... but I am fed up with the shit that goes on among the neighborhood kids, specifically with how they treat Becky & her response.

 

It's become a norm recently that whenever Becky plays outside, and a certain next door neighbor girl is also outside, that Becky will, eventually, come stomping inside, crying, saying "I HATE PEOPLE!" Sorry, I meant SHOUTING "I HATE PEOPLE!"

 

While I can sympathize with her general sentiment, I know what's behind it: a gang of kids, including one or both of mine, are outside playing.  Becky does something that irritates the girl next door, no matter how minor (today it was over an empty frigging soda can) and the girl picks on Becky until Becky gets fed up and comes inside.  When this girl is not outside, Becky rarely comes in stomping & crying - every once in awhile she gets frustrated with the younger boy that lives next door, but that's because he can be a little shit to her sometimes & because she's not allowed to beat the crap out of him when he acts like that.  But that's rare.  It's the girl next door -- GND for short -- who will start picking on Becky & continue picking until Becky comes inside.

 

Today, when Becky came stomping in, I'd had enough.  We've explained to her numerous times that she has to try & not let this girl get to her, that she has to stick it out & try & keep going despite this little wench or the situation will never improve.  I tried talking calmly to Becky, and once again she had arguments back. So, I'm annoyed, I'm irritated.  I wasn't quite yelling back at her, but I told her in no uncertain terms that I'm sick of this, that she's letting this little jerk bully her & control her, and the only way to solve it is to get into her face and give it right back.  We've told her this before, but today I finally pissed off Becky enough that she decided she'd had enough of me, too, and she stomped back outside.  It's been 20 minutes and no one has informed me of blood, and no one has come knocking to tattle (there are 2-3 informers, all boys, who happily report to the parents who's doing what.  The last time one came to my door, I told him to get lost, I don't care if Becky called someone a  butthead, as far as I'm concerned they were calling her names so they deserved what they got called back in return.  I've told Becky that as long as she's not using foul language she's got to name call right back.)

 

I wish I could just tell her to beat the living shit out of this kid & be done with it, but I know that it's not the right thing to tell her.  Telling her to get into the girl's face & give it right back was the closest I could come to wishing Becky could just give her one good punch.  (she's got a pretty good left, which is to her advantage because most people don't see it coming.  Nicky usually doesn't).   

 

More later ...

It's been a busy week.  Actually, a busy past few weeks.  I've been getting Kid1 (and myself) ready for NYSP, the National Young Scholar's Program that she was nominated for by her 5th grade teacher.  She needed clothes (they dress in basics - khaki shorts, white or navy blue shirts, comfy shoes, but we were a little limited on plain white & plain blue shirts.) and toiletries, and stuff to do in down time, and a cell phone so she could call us ... (more on that later.)

 

Sunday morning, we drove her to Washington, DC, where the program is being held.  Of the different Discovery Strands (as the courses are called, they have Crime Scene Investigation 1 & 2; Broadway Bound; Creative Construction; Fantasy, Fables, and Folktales; Game adventure; Medicine; Nature's Tightrope; and Leadership) she chose Creative Constuction: Towers, Temples & Tectonics.  She is one of only a few girls - I think she said there were 3 - in this class.  She's spending this week learning the basics of building design & construction, and is responsible for getting herself up on time, to breakfast, to her various meetings & classes, to lunch, more meetings & classes, to dinner, recreational time, showering (hopefully), and lights out by 9:30.  We've spoken with her each night, and she seems to be having a blast - or, as she put it, "A whole week without parents?  Who wouldn't have fun?"  She sounds absolutely giddy when we talk to her.

 

So, my better half got Kid1 a pay-as-you-go Virgin Mobile cell phone to take with her to the program, so she wouldn't have to worry about a calling card - she could just dial us up each night on her cell phone.  Brings it home, charges it up, signs up for 100 minutes.  I load it with phone numbers & we give Kid1 a crash course on using it (which she doesn't need anyway), and we pack the phone & the charger, and head out the next morning to DC.

Sunday night I'm in our hotel room, about 15 minutes from where Kid1 is, worrying about why I haven't heard from her.  I call a friend of mine, who also has kids attending the program, & find out that I probably won't hear from her until at least 9:30, as they had to squeeze in more activities on the shortened day, and lights out isn't until 10.

 

At 9:30, my friend calls to let me know she's just spoken with her daughter, who is sharing a room with Kid1, and that Kid1's cell phone isn't working.

 

I call the room & get Kid1.  When she tries to use her cell phone, she's getting a message that "The phone is not registered for this area."  After chatting for a few minutes with me and then with Nick, we hang up.  Nick tries getting in touch with Virgin Mobile, but on a Sunday night he doesn't have much luck.

 

Monday morning, he gets on the phone with Virgin.  I can tell by the second sentence that things are not going well.  Apparently the young lady told Nick that since the phone is a Delaware phone, and Kid1 is trying to use it in DC, she has to get a new, DC phone number for it to work in that calling area.

 

"That doesn't make any sense," Nick says.  I can hear the edge in his voice.  A moment later, after whatever the dimwit on the other end says, he continues, "So you're telling me that, if I were to get one of your phones, and take it on a trip driving from, say, Maine to Florida, that I would have to re-register it in every state, and get a new phone number each state that I passed through, in order to use it?  Does that make any kind of sense to you?!?!?!?"  Her answer was yes, and Nick's response was "I need to speak with your supervisor then."  (I don't remember if he actually said to her, "because I can't talk to you if that scenario makes sense to you."  I think he might have, though.)

 

The supervisor wasn't much more help in getting the phone to function properly (at all -- it's now Wednesday & Kid1 still can't make calls) but something he said did make sense -- that the phone wasn't on & active long enough in Delaware, before being turned off for the car trip down to DC -- so when it was turned on, in a different service area, it wouldn't function as a security measure.  He told Nick to get the phone, get the serial numbers off the back, and he would walk him through how to reprogram it.  Nick tried patiently to explain that the phone was with our 11 year old daughter BECAUSE SHE'S AWAY FROM HOME FOR THE FIRST TIME AND NEEDED A WAY TO MAKE PHONE CALLS, which didn't really seem to sink in to the supervisor just WHY we couldn't simply pick up the cell phone.  As Nick replied, "This is about to be the shortest activation in Virgin Mobile history."

