, I feel sad that she is saying good bye. "Good Bye" just doesn't seem to cut it--how do you thank someone for the love they've given your child? How to do put into words how much it has meant that they understand her and have loved her unconditionally?

I don't think she understands what it means, this saying Good Bye tomorrow.

*sigh*

More OPK Ranting

Tomorrow, I've got some adorable faces to tell off.

Apparently, they all but mauled my new neighbor--who has a newborn and three cats. He was at work, and she made the mistake of opening the door when the little brats leaned on the doorbell incessantly.

I don't know her well, but I'm majorly angry on her behalf.

Half these kids didn't even know where I lived until yesterday, and now, they're running wild in the other people's houses?

At least 2 of them know better--and they have been to my house.

The only thing saving my little darling at this point is that when she was told to "Not" she stopped and did as she was told by the nice new neighbor.

Apparently, two weeks before school starts is "All Hell Broke Lose In Your Neighborhood" Week.

Well, it's only 1/2 a week in my neighborhood, because I'm declaring tomorrow the first annual "Scare the Daylights Out of Obnoxious OPK Day".

I'm gonna have trouble not smiling when I do it.

Attack of the OPK

We were free of the obnoxious OPK for 6 glorious months. We should have known it wouldn't last.

She showed back up a few weeks ago--telling more and more outrageous stories (read: lies). I think she's a compulsive liar. She couldn't tell the truth, much less share it, if her life depended upon it.

We also noticed the obnoxious behaviors living in our house with us.

I like that the Howler is fiercely loyal, but I find it hard to find a way to discourage this friendship.

I think, yesterday, I've discovered it.

The O-OPK showed up with her 2 year old brother in tow. That their mother was not the least bit concerned about looking for them for over an hour is what did it.

I am not someone's free babysitter--especially not this someone. When she did show up, it wasn't to take them home, it was to stand and watch them, in my yard, and probably to see where I was. I was in the kitchen window, unable to see her for our garden--tomatoes and corn grow taller than I am, and since she was sans her bar hag uniform, she was almost invisible herself.

Then, after I managed to extricate the Howler and the O-OPK from the pool, the girl showed up later, bringing her brother with her again.

I soooo don't think so.

I sent them home, telling them that the Howler and I were spending some time, this evening, just the two of us. So they left.

Earlier, I had begun telling the Howler that I will no longer tolerate the screaming, the crazy and inappropriate talk about boys (and what the O-OPK wants to do with/to them) and I will no longer tolerate the defiance and obnoxiousness that usually accompanies the O-OPK. And if the behavior shows up after time spend with the O-OPK, it will have the same results--no more O-OPK ever.

I can only hope that I can convince the Howler of this--and that the Spider-Stomping Mama moves soon. She will not behave as if her parents are a bar hag and a pusher.

I do so hope that this woman tries to take issue with me over this. It could be a good way to vent my frustration at her intrusion in my life.

Don't get me wrong--I do not blame these kids. But I am fully aware that I am not able to change their situation, and I do not have to accept their parents idiocy, especially when it collides with my life, family, and home.

I am not a dumping ground for your unwanted and unattended children. I am not going to have your stupidity and trailer-trash ways--and I don't have to tolerate it.

For God's sake--if you don't want your kids, or are unable/unwilling to raise them, have yourself neutered before you make more; and be adult enough to find them homes where they are welcome and where they can have a chance to not be like you. Your only other option is to make changes in yourself that will make them--and you--better people.

The Countdown

School starts in slightly more than 2 weeks. Eighteen days to be exact, and yes, I'm counting weekends. (it's summer, and every body knows that weekends count)

I don't know if I'm excited or nervous.

I'm excited because it will be interesting for everyone--and I'm nervous because I know the Howler and I know what our school district can be like.

I am hoping that the Howler gets a teacher who is delighted to be teaching individuals (she's nothing if not individual!); a teacher who gets what teaching is supposed to be about.

