Holpineville

Stuff I Should Have Written Down Before Now

In no particular order:

Last Day

It’s the last day of school, and my kids have done no actual school work for two or three weeks, I think.  I’m not upset about it, because they did do some things at the end I’d been campaigning for the teachers to do all year:  arts workshops, field trips, special projects.  Ruby spent a lot of time in the school library, too.  Today, Carl took chips and a Crockpot full of queso for his class party, and Ruby took chips and the stuff to make guacamole.  Tonight, of course, they want to go out for Tex-Mex. 

I have to help sell t-shirts and yearbooks and then take money to the bank for the PTO after school, so the kids won’t be getting out early.  And tomorrow is a teacher appreciation luncheon I’m sort of in charge of, and I still have some PTO letters and accounting to wrap up, so I guess school isn’t really out for me yet.

Score One for Mom

Ruby reports that she did well on the civics portion of the Stanford 10 (standardized exam), because “it was all that stuff you’re always talking about!” So, score one for Mommy, always blathering on about the rights and the Constitution, flags, presidents, patriotism, elections, political parties, and whatnot.  I hate to think my major contribution to her education is a question or two on some bubble-filling test, but at least I made an impression.

Or Maybe Not

Rod and I are often impressed with how smart!  How insightful!  our Carl is. Except, of course, when he’s not. We were talking over some upcoming dates when we got an idea that Carl (seven, going on eight, or first grade, going on second) wasn’t so clear on the basic concepts; and we asked him to recite the months of the year.   He couldn’t do it.  He managed the alphabet, but it was a strain. The Pledge of Allegiance was iffy, too. Please, tell me it’s okay to be going into second grade and still unable to recite “January-February-March-April-May-June-July-August-September-October-November-December.”  His teacher says that's pretty normal in a classroom environment where they don't memorize that stuff, that most of the kids in the class were challenged by a project she gave them that involved putting their work from this year into chronological order.  But I'm not so sure. 

Music Recital

Ruby had a music studio party, instead of a “piano recital,” because it’s a little less formal that way.  Ruby does play a little piano at her lessons, but because she wasn’t practicing consistently enough to make much progress, she started doing music theory with her teacher, and she’s been composing a lot.  They debuted one of her compositions at the recital and it was nice—more modern  than I would have expected.  We had wine/punch/cookies, and then mingled with the other families while the kids and some of the dads had a drumming circle. 

Dentist

By some miracle, neither child had any cavities at their dentist visit last week.  Ruby needs to lose about three more teeth and then it’s time for orthodontics.  Yippee.  Given how much she complains about even the slightest discomfort, I’m going to need ear plugs for the duration of the treatment. 

Carl is sporting an ever-widening gap between his front teeth that kind of bugs me, but the dentist says it’s just that his face is growing and we’ll just have to wait and see how things work out and see what needs to be adjusted in a few years.

Finally, Kitchen Help that’s Helpful

As Ruby’s extracurricular commitments for the semester have been winding down, she’s found herself with a little extra time and energy.  She’s been reading a lot, and trying to see her friends more.  But she’s also been cooking dinner once a week or so, which is awesome because I sure get tired of it.  I actually like to cook, when it’s a voluntary act, but the expectation to produce a tasty, nutritionally balanced meal that 4+ people find acceptable around 6 p.m. every night is very wearing on me.  Also, although I am a pretty good cook if I do say so myself, you wouldn’t know it to hear my kids talk, and having them tell me how awful the food is every night, how it’s not what they wanted, how it was better last time or X makes it better at his house, or “why do we always have this,” or “but I wanted Y!” doesn’t make me any more excited about feeding them.

Ruby’s cooking is about as good as you can expect from a nine year old:  pastas of various kinds, soups, an omelet thing she likes to make but not eat, tofu, frozen dumplings, salads, odd drinks from various children’s cookbooks, and occasionally forays into pad thai, spring rolls, and special desserts.   She sorely needs some more knife training and practice, once in a while she misreads a recipe, she has the same problems we all have with trying to get several things ready at once and cleaning up as we go, and just like her mother, she hates having people give her advice on what to do and how to do it, even if they’re right.  But she’s developing some skills and experience, and I’m just delighted she’s doing it from time to time; there’s nothing better than having your kid say “Mom, I’m doing it.  It’s fine. You go sit down and read or something!”  Yes, ma’am, I believe I will, thanks, sweetie…

Carl cooks occasionally, too, although mostly in the special-project sense:  he has his own recipe for spicy peanut sauce, he makes a good Caesar salad, he likes to bake cookies, and he helps out when we cook as a family. 

Callie, Bubbles and Whiskers

Ruby has two friends who have fish tanks.  One is a serious hobbyist (or at least, her dad is and she helps) and the other is a serial collector of pets of all kinds.  And I should have seen this coming, because of course, Ruby decided she truly, deeply needed more fish, too.   (You will recall that she already has a long-suffering blue male beta named Lillian). 