 

So, Virgin Mobile sucks.  No where in their literature does it tell us that this is the way their phones work, and apparently, at times, you have to register your phone again every time you leave a service area. 

 

Shortly after the whole Virgin mobile conversation, Kid2, who has eaten breakfast at this point on Monday morning, starts complaining of stomach pains.  A few minutes later, he is in the bathroom, barfing like a madman.  He insisted, after sipping some ginger ale & resting some, that he was OK to go to the zoo.  So, we board the shuttle to the Metro, spend 10 minutes trying to figure out how the Wash DC Metro system works, and hop a train to the zoo.

 

Luckily I had read up on the metro stops close to the zoo before we left home.  The closest stop is about 1/3 mile from the zoo, but is UPHILL.  The security guard at the Metro station confirmed this for us.  So, we got off at a stop that is 1/2 mile away, but relatively flat.  At this point, it's about 92 degrees outside & climbing. I forgot to mention, this is the hottest week of the summer thus far ...

 

The animals seemed to think the humans were nuts.  Most of them were hiding -- that is, those that were actually on exhibit.  What the Zoo neglected to mention on their website is that many displays were being remodelled, & the animals were on vacation.  We did manage to see a lot, although the pandas were MIA and that was a disappointment.  I had an ice cream sandwich for lunch (it was a BIG ice cream sandwich!) and after strolling around for over 3 hours in what eventually became 98 degree heat, we trekked back to the metro (taking the downhill journey this time).

 

One thing about the Metro.  I'm not accustomed to riding subways.  I mean, I know they're underground.  I just never thought about how FAR underground they are.  When we exited street level and got onto the first escalator, it had to be four stories, at least.  Maybe five.  But it was a long, slow ride down, and there was at least one more (possibly two) regular escalators down that we took before getting to train level.  On the first trip in,  I truly felt like I was riding slowly & inexorably into a Stephen King novel, and that at any moment, tentacles were going to drop down from the ceiling and grab us to feed teeth-lined maws opening up in the walls.

 

See?  You probably thought I was going to wonder when the last time the trains were cleaned.  They were decorated last in the 1970's, if the orange/yellow/rust/beige decorating scheme was any indication, so I'd venture to say that was the last time Lysol was in use in those cars!

 

But we did have fun.  And that night, after washing up at the hotel, we went to the White Flint Mall in Bethesda, MD.  We strolled around for a few minutes in the mall before grabbing dinner.  One of the stores, Bertram's Inkwell, caught my eye because of my love of calligraphy.  The store had some truly beautiful and unique pens, although not necessarily of a calligraphic type.  Some were a bit pricey - I tried to supply the link for the pen that was $6,750.00, but couldn't find it on their website.  I believe it was a Visconti.  They had a lovely fountain pen that had the image of a stained glass window on the barrel - don't remember which saint was featured - that retailed for somewhere in the $3,500 range.  The more plebian pens ran from $300-$800, and they did have some meek golf pencils for $20.00. Yes - a miniature golf pencil for $20!!!!  It was very hard not to laugh while we were in the store, especially when the clerk politely inquired if he could help us.  Trust me - if I need a  home equity loan to buy one of your pens, I don't think you're able to help!!

 

After dinner at Bertucci's, we went into the Borders at this mall, which is huge & gorgeous -- it's two stories, on the second & third levels of the mall, with escalators & elevators inside the store to help you get around.  I should have taken a picture - it really was amazing. 

 

Sigh.  Tuesday we came home, instead of braving the DC heat (98 degrees) to hit the museums.  We're going back down tomorrow, spending the night, and picking up Kid1 on Friday morning.  Maybe over the weekend, I'll be able to get some pictures in of what we saw.

 

 

The past few days have been very busy.  Religious Ed, Summer Session has started, and my kids are attending -- and I'm teaching.

 

Kid1 has been very forthcoming.  When I ask her what they've learned each day, she very resolutely says "Nothing".  Other than the location of Bethlehem, which the kids were directed to find out about on the Internet, I think that's a pretty accurate description.  She has made some neat pictures by "coloring" them in with beads glued in place.

 

Kid2 offers a few more specifics.  He's in second grade, so things are a bit more basic for him, I guess.  "Mommy.  We're going to learn all about the 10 Commandments.  Every day we're going to watch a video about 2 commandments.  Today we watched a video about Moseth on the mountain."

 

"Moseth?" Kid1 asked.

 

"Yup. Moseth." Kid2 nodded firmly.

 

"It's Moses, not Moseth, you idiot," Kid1 corrected him helpfully.

 

Kid2 laughed and shrugged.  "Moseth, Moses  -- the guy's been dead a really long time.  Who cares?"  And off he goes, happily humming a tune.

 

So the next day, he informs me that they didn't watch a video about commandments that day.  "Oh no? What did you do?"

 

"We watched a video about that John guy.  You know, the one who baptized ... who was it?  Oh yeah - Jesus!"

 

"You mean John the Baptist?"

 

"Yeah, him! And his dad Zacha-whatever.  You know, the one who couldn't speak, or couldn't see, or couldn't something, until after John was born so he could do the baptism thing."

 

"His father was Zacharias."

 

"Yeah.  Another guy that's been dead a really really long time."  And off he goes.  At least I know he's retaining something ...

 

****

 

For my part, I've been focused on trying to teach "faith formation" to 7th & 8th graders.  I'm co-teaching with a man who is the same age as Pop would've been, and who is slightly more Archie Bunkerish, only in a Catholic sort of way. 

 

I keep telling myself that if I can make it to Friday, I can tie one on and I have until Monday to recover.