I worry that her teacher will not get it and will try to stuff my definitively square peg daughter into an increasingly small round hole. I worry that she will be in a system that prizes lemmings and that still holds to the ancient idea that stubborn children should have "the will broken" in order to make them manageable. I also worry that the school will insist that she be medicated--based on their frustration with her. (Keeping in mind that these are some of the same people who tried that tack with the Toad.)

The difference is, I know so much more now...some of the worst offenders are no longer in our district, and I have a different last name this time.

They may not see me coming.

Fairies

There are two kinds of fairies that have visited our house recently.

The Tooth Fairy, which I'm sure most people are familar with. The Howler finally did lose that tooth--she was unhappy when it came out (she and Daddy were playing in the pool and she got bumped by a water balloon) and she screamed and cried as if she were in danger of bleeding to death, but in the end, she was quite happy with the results.

The Dairy Fairy, however, seems to be concentrating on my house--and she's dropped the ball at least once.

The Dairy Fairy brings milk and places it in the 'fridge even when the person who finished the milk said nothing to anyone else about having used it all.

It's bizarre when the 18 year old believes as ardently in the Dairy Fairy as the 5 year old believes in the tooth fairy.

Now, if I could just get the bologna and cheese fairy to throw out the empty packages instead of putting them back...

Toad Like Job

Toadwort got a job--and he likes it.

He makes it a point to be on time, he doesn't complain about having to work, and he has announced that the LOOOOOVES his job and the people he works with.

I'm happy that he likes it, but I'm still waiting for the Reality Check to hit.

He's been making more of an effort to keep up with his laundry (read: minimal reminders) and other chores. His room is still a scary prospect, but he has made an effort to open the windows and the blinds at least twice a week.

He still isn't giving us very good clues as to whether or not he'll be home for dinner, and at least twice he's narrowly missed having to scrounge up his own meals. Apparently, "let you know" only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

I have only my best guess as to whether or not he's noticed that since beginning to work, we're not nagging him--friendly reminders only at worst--so I don't know if part of liking his job is that we're nicer to him too.

My Name is NOT Mud

The Howler has been visiting her grandparents and aunts for a week now--7 full days.


Kevin has been very good about not calling her every night. When he has called, however, the Howler will ONLY talk to him. She has nothing to tell me, and does not wish to speak to me.


Last night, however, they called us.


And the Howler wanted to speak to "her Mother."


lol. It's a first. I'm so pleased that she finally acknowledges my existance! Although, to be honest, she was more worried about whether or not the cat missed her, she did ask to speak to me, and did not spend the entire time telling me that she "needs to tell Daddy sumping."


My name, after all, is NOT Mud, and she misses me (yes, ME) too.

More Dinner Conversations

Tonight, at dinner, I offered the Howler some onion--onion grown in our own garden.

She informed me (in a tone that implied I was insane), "Mommy, I already tried one of those onions. I don't think I want to taste it again."

I reminded her that we had two kinds of onion, and assured her that this was the other kind of onion.

She tilted her head, brought her finger to her lips and said, "Hmmmm. Let me think about this a minute.......................uhm ................NO."

Kevin almost shot pork chop out his nose.

Dinner Conversation

A week or so ago (before her vacation at Grandma's) the Howler announced, at dinner, that "one day Mommy wanted a little girl and that's why I'm here."

Being the horrid mother I am, I informed her, that, "no, not really. I didn't want a little girl OR a boy. I wanted a cat."

She was not in the least surprised or put off by that. She insisted that I did, indeed, ask God for a little girl--specifically, her Howlerness.

I had to be clear: She was not planned. She was a knock-me-to-the-floor unexpected surprise.A delightful surprise, but a surprise none-the-less.

She asked why I thought I wanted a cat.

"Because, my darling, I didn't know how wonderful YOU would be. I had never had a little girl, and Toadwort was just about grown up. I didn't know better. But now, my girl, I wouldn't change you being here for anything, anything, anything in all the world. You're better than anything I could have dreamed of."

This discourse came at during a particularly trying time of stubborness and defiance. I'm surprised I didn't tell her the gypsies would be here in the morning.

And she likes her version better. I think I do too.