So Ruby asked, and asked, and researched, and discussed, and asked, and negotiated.  Mommy the Pushover was okay with the pet aspect of the fish, but not so excited about the mess and work factors.  Rod, so opposed to dogs, additional cats, and most other critters, was somehow okay with fish….I think it’s that there’s a pump and some machinery involved, frankly. 

And then we debated how big a tank Ruby could get (20 gallons) and where it would be (it ended up on her dresser, which I am completely not happy about, but I couldn’t come up with a good alternate solution).  And What Fish to Get took weeks of talking, reading, debating,  and because it was Ruby making the decision, crying. 

I was suggesting Ruby wait and get fish as a birthday present, because her birthday is coming up and that way her friends could buy her some gear, if not actual fish.  But no, that was Much Too Long To Wait, and to be honest, she just wore me down.    

One day, my resolve snapped and we just went and got the stuff.  Ruby was pretty impatient about getting the fish, but she waited the bare minimum for the water to do whatever the water in a new aquarium does.  And then we brought home Callie (calico bug eyed fantail goldfish), Bubbles (black bug eyed fantail goldfish) and Whiskers (small bottom-dwelling catfish that I hope eats goldfish poo as promised).  I honestly don’t think they’re living very nice lives, up there in the not-pristine water in Ruby’s hot room, but they haven’t died yet. 

Cross Fingers

Rod is having surgery on his head next week.  His ENT is taking another crack at un-deviating his septum and he’s having that (rumor has it, painful) thing done to the back of his throat/palate that’s supposed to cut down on apnea/snoring.  He’s hoping it will all result in being less dependent on the CPAP machine and the couple thousand dollars in allergy drugs he takes annually. 

I am just dreading it because:

1) Unavoidable anesthesia risk

2) Someone poking sharp objects around in the vicinity of my beloved’s brain makes me tense

3) Rod is not such a great patient.  It takes him forever to come out of anesthesia, he’s groggy and cranky and doesn’t communicate for days, he fainted on me once, post-surgery, and boy did that suck, and he’ll be lying around feeling crummy for a good week or so and I won’t be able to fix it.

4) I am a rotten nurse.  Not only can I not catch Rod’s 200 lb. carcass when he faints, when he’s sick, I don’t really know what to do to help, beyond a cold compress, a drink, and medication on schedule.  I tend to rebound from medical stuff pretty quickly, and I figure everyone else should do the same.  My general thing for sick people is to provide what aid I can for a day or two, and then I somehow expect them to buck up, take a painkiller, and get back to regular life.  Having kids has made me a little more patient, I suppose, but I know I will still be feeling inadequate to the job next week.

5) It complicates the delicate childcare/carpool schedule, which falls into my domain to sort out, even if it’s not my surgery.

6) Yes, once again, we’ll be hitting that high dollar healthcare deductible this year.  There is just never a cheap year.

I Tried, Really I Did

As I was coming out of my PTO presidency haze, I started thinking again about how I need to exercise more:  weight management!  Muscle tone!  Cancer prevention!  Good example for children!  Better sleep!  More energy!  But as usual, no exercise activities sounded very appealing, and the idea of going from deconditioned to a regular exerciser was daunting.

At the same time, a couple of my friends who are generally with me in Don’t Like to Exercise camp independently started doing this program called Couch to 5K.  The premise is that you start very slow, jogging for a minute at a time, and build up over nine weeks to a point where you can run a 5K race.  The more I heard about this, the more it started to sound like a good idea:  I could get up early and do it for 30 minutes and be done, so it would be efficient in terms of time and calorie burn.  Surely I could jog for a minute, right?  And then I could be in reasonable shape by July!

And then I decided I would try to get Ruby to do it with me.  She desperately needs to get more exercise; I think it would help with her weight, with her self esteem, with her energy levels.  She’s very uncoordinated, but it doesn’t matter so terribly much with jogging. 

So we started doing it.  The first day was really hard, but the ones after went pretty well.  Ruby was remarking on how her days went better on the ones we got up early to jog. 

But.  My friend the physical therapist heard about it and strongly told me not to do it.  “I just think it’s too much pounding, running is probably not the right thing for you.”  Then I had my annual general doctor visit, and she basically said the same thing.  “Yes, you really need to exercise, I am totally in favor of that, but with your joint issues, something else would be better, trust me on this.”  “But!” I said, “I’ve lost so much weight!  And I have orthotics now!” 

And then my knees chimed in with a resounding OUCH, and I limped for ten days, and so I guess it’s official, my jogging/running days are over.  I am sadder about it than I expected to be.  It’s just hard to be officially too old and too broken to do something normal people can manage.  Ruby and I are going to keep walking fast a few times a week instead, I think, and I’ve been taking every opportunity to do laps at the pool even though it’s wrecking my hair, but it’s not the same in terms of cardio workout.  