 

Today, we were discussing "Making Decisions", and we are supposed to instruct these kids on how to form their decision making abilities from a Catholic perspective.  Why I happen to be teaching this day's material I'm not sure, but one thing is certain - nothing quiets down a room of nineteen kids ages 13-14 like the word "SEX".  We were having a discussion about strengths, and trying to get through a workbook activity where the kids had to put a check next to items in a list which they consider their strengths.  One of these items went something like, "I plan to wait until I'm married to have sex." 

 

"Why is that a strength?" One girl asks.

 

"Because it's following what the church says is the right thing to do - waiting until you're married to have sex."

 

"Why are we supposed to wait?"

 

"Because you're supposed to wait until you've committed to one person who you love, and the church thinks the right way to do that is after you've publicly declared that through marriage."  Meanwhile, I'm wishing I had a rearview mirror mounted on my temple so I can look up occasionally to see if a lightning bolt is headed towards me.  I mean, come on.  Me, advising people about the merits of waiting for marriage to have sex?????  Of course I plan to tell my daughter every awful, horrible, phobia inducing thing I can conjure up about premarital sex.  I'm her mother - I have a right to do that - to try to scare the brains out of her and make her run screaming from any boy who dares to try & lay a hand on her.  But with these kids, I have to try and answer their questions in a way that the church would approve of, since I signed on to teach this. And in such a way that they'll believe the line I'm giving them.

 

She tried to keep the conversation going, but I had to stop her.  I'm not there to teach her about birth control, premarital sex and the church's view on these things -- that wasn't anything I agreed to and quite frankly, as a parent, I don't think I'd want my daughter getting the inside down & dirties from her Rel Ed teacher.  So I sort of ended the line of questioning with "I can only discuss what the Church teaching is on the matter, and we've already covered that" (which is true, we aren't supposed to talk about anything else but the church teaching) and moved on. 

 

So I just wasted about 10 minutes blogging about the past few days instead of preparing for tomorrow. I keep telling myself, "It will all be over soon.  Soon, I can go back to my summer of getting up, going to Cardio kickboxing 3 days a week, drowning my mornings in coffee and hanging out with the kids in my progressively messier house.  I don't even want to think about cleaning the bathrooms tomorrow, after spending 3 hours in a hot room with a bunch of kids who'd rather be anywhere else but there, followed by a trip to the grocery store with the kids.  Yuck, yuck, yuck. 

 

On Monday night, Kid1 not only played in the Steel Drum Band at the District Art Festival, she also had 2 pieces of artwork on display. 

The steel drum ensemble was kickin'!  They played 3 sets,  and it was a looong night.  I put the video for them doing "Volcano" on YouTube under the song title.  Maybe later I'll have more time to put another song or two up!!!

 

 

 

 

 

Today was our local school district's Band Festval.  All public school bands were invited to play at the Middle School that Kid1 will be attending next year.  Of course, our band went.  And, while we were asked not to speak in comparative terms, as this was not a competition, it was a get together to share music, I have to say it.  OUR SCHOOL WAS THE BEST ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!  WE ROCKED!!! And, we were better than 2 of the 3 middle schools, on a par with the 3rd middle school, and only slightly below the high school, which by rights should blow everyone out of the water.  These kids have been doing it the longest, right?

 

Here are links to the 2 songs that our school performed ....

 

The Tempest:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPg8H2VgjBg

 

Blue Note Rock:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2hmCK8vCC0

 

Unfortunately, there is a good deal of crowd noise, and I wasn't very close to the stage, so the videos aren't the best sound quality.  Trust me, the band did an awesome job of filling the auditorium!!

 

But, I have to say, I shouldn't go to live music performances.  I get way too caught up in the music.  I've finally stopped being so proud that I start crying when Kid1 is playing - okay, when she plays solo, or as part of a special group, my eyes still well up.  Sometimes I can't believe I have two such beautiful, fantastic, gifted kids, and seeing her play, whether it's flute or steel drum, just does it to me.  In fact, I already KNOW that I'm at a disadvantage for crying at the Spring Band Concert, because not only will Kid1 be performing in the Advanced Band & the Steel Drum Band, she is part of a special Wind Ensemble, and their first task of the night is to play The Star Spangled Banner.  This is a double whammy because (1) It's Kid1, playing as part of a special Ensemble and (2) there's nothing like a patriotic melody to bring tears to my eyes.

 

Which brings me to one of the songs that the High School performed ...

They started with "America the Beautiful".  They played it very much like you would hear a military band play it -- somewhat softly at first, reverently, building to a crescendo, taking full advantage of all the different instruments to produce a very lovely, heart-wrenching melody.  Their builds and breaks were so dramatic & so clean - the combination of the song itself (I've always thought this should be the National Anthem, instead of the Star Spangled Banner) and how well it was played literally did bring tears to my eyes. 

 

 

Tonight, while I had Kid1 at Girl Scouts, Kid2 went for his introductory martial arts class.

 

When we got home from Scouts, Nick was drilling Kid2, who was absolutely THRILLED to "take a knee", "punch up, punch down, punch out, punch in" and "Vertical Punch!"  Part of the intro session included the uniform, which looks adorable on him, particularly with his olive skin and dark eyes and hair.

As Kid2 went through his movements, Kid1 watched.  When he was done, she piped up, "Can you please explain to him that he's not supposed to practice on me???"  I think she might be a bit worried ...

 

 

Ugh.

 

Today I get to spend 2 hours out in the cold with Kid1, other parents and at least 3 other kids, asking everyone who passes by the entrance to the convenience store we'll be stationed at, "Would you like to buy a box of Girl Scout Cookies?"

 

I HATE THIS PART OF GIRL SCOUTS!!!!!

 

First, there's the essential irritation of having to stand outside in the cold.  Since the cookie money raised goes in part to support troop activities, and part to support Girl Scouts both regionally and nationally, wouldn't it make more sense to sell cookies in the early fall, when troops start up for the year and the weather is a tad WARMER??????

 

Second, there's the mix of girls present.  While I like to girls in Kid1's troop, sometimes mixing the wrong set can have very annoying results.  Hopefully all of the parents who are sending girls to sell will be there, so we each can rein in our own offspring, and not have to worry about anyone else's.

 

Third, there's the oh-so-lovely people we get to patronize.  I've noticed that there's the polite, the rude, and the outright scary.  Polite are those that either buy cookies or say something like, "No thank you," sometimes with a polite excuse.

 

Rude:  "$3.50 a box?  Why are you charging so much?  Can't I get something for $2?  They're not worth that!" or "Cookies??? I'm sick of you people asking me if I want to buy cookies!!!!" or, in the absence of words, a rude stare with no comment at the girls as they ask.

 

Scary was the old guy who hung around talking about his ex-wife, the NRA and trying to get the girls in for shooting lessons, and then proceeding to talk about how his therapist said he should've married a Girl Scout -- icky!!  Get away!!!

 

As we're outside a Wawa, I'm sure we'll get quick a few of the scary variety today.

 

Later, we're going out to dinner - Nick & I, that is.  My mom is going to watch the kids while we take advantage of our gift card to Conley-Ward's steakhouse.  I've just had a look at their menu.  It looks like a very nice place.  Expensive.  I looked at their wine list and almost choked when I saw the price they're charging for wines I can get for $14.95/bottle.  Merciless mercenaries!!!  <sigh> It's almost always a bad idea to buy a bottle of wine at a restaurant, anyway -- 300% profit on a bottle is a pretty tidy margin, no?

 

Well, if I'm not to frighten anyone while selling the cookies, I'm off to get showered.  I actually had some good thoughts for blogging this week, but life has been taking up too much of my time to sit down and put anything out there. 

 

Oh, and I've been reading a lot, too -- almost done "The Dark Tower" by Stephen King (2/3 through) and I have to say I'm glad I decided to finish the series.  Although I hate it, HATE IT when authors kill of their established characters, especially when they kill of the ones I'm not expecting to get killed off.  Well -- anyway.  Good book, good read.  A little bizarre at times, but how could it be less, with Stephen King writing it?

 

 

Well, Kid1's ecosytem project is behind us.  She got an "EP" - or "Exceeds Proficiency" -- for her project --  our school doesn't use the traditional A, B, C grading system.  You're either awesome and ready for a career in NASA (E), you're really smart to marginally qualified to change the toilet paper roll (M, or Meets Standards) or you're too stupid to wipe your butt correctly (N or Near Standard, and B or Below Standard).  Notice that while there is little distinction for people who barely make barely passing grades up to near genius (M), there are two levels of stupidity noted.  This is so the ones who are a little less stupid (Near Standard) can feel superior to the sludge at the bottom of the intellectual gene pool (B or Below Standard).  We can give increments on how badly you're failing, but we don't want the intelligent people to stand out too much - just give an E once in a while to the geniuses who might otherwise figure out how to stage a coup on the school if we don't recognize them somehow.

 

She did very well not only on her project, but on her report card as well.  Honor Roll.  Since Honor Roll has been offered (the start of 2nd grade for her) she's made it every single time.  If she can eek it out 3 more times this year, she'll have made it every time since starting at her school.  I don't have 100% confidence in this only because she's sick of trying to meet their "stupid" standards -- after all, what does writing an explanation on how you solved a math problem have to do with getting an M or an E?  Math is math, and at her level the final answer is either right or wrong.  If the teacher needs an explanation as to why she got it right, there's a problem.  Or so Kid1 thinks.  The other stupid part about Honor Roll -- there are 2 sides to the report card - the academic side (Reading, Writing, Math, Science & Social Studies) and the "specials" side (Art, Phys Ed, Music & Library).  In order to make the Honor Roll, you have to get an E in one academic plus an E in one special.  Additionally, your Music grade is not supposed to take into account the fact that not only do you do well in Music class, but also are in Band, Advanced Band, and special Flutes (only 5 girls are in this right now, out of about 16 flutes in the band).  It also means that if you score an E in every academic subject but don't get an E in one of the "specials", you don't make Honor Roll.   Hmmmmm ... doesn't this sound kind of stupid?  Oh, right.  It's the public schools.  Forgot about that.

 

Kid2 did very well on his report card.  He got straight M's in his academics -- as good as he is in Math, I can't believe that he didn't get an E, but sometimes they don't have an opportunity to get an E (this is too stupid to try to explain, but this is how some teachers avoid giving Es on report cards) -- but straight M's on the first marking period in first grade, I'm told, is an unusually good report card -- most kids are rated an N in at least one subject because, as one teacher put it, if they know everything, then what is the teacher there for?  The teacher is supposed to show progress through the school year to show that she's doing her job and teaching -- moving the kids, I guess, from utter imbecility to pre-Einstein capability.  He also got E's in Art and PE.  So, he's doing great but doesn't get Honor Roll, which I know made him a

little pissed off. 

 

So, to cap off the first marking period and the whole ecosystems unit, Kid1's class had a field trip to the Aquatic Resource Center just south of Smyrna yesterday, and I went along as a chaperone.  Very fun day - we got to play outside all day in a wetlands area that has trails built through it so you don't get too muddy.  For the middle of November, the weather was wonderful - 65 degrees.  The only down side were the other kids that were there.  One kid in my group of 8 obviously had problems with his medication wearing off after lunch.  He had absolutely no self control, a fact that every other kid in my group remarked upon at one point of another.  He would spontaneously burst into song, dance, or both at various points of the day, and was just generally annoying when he wasn't jumping around like an idiot.  PLUS, he made fun of Kid1 when she answered a guide's question incorrectly, which sent her into a very pissy mood because as much as she hates being wrong, she hates being made fun of about it even more, and she couldn't exact revenge with the guide watching.  (Chaperone Mom wouldn't have cared).   But it struck me as we were riding back how different from all the other kids my Kid1 can be -- while the others were behaving like animals left in a zoo with their cages unlocked, she preferred to sit with me, read her book or do Sudokus with me, and even cuddled up against me at one point like she was going to fall asleep.  She has friends that she likes to hang out with, but she seems equally happy entertaining herself and not caring a bit about what other kids think. 