 

Swamped Once Again

I do apologize for not writing much, but I’m just a wee bit overwhelmed once again.

Rod is in a busy period at work and the Girl Scouts are taking a good deal of his time.  He has some work trips looming, too.  He and Carl have been hanging out on the weekends some; one day they made a really big foam bow and arrow set, and one morning was completely devoted to some Scooby Doo Wii game. 

Carl is fine.  He complains about his homework, but he does it well, once we break his spirit enough for him to get down to business.  He wants to have a playdate every single day and a sleepover every single weekend, and he’s angry when that doesn’t happen.  He’s also angry that the agenda for after school hours includes anything he doesn’t want to do (i.e., all of Ruby’s activities).  He needs to work on his personal hygiene and he eats tons.  He has certain outfits he favors (basically all the stuff Grandma gave him, although he loves it for itself, not for its origins; she just knows how to pick ‘em) and getting them off of him for washing is a challenge.  He also insists on sleeping with a certain quilt (again, coincidentally, from Grandma) every night…and with a certain towel (go figure), in a play tent that he has to fold himself up to fit into.  To my surprise, he wanted to watch the Super Bowl this year, so we did.  To my further surprise, he sustained his attention for the whole thing, and to my dismay, has been quoting the commercials to me ever since.  He decisively chose to root for the Giants and therefore was unsurprised when they won: “Well, yeah.  I told you they were the best one.” 

Ruby is also fine, but with moments of pretty awful. Someone has to supply the drama around here, and while I try, she’s always ready to pitch in.  I am increasingly concerned about her school situation, but unsure what to do about it.  I have a whole flock of worry components: 1) Ruby’s personal unhappiness/bad classroom fit/socialization, 2) the dysgraphia, 3) her odd teacher, 4) some days it seems that standardized testing pressure is turning our lovely Montessori program into a worksheet distribution center, 5) general concerns about the quality of public education.  Lately I’ve been Googling private Montessori schools, as I dream of a world without the TAKS or STAAR exams. 

Yesterday, I toured a well-regarded private school that specializes in otherwise-smart kids plagued by learning differences, which sounded like it might be a good place for Ruby.   I was afraid to really like it, because it costs about $28K a year, so it’s out of the question unless we win the lottery.  It was excellent in some ways: just six kids in a class, excellent use of adaptive technologies, and just the welcoming atmosphere of a place that understands the difficulties these kids face and what it does to their self image.  But it also seemed to be more than what Ruby needs; some of the kids were plainly autistic, severely ADHD, or just plain odd, and I just couldn’t see her making friends and fitting in.  It was also extremely not-Montessori like in operation, with everyone doing the same things at the same time, and that would be a huge shock for her.  So, no, it’s not the place for us right now. 

I looked at a part-time “classical” private school, because I like the idea of part classroom time and part guided home schooling, but there’s a huge religion component there that I can’t accept, and I don’t know how they handle dysgraphia/dyslexia.  There’s a Waldorf school nearby one can attend part time (and then part home school) but it’s new and I’m not convinced it’s any good,  and Rod thinks I’m completely nuts for even looking at alternatives.   I’m going to figure out a time I can go observe in Ruby’s classroom and some other upper elementary classrooms at her school, and get some more data points. 

Anyway, maybe it’s just a phase and I’ll feel better once the horrible testing is over at the end of March.  Ruby started with her new tutor last week and perhaps that will help.  The tutor is a teacher at the above $28K school, so she knows about dysgraphia and ADD and processing disorders.  She also teaches Ruby’s Brain Gym Yoga class on Saturdays, so they already have a comfort level. 

I am really busy with PTO all of the sudden, too: our treasurer quit unexpectedly, and there are a ton of events coming up.  My energy and interest level is flagging, but it all has to get done and then I need to help persuade some people to run the board next year.  I’m working on our plans for spring break and Easter and I really need to settle down and plot out the summer camp calendar.  Summer goes on forever this year, and the kids are getting picky about which camps they want to attend. 

This weekend, Ruby is going to a concert with her piano teacher and a few other students, she's trying to set up the inaugural meeting of a book club with some other girls, and she has yoga.  Carl is trying to set up a playdate that might last all weekend.  We have a birthday party to go to, and Saturday night Rod and I are going to a Valentine’s Day event at the Arboretum.  The kids are really cranky about having to go to the childcare room for this event, but I told them too bad—that they had to take one for the family and endure it; I’m sure the complaining will up the romance factor.  Apart from that, there are no Valentine’s Day plans at my house.  Carl needs to buy some valentines for his classmates, but now that he’s seven, he’s really just too cool for all that and he doesn’t want to, plus it would be so hard and take so long to have to write everyone's names... (did you just hear the whine? I hope so.)  

XXXOOO to you all. Celebrate well. 

 

It's Sole Authority Weekend!

Rod is away for the weekend, bonding with his brother and his high school and college pals in Las Vegas.  He had better be having fun, and I imagine he is, but the whole thing just sounds tedious and exhausting to me.  I really must be getting old. 

Rod’s departure coincided neatly with the beginning of the Girl Scout cookie sale, thus dooming me not only to a weekend of single parenting, but also to door-to-door sales, my Least Favorite Thing Ever.  But Rod spent a lot of time last week dealing with his troop’s cookie sales paperwork, plotting out meetings, planning the father-daughter dance, and chatting up parents of prospective members.  A born leader of Girl Scouts, he is. 

The kids are back in school; the re-entry following winter break wasn’t as traumatic as I feared it would be, until Friday when Ruby had a 6 a.m. crying fit about how she was dead, just dead, because she hadn’t finished her work for the week and there was just no way she ever would.  Every effort I made to cheer her up, strategize about the situation, or calm her down was met with utter negativity. She's very frustrating to me when she gets in that mood.  For the record, when I picked her up from school, she was still very much alive and had managed to finish all but one thing. Next week will be the real test of mood and endurance, when Ruby’s after school schedule fills back up.

The kids’ report cards came out Friday.  They are very vague and not informative.  Ruby’s was great last time, and it still is now.  Carl’s was okay to good last time; he was marked down a little for not getting enough work done, and some  (but not all) of those grades were up this time.

Children, and What to Do About Them, continues to baffle me.   Carl:  will he go on to invent some geeky thing that transforms the world, or will he be arrested for ignoring and then shoving some peace officer who dares to ask him to move along while he’s playing Angry Birds?  It really seems too close to call most of the time.  More important, I can’t see how to make the former more likely than the latter. 

Here are two intertwined Carl problems.  Problem A: A couple of people separately suggested we should try to have him skip second grade.  I believed grade-skipping in our district to be impossible, but it turns out it is technically possible, if you apply by February and make your child take tests in June.  However, it’s extremely rare that anyone passes all the tests.   The rationale in favor of skipping second grade would be 1) Carl is one of the oldest kids in his grade so it’s a close thing that he’s not a year ahead anyway, 2) he’s physically very, very big, 3) academically he could probably cope fine,  4) he prefers to hang around with older kids anyway, and 5) if we did it this year, he would keep the same teacher because his class is first/second/third grade.

I’m not entirely in love with the idea, even if Carl could pass the test.  I skipped a grade, and while it may have spared me a year of academic torture-by-boredom, I’m not sure it was all for the long-term best, either.  Third grade here is where all the standardized testing pressure and insanity cranks up, and I hate to take away a year of Carl’s innocence.  And while he’s generally well-behaved, he has moments where he loses control, and there are some kids he has a tough time tolerating. 

On to Problem B: So on the one hand, I have people telling me how brilliant and mature-seeming Carl is, and then I get an e-mail from the teacher, inviting me for a conference next week because he’s having trouble controlling himself when he gets angry.  There was an incident just before Christmas when Carl got sent to the office and had a nice long conference with the principal.  They made a deal that Carl would be the one to tell me about what had happened. 

So guess what?  Carl said nothing at all about it.  Finally, after the principal dropped a big hint, and a little girl in his class came up and told me he’d been sent to the office for hitting, I asked Carl about it.  He seemed appropriately remorseful and downright embarrassed, but clammed up and wouldn’t give me any details at all. I asked if he had apologized to anyone who needed an apology, and he said yes, and that was that.

The teacher says he’s not generally a problem, but apparently there are enough times when he is, or maybe he’s scary enough when he gets enraged, that she wants to talk to me about it.   So, what do I say? 

Moving on, this week I took the kids to check out a karate school nearby.  Carl has been asking for a long time to take lessons, and of the options around here, this was one of the more feasible.  Let me just say that karate is so not my thing: you have to practically shovel the mumbo-jumbo BS in those places, and the actual class looks like a really dull exercise class, only with the counting in Korean.  But the kids liked it, and the old lady with a black belt instructor, and the older kids in the class who helped teach it, were welcoming.  Carl seemed to catch on fast and punched and kicked with a certain amount of power and coordination.  Ruby is too busy to sign up just now, but I promised to find us some tae-bo to do together instead.   I will probably enroll Carl, although I think he’ll find the whole thing less charming once he’s signed up and has to follow orders.  I’m hesitating, because we were also talking about signing him up for the local equivalent of Little League, and I don’t think the schedule will bear both. 

It’s late and I’m rambling.  More news later.

 

 

Pass the Celery

Poor Carl.  I took him in for his annual checkup and after waiting about two hours (must be a lot of viruses going around) we were told that he’s fine, but he grew too much.  He’s at the 95-97^th percentile on height, and the 95^th on weight.  I think he had a big breakfast that day, and he did need to pee when they weighed him, but still…he gained 11 pounds since last year.  And while he’s very dense and muscular, he got ‘only’ 5 inches taller, putting him at the 90^th percentile for BMI. 