 

As we were walking back into the school after the trip, the line of kids paused to let a first grade class go by.  As we're waiting, I hear one of the girls in Kid1's class say to another girl -

 

"Are you gay or lesbian?"  (girl1)

 

"What?"  (girl2, sounding confused).

 

"Do you like boys?"  (girl1)

 

"Not really," (girl2, still sounding confused).

 

"Well, then you're a lesbian, because girls who don't like boys are lesbians." (girl1, sounding very smug.)

 

For crying out loud - when I was 10 years old, I had no idea that boys could like boys or girls could like girls that way, and even if I did, I certainly wouldn't have been talking about it with an adult standing right there!  I gave her a dirty look (she was actually watching me while she was having this conversation) and stared her down until she turned around & shut her mouth.  Trashy little wench. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few days ago, we were in the car, riding up to my mom's.  My son asked my husband to put in a certain compilation CD that he likes to listen to.

 

Cruising up the highway, and my son and daughter are singing along,

"Send Lawyers, guns and bunnies, Dad get me out of this."

 

I am near tears laughing silently to myself.  My husband says, "What are you singing?"  "Send lawyers, guns and bunnies," my kids reply.

 

"It's money.  MONEY.  Not bunnies.  Send lawyers, guns and MONEY."

 

The next time the chorus comes around, the kids give it a go.  "No Daddy," my daughter says, "We like it better as Bunnies."

 

And so the song is now sung. I'm sure Warren Zevon would find it funny.

I guess it 's better than "I have a hairy ho, the Farmer in the Dell" of a few months ago ...

 

The girl who feeds me & plays with me is here - she's talking to me and cuddling me, giving me crispi treats and letting me stretch my legs a bit.  I run out of the cage, gazing up trustingly into her big brown eyes, wiggling my whiskers.  As she giggles, I scamper to & fro across her hands, down her leg, along the path formed back into my cage.  I zip back in willingly, and acquiesce as she rubs the top of my head with a finger, calling me "Mr. Fat & Lazy". 

 

Her mom is calling her for breakfast.  Reluctantly, she raises the door to my cage, but she's distracted.  There's no click as the locking mechanism snaps into place ... Fiendishly, I plot.

 

As soon as I'm sure she's downstairs, I test the cage door.  Push it with a little paw.  It's loose, but it's not dropping.  Noise.  Just them, downstairs, chattering as they eat.  Glance to the left and right.  The coast is clear.  Both paws this time - I stand on my hind legs and push!

 

Down drops the gate to freedom.

 

Sniffing the air, I climb onto the door that's now dropped a gangway to the carpeted floor.  The cats are nearby, I can smell their scents in the air, but not so close that I need to worry about it.  Gingerly, I cross the bars of the cage door to the floor. 

 

Rats! Noise on the steps.  Where to go?  Left, under the bureau.  Behind the cage, into the closet! No, too crowded in there; I might get lost.  Straight ahead and under the bed sounds good to me!

 

 

Wow! It's dark under here.  I thought the closet was crowded? How much junk can one kid have?  She just cleaned out her entire room a few months ago; I think she was holding back on some of the stuff she told her mom she'd get rid of!  Quiet now, she's back in the room, rustling around.  Down to the bathroom, and now back on the bed.  She's talking to her mom again.  I skitter among the books and plastic storage cases under the bed, trying to figure out where to go next with this new-found freedom.

 

Sobbing! I hear crying! It's my human, and she sounds muffled.  She's down the hall, talking to her mom.  "What?" I hear her mom cry, and the sound of footsteps, running to the room.  The door closes. Suddenly, the curtain surrounding the bed is lifted.  "There he is!" Mom says to Becky.  "Don't scare him, now ..." 

 

I scamper along the length of the bed, hugging the wall, considering my options.  The cage was nice - I had a steady supply of food, water, and someone who loved me & played with me.  Under here, there's nothing that even resembles food, although there are lots of books & papers I could chew up to make a nest.  It's dark, and it's cluttered, and -- HRMPH!  I'm not strong enough to move these big plastic things around the way I'd like.

 

I run around another minute more, just to keep them on their toes.  Mom seems to sense that I'm playing, she's waiting patiently, backed off, not even trying to catch me, just watching & waiting.  I think I'll make a run for the door, even though it's closed, that'll give 'em a start- This will be the day that they will always remember as the day they ALMOST caught Brownie the Kangaroo Rat - Hey! My tail! Easy on the tail, human!

 

And back to the cage I go.  Time for a nap.   <snooze>

 

 

This is the thing.  I was in a real rush to get out of the house this morning - I had  few errands to run, and I didn't feel like being out all afternoon.  It's a beautiful day, and I just want to get home & enjoy it!

 

So, I get the kids up and dressed, force them to eat breakfast, and shoo them upstairs to get teeth brushed and hair combed.  While they're following my orders, I go into the office to check on something on the computer.

 

"Hey Mom!" Kid1 calls.  "There's a noise in my room - it sounds like something is scampering around in the ceiling!"

 

I go to her room.  She's sitting on the bed, looking around, as if trying to pinpoint where the noise is coming from.  "It's the same noise the Brownie makes running around in his cage, but it's not him - it's around the walls of my room! Maybe up in the attic!"  She pauses to think.

 

"Maybe there's a mouse in the attic?" I offer.  It's possible - we live on the edge of a large field, and we did find Jerry the Mouse living in our backyard last year ...

 

"It just sounds really weird!" she says.

 

"We'll listen for it later," I reply.  "For right now, let's finish getting ready."

 

I go back to the computer.  Not two minutes later, my girl is standing beside me.  She buries her head in my shoulder, not saying anything. 

"What's up, sweetie?" I ask, giving her a hug.

 

"I didn't close the cage door tight enough, and now Brownie got out of his cage!" she sobs.  "I can't find him anywhere!"

"What?" I cry, jumping up, running to her room.  Sure enough - the cage door is down, the nest is empty, and Brownie is nowhere to be seen.

 

I close the the bedroom door, and order Kid1 to start searching - under the bureau, in the closet - just start.  I grab my cell phone really quick & fire off a call to my Mom, who has the inside track on St. Anthony and his ability to find lost things.  "Say a really good St. Anthony prayer, Mom," I ask as I explain what happens.  Snapping the phone shut, we search.

 

I raise the dust ruffle on the bed, peering underneath at an unbelievable amount of stuff that's accumulated in the few months since we redecorated Kid1's room.  As I ponder which item to yank out first, beady black eyes and dark whiskers come scurrying towards me down the wall.  "I found him!" I call softly to my daughter, who is still sobbing as she searches.  (Kid2 has been banned from the room for safety reasons.  Brownie's safety, that is.)

 

It takes a few minutes of watching and waiting, but eventually, Brownie comes out from under the bed and starts scurrying towards the bedroom door.  Quick as lightning, Kid1 reaches out and snags him by the tail.  He cowers in her cupped hands, sniffing the air rapidly, letting me pet his head and even climbing towards me to say hello before he's locked firmly in the cage. I have to say, he looks relieved to be back in his own stuff.

 

Kid1 hugs me gratefully.  We go into the bathroom so I can comb her hair,  "You know, child of mine, this is awfully reminiscent of the whole Bob the Frog episode from last year." 

 

She giggles as she washes her tearstained face with a washcloth, and we remember the details of Bob the Frog, lost and found.  And Fred, his cousin.  "But you know, Mommy," she says a little later, "Daddy's going to be awfully mad at me.  Do we have to tell him?"

 

"Well, we do have to tell him, it wouldn't be right not too. "  As I speak, I point to Kid2, who is putting his shoes on, and mouth silently, "He's got a big mouth!"  She giggles.  "If you want to tell him, fine."

 

"I'll tell him!" Kid2 yells gleefully.

 

"No!" Kid1 yells.  "Mommy can tell him."

 

And so off to the stores we go, but not before I quietly run upstairs and double check the lock on Brownie's cage.  Just to be sure.

 

I've decided to add another skill to my resume, in case I'm ever in the market for a job.  It will be "Crisis Management".

 

 

 

"What did you sing?" I yell to Kid1 & Kid2.

 

 

"That's not the way the song goes!  It's 'Hi-ho the dairy-o, The Farmer in the Dell'," I yell back.

 

The kids are falling apart giggling at their song.  "No, Mommy, it's 'Hairy Ho'."  they persist, and start another round.

 

This goes on for about 10 minutes.  I'm trying not to laugh, while I try to think of a way to explain to them that "Hairy Ho" is not an appropriate thing to say -- I mean, they're 10 and 6.  If I just say, "Don't sing it because I said so", they'll only do it on the sly, and teach it to their friends.  And then I'm the mom who has the kids who sing about hairy ho's. 

 

Finally, my husband finishes his telephone call and calls Kid1 to his side.  She immediately blames Kid2 for re-writing the lyrics.  "What do you think you're singing about?" Hubby asks her.

 

"A hoe.  You  know, like you use to dig in the garden.  And it's all hairy!" she giggles.

 

Patiently, and without cracking a grin, my husband explains to her what "ho" can mean -- a girl who goes on lots of dates with boys, and only if they pay her.  "And," he says gravely, "That's not a nice way to be."

 

So, now he's off running errands with Kid2 in tow, the 6 year old son.  I'm wondering how he's going to explain a "hairy ho" to him ...

 

 

Things have been busy at the local elementary school. 

 

Yesterday was the final assembly.  As the school is 1000+ kids, they divide the school in half & do one in the morning & one in the afternoon.  For the entertainment portion of the assembly, the full concert band & the African-Cubano drum bands played.  Since Mom couldn't make it down for the concert last week, she came down & saw the abbreviated version yesterday morning.

 

Once again, all involved sounded great.  Of particular note was the "Prehistoric Suite" -- it amazes me how the band director gets that much sound, in that much variety, out of a bunch of 4th & 5th grade kids.  Truly amazing.

 

The fact that Kid1 is part of this makes me just proud as punch, to use a cliche.  All my life, I've always wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself -- to have that sense that I'm contributing to a greater whole, something larger and something worthwhile.  Now, I get to see her doing just that -- while a concert band might not be changing the world, she's part of something bigger, contributing to a greater whole -- the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.  At 10 years old, I doubt she yet appreciates that; I hope that she looks back on her band experiences with an understanding of how great it is to be part of a group that can make a whole bunch of people laugh, sing and clap their hands.

 

Today was Smart Kids day, where the entire school participates in science exercises throughout the school.  I was a kindgergarten chaperone for Kid2's class. Kids these days amaze me.  Well, sometimes they annoy me, too -- other people's kids!!!  One of the boys that Kid2 teamed up with is very - I don't know how to put it.  He's not unco-ordinated -- I mean, he can walk without tripping over his own 2 feet -- but when it came to doing a cooperative task, he pretty much ruined their task less than a minute into it by slamming pennies into the boat they'd made from aluminum foil (idea:  make a boat, float it in water, and then see how many pennies it will hold before it sinks.)  Kid2 wanted to make adjustments to the boat before they started filling it; his partner took a few pennies and slammed them into the boat, which of course sank it immediately.  I tried to suggest they repair the boat & give it another go, but the teacher who was monitoring the experiment came over & told them to count their pennies & write down their results.  I was annoyed and I know that Kid2 was really, really bent out of shape over being out of the running so quickly.

 

So, when his day was done, we came home, had lunch, and I helped him re-create the experiment.  He built the boat, and I provided the pennies.  We used the tub of water he was playing with already (plastic/rubber animals going for a swim).  My little engineer managed to get 311 pennies into the boat before it began taking on water. 

 

To wrap up the day, I pick Kid1 up from school, and find out that she won a Top Honors medal for a bridge that she built with her partner.  Awesome!!! She's loved to build ever since she could stack blocks, and it really paid off for her today; I know she's quite proud of her Top Honors medal. 

 

And, just because they're them, I'm so proud of Kid1 & Kid2.  Their accomplishments are just the icing on very sweet cakes.