Thus, Carl got the same your-BMI-is-kinda-too-high talk that everyone in the family has been treated to this year.  The doctor would like him to not gain weight while he gets taller—same thing she told Ruby, although the situation with Ruby is a little more serious.  Carl’s very upset that the doctor suggested he should curtail his screen time and cut way down on sugar and “white” foods.  I tried to stop the wailing by explaining to him that really, what he needs is more exercise, and maybe we should find him a sport?  He’s not really interested, however, so I guess I will just have to drag him to the park more or find some family activity we can all tolerate. I thought if he saw how much his friends liked their sports teams, he would want to play, but he steadfastly says no to soccer, baseball, hockey, swim team, gymnastics… His overall diet isn’t so bad, and I can tweak it further without him noticing too much, but he eats a lot, which is harder to control, and perfectly balanced is kind of impossible with most kids.

I hate this whole topic…as if dealing with my own weight issues weren’t enough.  I can accept that there is a certain genetic component, and obviously some bad habits involved; I certainly haven’t been spreading the exercise gospel.  But I also see a societal problem here.  My kids don’t roam the neighborhood outside the way I did at their age, and they can’t walk to school.  Eating out is more common and restaurant food comes in bigger and less healthy portions.  They don’t get as much recess and PE time at school as I did, and school work in general involves more sitting—i.e., you’re on the computer doing research rather than pulling books off the stacks at the library.  Every organized kid activity seems to involve a snack, even if it’s close to a mealtime, and junk food is much more available and much more child-marketed than it seems like it used to be.  And there are more fat kids, so while it’s less socially isolating to be fat, it also seems less horrible of a problem than when I was the fattest kid for miles and miles around. 

Otherwise, Carl is fine: vision excellent, hearing fine (which eliminates one possible reason he’s so darn loud).  He got his flu vaccine, a refresher course on the Heimlich maneuver, and a reminder to wear his seat belt/bike helmet/sunscreen/sunglasses; no lollipop this time, however.

Rod is back and a little tired from the trip, but basically fine.  Ruby has been moaning about feeling sick for days, but she never seems to get actually sick, so I think it’s just a way to vent stress and worry and tiredness.  She is a very busy kid these days.

I have been PTO busy: Carl and I sold lemonade at one fundraiser, and there was a festival meeting, and a moms’ night out.  Today, we concluded another big fundraiser sale, and this week we have the school-wide camping trip.  The weather had better cool off, because it’s been 95 humid and breezeless degrees lately and that might kill me if I have to endure it in the wild.  I finished my back physical therapy sessions (final outcome: underwhelming) and I paid my annual call on my ob/gyn, who thinks we should have another baby; unfortunately, Rod disagrees.  I got my first set of progressive lenses (you know, fancy bifocals), because I was consistently taking my glasses off to read my phone or eat dinner, and I couldn’t knit and watch TV at the same time.  But the adjustment period is pretty rough. It’s like being drunk, or up all night tired; the blurry thing is really bothering me.  I hope my eyes figure it out soon.  

Tomorrow the kids are out of school for Rosh Hashanah (well, officially, it’s the “fall holiday”) and somehow it turns out that I am babysitting four of their pals because their parents Big Important Jobs and Things to Do.  I don’t really mind, because as long as the fighting isn’t too intense, I can probably get some stuff done. 

 

Just Don’t Ask How the School Directory is Coming Along

There was an article in the paper today about misophonia, a disorder where hearing some normal, everyday sound triggers an outsized, involuntary reaction.   I think Ruby has it.  (Go ahead, read this article.  Enjoy the parts about how it starts at age 8 or 9, and how there’s no effective treatment).  Just this summer she’s started serious complaining about the sound of silverware on dishes when we eat.  She’s consistent and very cranky and vocal about it.  Rod gave her some industrial earmuffs to wear, sort of as a joke, but she likes them.  Oh, please, please, please, let it be a phase, or maybe part of her various sensory quirks, like the car sickness and the reading in the dark.

Ruby is running about 50% on having daily homework associated tantrums.  Some days feature yelling and tears and irrational enraged speeches about the stupidity and injustice of it all, and some days are all smiles and butterflies.  I have noted, though Ruby disagrees, that daily addition practice does seem to be improving her addition skills. Shock, to be sure. 

For most kids, this level of homework would be a drag; an inconvenience, maybe.  Something to rush through before bedtime or even at breakfast, but not a major part of one’s day.  It’s 25 math problems each day.  Ruby is on the easiest level (not that, the teacher stressed, it means she’s slow, it’s just the standard book for her grade and it’s a good fit for kids who aren’t “confident” about math yet) and so far the problems have been stuff she’s done since at least second, if not first grade.  But for Ruby, it’s not ten minutes of math, it’s more like an hour.  If you ask her what is so hard about it, she’ll tell you she’s not good at math, or she hates math, or homework is stupid and unfair, or she’ll babble something that makes no sense at all, and usually she picks a fight with Carl or me as a bonus.  I think the tantrums are mostly about the dysgraphia and the fact that she feels bad about not being better at math.   To be sure, she understands how to do math, she just hasn’t memorized all the “math facts,” so she’s really, really slow. 