 

Several weeks ago, I was monitoring Kid2 while he played in the bathtub.  At 6 years old, he still needs supervision but can entertain himself quite nicely, so I sat, reading a book while he lounged in the sudsy water.

 

He lay on his belly, butt cocked in the air, and glanced back at me with a grin.  Pointing to his hiney, he says, "Hey Mommy.  Is this the Biggest A** You've Ever Seen?"

 

I stopped, choking on the breath that I was just inhaling, trying not to laugh.  "What did you just say?"

 

"Is this the biggest a** you've ever seen?" he asks innocently, with a grin.

 

"Actually, it's one of the smallest.  Where did you get that from?"

"Dr. Doolittle - you know, the movie." Another grin.

 

"I'll be right back."

 

I exit the bathroom and cross the hallway to the office, where my husband is practically falling out of his chair he's laughing so hard.  "Well," he says, after regaining composure, "I guess that's it for 'Dr. Dolittle' for awhile!"

 

"I think the damage is already done," I remark, getting the last of my giggle fit done before I head back to the bathroom to explain to my little darling just why that's not a very good question to ask.  We're now clear on the proper time for him to use the word 'ass' (never!) and have declared a moratorium on watching 'Dr. Doolittle' until further notice.

 

 (Author's note:  I actually had to edit this post because of the word 'ass'.  When I tried to publish, the internal censor on spaces told me that I had prohibited language!! I can't even quote my 6 year old on my blog!)

 

 

 

Tonight was the elementary school's Instrumental Music Concert.  Advanced Band, Steel Drum & Afro-Cuban and Full Concert.  Kid1 is in Advanced and Full Concert.  They rocked!

 

And cha-cha'd.  And swung. And jazzed it up & laid it on with the blues.

 

They were awesome.

 

And now, once again, after many weeks of hearing it played solo on the flute, I have the song "Green Bananas" stuck in my head.  At least, now, I have the real words!!!!

 

I like green bananas ...

Just a few thoughts ...

 

Yesterday, my daughter's class had a spring party, in which they have refreshments for their parents & the kids take turns reading original essays.  The teacher gave them a list of topics to choose from, and Kid1 chose "My Future Career".  A good number of kids chose this topic.

 

I sat & listened as the kids detailed their career plans.  All had lofty ideas -- good to have goals -- ranging from pro baseball, basketball and soccer players to doctors and the like.  Every child raved about how much money they'd make (some had themselves in multi-million dollar sports deals) and how they'd be able to buy lots of cars, big houses and fun things with all that money.

 

Except, that is, for my daughter.

 

She read her essay - she wants to be an Olympic figure skater, and then a veterinarian when her skating career is over -- and not once did she mention money, wealth, or the ability to acquire cool stuff with her earnings.  Instead, she focused on the things she likes about ice skating, her recent experiences with it, where she plans to train for her career, and her fallback (the veterinarian).

 

I'm telling myself that her lack of materialistic focus is a reflection on how we've raised her.  I'm hoping, at least, that's what it is -- that she's not overwhelmed by the things that money can buy.

 

Keeping my fingers crossed...

I know I'll forget this is I don't write it down.

 

Kid2 comes home from Kindergarten today, chatting about what they did at school.  As I'm hanging up his jacket, he tells me, "Mommy, this kid at school said that if you stand in a bathroom with the lights out and say 'Bloody Mary' three times, you die."

 

"Come on upstairs, hon."

 

"Are you going to do it?"

 

"Yup. 'Cause nothing will happen,"  I assure him.

 

We go into the bathroom.  Leave the lights off.  Before he closes the door, my son checks my eyes to make sure they're closed.  He shuts the door.  Complete darkness.

"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," I said.

 

Silence.  Then, a little voice in the dark.  "Are you dead, Mommy?"

 

"Nope!  And you can open the door now," I said.

 

He's grinning ear to ear when he opens the door, and gives me a hug before running off.

 

I did this because as Kid2 is telling me the story, I'm picturing him telling the same thing to my husband.  Having my husband take him to a darkened room, and saying "Bloody Mary" three times.  And then collapsing loudly to the floor, just to see what Kid2's reaction would be.

 

Now, husband has assured me he wouldn't do that - no way he'd scare his son like that.  Instead, when Kid2 said "Are you dead?" he would have moaned and groaned like a ghost.

 

Guess it's all about how you do the scaring.

 

 

There's an update to the Bob the Frog story.

 

Shortly after I "went to press" with my blog on Saturday morning, detailing Friday evening's miseries with the class pet Bob the Frog, I packed up Becky and we went to her soccer practice/game.  After unloading my chair, cooler (with team juice & snack inside) and Becky, and walking around until we found which field she was playing on, I settled into my chair and opened my book.  The cell phone rings, and it's Nick.

 

"You're never going to guess what Nicky found," he said.

 

"What?" I ask, laughing.  I just had a feeling ...

 

"Nicky found a frog.  Down at the playset.  Not far from where Bob was lost last night."

 

"Did he catch it?"

"No, I did.  He's in the cage with the other frog.  So, now we have Bob and Fred the frogs.  Plural."

 

At this point, I'm really laughing too hard to say anything understandable.  Seems Nicky went down our yard to the playset to do a little swinging, and checked out a bucket that was sitting by the swings. The bucket was turned upside down, and inside the lip of the bucket, was Bob -er, Fred.

 

So now, Becky is returning to school with 2 frogs, and is very happy.

So, it's bedtime.  I waste some time surfing the Internet, figuring the kids deserve a little extra time, as after all, they've been through the tragedy of Bob going missing and Bob being found.  I call Kid1 upstairs, reminding her to bring her book -- she has to read 30min's a day for school, and they are tested on the books they read.