Rod and I went to Ruby’s “504 meeting” last week.  This is where we and the school decide what “accommodations” Ruby should get for her dysgraphia this year.  Let us pause a moment to be thankful for the federal law that requires this procedure and the accommodations.  Because were it not for federal law, and the school’s need to help Ruby do as well as possible on the state-mandated standardized testing (for the school’s sake, not Ruby’s), whatever special treatment Ruby got would be very random, and she would be hating school and herself more and more.

Yes, it’s a warm, fuzzy, Montessori school, where teachers believe in customizing lessons to fit the child, but without an official reason to do it, I doubt they would have agreed so readily to the plan.  As it was, we all had a nice chat about Ruby’s obvious intelligence and charming personality (I can tell that they cannot believe me about the tantrums), her generally superlative test scores, and yet quirky learning problems.  We made a list of everything we thought might help Ruby get through the year and talked about the practical aspects of providing it. 

I still feel a little apologetic about my kid needing special treatment, especially the parts where we modify assignments to make them shorter or to give her extra time.  It’s like I’m asking for a big favor, or it’s my fault.  But the school has been good about it, and I really do know that 1) she’s a smart person who just needs to learn things differently than most kids, 2) she’s entitled by law to the help she’s getting, and 3) without it, school would be torture for her. 

So Ruby gets to use an Alphasmart and a slant board.  She can’t be graded on neatness or spelling in her written work (unless it’s something typed where she has an opportunity to spell-check).  She has 10 words on her spelling list each week, not the standard 20.  She gets extra time for written assignments and her worksheets get copied onto special blue paper.  We can help her with math by writing out the problems for her if need be, and we reserved the option to switch to doing just every other math homework problem, if the load gets to be too much.  

I think fourth grade is going okay for Ruby.  She doesn’t have close friends in her class yet, but she doesn’t seem upset about it , or at least not much.  Her teacher says she’s been meeting her deadlines, which was a relief to hear.  Ruby likes the research she’s doing on the pre-Cambrian era, and the fact that the books to read for fun in the classroom are all new to her.   She says especially liked some abbreviated versions of Frankenstein, the Red Badge of Courage, and Pride and Prejudice that she read last week, which amused me.  She has PE twice a week this month, and the PE teacher is challenging the kids to run three laps, which Ruby isn’t crazy about, but I think it’s good for waking her up before she gets down to work in the mornings.  She has also been doing a routine the occupational therapist gave her to get her brain ready to work each day, which might be helping.

Carl is a first grade academic rock star, which makes Ruby jealous, resentful and cranky.  He’s in class with one of his best pals, but apparently he’s handling it well and they aren’t disruptive.  Carl seems to be having a growth period in math, because whenever I ask him what he did at school, the answer is always about the math work.  He’s even asked me at home for some problems to do while Ruby’s doing her homework, or once just because he was having fun figuring out sums with some spare change.  Dorky, to be sure, but gratifying to see.  He’s reading pretty well, too, although he could use more practice.  I’m thinking of bribing him with screen time to get him to read a book for fun. 

The Labor Day weekend was pretty uneventful.  Ruby cat-sat for a friend, which meant driving her and helping, of course.    The weather finally changed; still no rain, but much cooler, which is great.  Carl spent a lot of the weekend doing Legos and playing video games.  Rod did various kinds of work (office, house, landlord, etc.).  Ruby spent a lot of time working on projects for the craft booth she wants to have at the school festival in early November; mostly beading and some recycled t-shirt scarves and headbands and such.  I helped her some, played Legos some, did PTO work, and babysat my friend’s kid.  We went swimming and had a cookout at the pool.  

I had my spine shot full of steroids again last week, and this time, I think it helped some, although it's not perfect.  I am going a little crazy with PTO work again.  It seems to go in waves, as does my ability to cope.  I’m in the trough right now, and need the next crest of enthusiastic productivity to come along soon.  Despite having knitted nothing since May or June, I’m hosting my knitting group tomorrow, so I have some frantic house cleaning and food acquisition and preparation to do today, before another school-related meeting tonight. 

Carl’s birthday falls, yet again, at a supremely inconvenient time.  The best option we could figure out was to have his party this weekend, nearly a week before, so I’ve got to pull that together in the next couple of days.  We’re having a big Tex-Mex dinner and homemade -Grams’ recipe cinnamon rolls (instead of cake), and a pack of about ten boys and their pesky sisters over to do something vague involving the Legos.  Carl is happy enough about the party, but what he really wants are presents (like video games) or cash (so that he can go buy video games).  So, I’m trying not to feel bad about doing the party as a rush job; he’ll be happy as long as there are chips, queso, and cinnamon rolls and the promise of some new loot. 

Experiments in Child Sleep Deprivation

Ruby, if you are reading this at some point in your adult future, I doubt that you will believe me any more than you do now, but here goes:  you need to sleep! ... adequate amounts, on a regular basis.  Are you feeling gloomy, or strangely deprived of someone’s love and attention?  Does everything irritate you?  How many times have you yelled or cried today?  Is life very unfair? Are you full of jealousness and rage? Are you having little accidents or mishaps?  Are your friends and family fed up with you?  This, my dear, means that you need to sleep more.  Go to bed early, for everyone’s sake.  Make no major decisions until you feel better. 

I didn’t plan for it to be this way, but somehow we have gone a whole solid week with activities every evening.  Therefore bedtime has been pushed back pretty much every night, and no one but Rod ever naps.  Both kids are very tired, but it shows a lot more in Ruby’s mood than Carl’s.  She’s been completely horrible to deal with most of the weekend: crying, whining, sassing, rolling her eyes at me, picking fights, complaining about every last thing, you name the ugly behavior, she did it.  And she’s scraped her ankle, stapled her thumb, wet the bed, had a bunch of minor bumps and bruises, and a continual headache.  The funny thing? She won’t admit to being tired at all.  No, in fact, she desperately wants to have a couple of pals sleepover tonight.   Sadly, it turns out that they both have, let’s say, “mysterious scheduling conflicts” (I talked to their moms), and we’ll have to wait to do that after our various vacations. 

The recap of the festivities:  there was date night. Then there was the laser tag birthday party I told you about.  Laser tag is a lot of fun, it turns out!  I had a great time, blasting little kids and teenagers and a few adults!  It also happened that Rod and I were on the same team, so I didn’t get to relieve him of his Laser Tag King title. 

The next night we met Ruby at her camp and spent the night there.  I don’t know what I was thinking, because it was a big pain to pack up all the camping gear and rush to get out of town on a Friday afternoon.  Then it was hot and buggy in that tent, and my back hurt and Carl wanted to sleep with his thrashing, sweaty body on top of mine, and Ruby, tired from a week of camp, would have been just as happy to come home that night.  The next day, Saturday, there were two more birthday parties to get through.  Sunday night some good friends had a big no-particular-occasion party.  At one point, after dinner and a good number of frozen drinks, the grown ups started dancing in the living room.  A few of the kids joined in; Ruby was the first one.  I think perhaps her next birthday party will be a “disco inferno” theme; she’s not a very good dancer, but she sure had fun.  Then on the Fourth, we went to another friend’s house for a barbecue, but by the time evening arrived, there was no way we could sanction taking Little Miss Psycho and her brother to see the fireworks.  I took them home and showed them some on YouTube instead, but they still fell asleep really late.

We’re leaving for vacation in less than 48 hours, so I’m trying hard to rest them up, in between wrapping up some household and PTO business and packing.  And instead of Ruby’s sleepover tonight, we’re having her friends over for dinner, so I’m hurrying to go cook.  Getting ready to go have fun is sure a lot of work. 

 

 

Paragraphs without Transitions to Link Them, Because I am Too Tired

Ruby is sick.  Nine kids out of her class and both the teacher and the aide were out on Monday, so there’s obviously something going around (and the principal said they Cloroxed the classroom last night).  But I’m not sure if Ruby has what’s going around, which rumor has it is pretty severe: high fevers, and vomiting.  Ruby ruined a perfectly good night’s sleep for me on Saturday night, and was a weird color and vaguely ill all weekend. [To be fair, Ruby apologized to me several times for waking me up at 4 a.m. for a fun-filled morning of medication, steam, and saline.  I told her to remember to be nice to her daughter when she’s a grown up and it happens to her.]

I thought, and still think, she has a sinus infection, but the pediatrician overruled me: Just a Virus.  And so, if I had to be wrong, then at least I could look forward to some impending improvement, right?  This morning, Tuesday, Ruby declined to go to school again, although she looked fine to me.  We had to leave the house while the cleaning lady was here, and I had a list of errands to run.  We made it to almost none of them because Ruby suddenly got so car sick I had to pull over and let her out to breathe and walk, and then it took forever for her calm down.  Somehow, the errands were negotiated down to one stop at Target. While we were there, every time I would stop the cart for a moment, Ruby would sit down on the floor, which struck me a bad sign.  This afternoon, she spiked a real live fever, 100.5, so I guess my plans for tomorrow are shot, too.

Carl lost another tooth.  The tooth fairy had a hard time finding the little box under the pillow, but he managed. I have no idea how many total teeth lost he's up to, which makes me feel slightly guilty.