 

She comes upstairs, book in hand.  It's not her school book, though - it's a book I bought last week for her called "Ready, Set, Grow - A What's Happening to My Body? Book for Younger Girls" by Lynda Madaras.  Becky & I had already read Chapter One - "What's Happening to Me?  Puberty is About Change" together.  I found out that girls at school are starting to discuss puberty - Becky had heard the word, but wasn't clear on what it meant.  She'd also heard the girls giggling and whispering about stuff like getting boobs and hair, growing up, zits.  So, my timing on going through this with her was pretty good -- especially since she'd asked me about tampons only a few weeks before ...

 

When I see the book, I said, "Oh, I meant your book from school."  I took the puberty book from her and told her to get the other book.  "How much did you read?" I ask.

 

"Two to Seven" she replied.

 

"Chapters Two to Seven?" I asked, surprised.  I mean, it's a simply written, straightforward book, but still.  That's a lot of reading for the half hour or so that she was curled up in the chair downstairs.

 

"Yup.  Chapters."  She looked up at me and said with intense seriousness, "It's a very interesting book, Mom!"

 

Trying to hide my bubbling laughter as best I can, I take the book into our bedroom, and sit down next to Nick.  I recount my conversation with Becky, and as I'm doing so, his eyes are getting narrower & narrower.  "Listen," I said.  "Here's the chapter titles for two to seven:"

      "Chapter Two - Buds, Boobs and Bras - Your Growing Breasts"

      "Chapter Three - Hair, There and Everywhere! - All About Body Hair"

      "Chapter Four - You Grow Girl! - The Height Spurt

      "Chapter Five - Bigger is Beautiful - The Weight Spurt

      "Chapter Six - B.O. and Zits - A Survival Guide

      "Chapter Seven - What's Up Down There? A Look at Your Private Parts" (complete with drawings)

 

"That's it!" Nick said emphatically.  "No More! You're not allowed to buy her any more books!  I liked it better when she was reading 'Little House on the Prairie'!"

 

"But honey, she needs to know this stuff.  Girls are already starting to talk about this at school."

 

"Hmphf." 

 

Should I tell him that Chapters 8 and 9 are "The Inside Story - Changes you can't see" and "That Time of the Month - All about getting your period?"  After all, I spared him the brief discussion about masturbation that finished off chapter 7 ...

 

It's probably a good thing that the book only goes to chapter 10!!!!

 

 

 

I went to pick my daughter up from school.  As I stood there chatting with another mom I'm friends with, I spot Kid1, coming through the doors into the pick-up room.  She's holding a plastic box in her arms and grinning broadly.  I can see something moving like lightning through the box.  I moan.  "What the hell is that?"

 

My friend Karen looked at Becky, looked at me and laughed when she saw my expression.

 

"That" turned out to be Bob the Frog.  Apparently at recess, one of the kids spotted a frog sticking to the wall next to the door.  They pointed it out to Becky, who in the interest of animals and reptiles everywhere, decided to save the frog from a life outdoors.  She caught it and managed to hold onto it through recess.  Quite a feat, as the little bugger can't sit still to save his life.  When her teacher saw the frog, she provided the plastic container, complete with airholes. The class decided it could be their class pet.  They named him Bob, and Becky volunteered to bring him home for the first weekend, of course, because taking care of 2 cats and a mouse isn't enough for one family.  We need more pests!  I mean pets!

 

When we get home, I advise my child to put the frog, in box, on the deck in the shade.  I get her a little plastic cup of water to put inside, and I promise to find out what we should feed him -- I already know it's bugs, but since I want a break before going to try & catch him dinner, I make sure she's got the frog outside and go back in the house to fold some laundry and get some stuff put away.

 

I go to check on the kids, and find Becky inside and crying.  Apparently Bob the Frog has escaped.  Seems my daughter was trying to be nice and give Bob a little fresh air, by holding him in her hand.  She went to climb up into the tree house of our swing set, and needed to use both hands for balance, so she put Bob down in the tree house and climbed up.  By the time she got in the treehouse, Bob was gone!!!

 

A search ensued, and of course, Bob was nowhere to be found.  I went outside and searched, as well.  Nothing.  A few minutes later, my neighbor called and asked what was going on - her son had told her about my daughter's plight.  So now we're both outside, two grown women, searching for a frog who's probably halfway to the beach by now (it is, after all, Friday, and hot, so where else would one go to spend a hot, late summer evening?)

 

Again, no frog.  Neighbor does manage to find two tiny cars - micro-machines - that belong to another neighbor's child.  My daughter is heartbroken, requesting transfers to different schools, permission to starve herself instead of eating dinner.  "I'm sooo busted," she cried.  "Everyone is going to hate me because I lost the class pet.  Ashley is going to hate me because she was going to take it home next weekend."  On & on.  My heart ached for her even as I privately laughed.  After all, how cliche is this whole ordeal?  Bringing home the class pet, and it disappears?  At least it didn't go froggie-toe-up on her, although that would've been more acceptable, I guess - I could have explained that he was an old frog, and not long to be with this life when found.  Instead, my daughter is getting a complex, thinking that the frog hates her, and won't accept my explanation that he's a wild creature and doesn't want to be a pet, he wants to be free ...

 

Enter my conversation with Husband, who like me, is torn between feeling awful for our daughter and laughing at the absurdity of it all.  After a detailed conversation and a description of Bob the Wayward Frog, we agree on a course of action.  Husband comes home, takes Becky outside, and helps her search around the swingset again, in hopes that Bob will be a little more active, now that night is setting in and tree frogs are, after all, nocturnal.  Becky returns to the house to wash up for dinner, moaning "I'm busted" anew, as Bob wasn't coming out of hiding.  When, suddenly from the swingset, "Becky! Come here!"  Becky runs down to see what Nick wants.  "Is this Bob?" Nick holds up a  wriggling little tree frog.  "Daddy!  You've found him!"  Becky is ecstatic, to say the least.  Nick has saved our daughter's face at school, as well as her will to live.  "I guess this means you do want your steak for dinner?"  I ask as Becky runs past me with Bob, now safely back in his plastic home.  She no longer needs to starve herself. Wonderful.  Of course, the kids are wondering why it took Nick a half hour longer than usual to get home from work, but I think we can safely say his roundabout journey home was well worth the wait.