Boils and carbuncles seem to be the trendy neighborhood malady of the decade.  The post office lady’s husband died from one, someone I know was hospitalized with one, another acquaintance had one excised recently, and someone posted anonymously on my neighborhood e-mail group about what to do about one… and tons of people had stories and advice. Weird.  But now I know, and thanks to me, you do too, that big oozy lumps in your skin are a perfectly great reason to go to the doctor, and MRSA really is deadly.

Ruby’s latest report card came in.  This year, the school is alternating some completely uninformative traditional reports with one that is a narrative by the teacher.  This was the narrative version, and it was more depressing than I would have liked.  Ruby is getting about six “pieces of work” done each day, and the goal is seven or eight.  She’s not doing as well on the math benchmarking tests they’ve been taking in preparation for standardized testing as one would like. This doesn’t bother me so much, because she understands all the math concepts, she just can’t seem to memorize addition/subtraction/multiplication facts, and also I am generally contemptuous of this particular standardized test.  She tested in the 95-100% range on the reading comprehension benchmark, though.  Ruby and I talked through it all and she wasn’t as depressed about it as I thought she might be.  She says she has a plan for it all, and things are going okay. 

Ruby got the long-promised Alphasmart device to use for classroom writing, and so far she’s very excited about it and says it helps a lot.  Rod and I have yet to see it in action or any output from it, but we’re encouraged by that.  She is also happy about the Handwriting Without Tears program she and another kid are working through.  I am really skeptical about whether or not it will do any good.  It seems to be mostly “drawing” letters in a specific way, and Ruby does it very well, but also very, very, slowly.  How this will help with normal, on-the-fly writing, I cannot see, but she’s giving it a shot. 

Valentine’s Day was good.  Ruby decorated the dining room with paper chains and hearts.  She typed the “to” and “from” labels for her classmates’ valentines and very industriously assembled them all, only to miss the party after all.  Carl surprised me by agreeing to write his name on all the cards for his class without hardly complaining at all.  I was supposed to help out with his class party, but alas, I was home with sick Ruby instead.  Rod and I went to an event at the arboretum, a walk in the luminaria-lit woods with wine and food stations, which was lots of fun.  Valentine’s dinner en famille was as nice as it could be, with our little sickie hanging about all day, and not much planning. 

The Girl Scout cookies are in.  I spent part of Friday picking them up and transporting them to the Cookie Mom’s house, and then Sunday Rod and Ruby and Carl went out delivering the neighborhood sales.  The funny thing is that people were stopping them on the street to buy more, so we’re going to have to reorder.  Rod and Ruby were in charge of leading the Brownie meeting on Sunday.  They led the group in science experiments like balloons and static electricity, making bubble solution, and the big hit: soldering. 

Carl’s lunchbox came back empty today, except for a couple of leftover baby carrots and some lunchroom grade crinkle-cut French fries.  I therefore deduce that he ate lunch twice -- from home, and from the cafeteria-- again.  He ate double dinner last night, too.

I finished my first real crochet project, an Angry Bird (it’s a video game on the iPhone/iPad) for Carl.  It’s completely the wrong size and only sort of looks like it’s supposed to, but he seems appreciative.  Yay for new skills. 

Our tenants got upset about some crazy possum throwing loud parties directly under their bed, and instead of paying big bucks to the exterminator, we decided to try to trap it ourselves.  Sure enough, there was one angry, frustrated possum in the cage at noon on Monday, and it fell on Ruby and me to take it to the far side of the bayou.  I felt bad for the poor thing, but not as bad as if I’d left it in the cage any longer, and at least it had a belly full of cat food.  May it find a new and better place to thrive. 

Otherwise, things are fine.  I am feeling really over-busy with committees and meetings and rabble-rousing.  Rod has decided to take on a bigger role with the school silent auction this year, and has been going to meetings for that, in addition to his Girl Scout Dad responsibilities and his day job and all. 

Waiting for a Phone Call

...from the school, to say my kid(s) is/are actually ill and what were you thinking, sending them in today?  

I know my general aura of anxiety and gloom today is mostly PMS, peppered with a little impending holiday excitement.  But still, the day didn’t start all that well.  I was brushing my teeth and adjusting my rickety spine to the more-or-less upright position, when Rod came into the bathroom, flapping his hands and barking about how Carl was throwing a psychotic fit and I should Definitely Not Take Them Out for Breakfast, as he Does Not Want to See That Kind of Behavior Rewarded!  I didn’t say a word.  And then he left to toast the kids some waffles and drive off to an early meeting.

A minute later, still in the bathroom, minding my own business, I get a visit from Ruby.  She is hunched over and coughing up a lung, whining about her boogers and something else.  On her heels is Carl, who is cold, also coughing and wiping his nose, and still mid-psychotic fit about which end of the sofa Ruby was hogging and Daddy being mean and he doesn’t want any of his breakfast “options” (direct quote of Daddy language) and can’t we go out for breakfast, and then he cries on my lap for a while.  I try to help Ruby blow her nose and sympathetically-yet-firmly direct her to go brush her teeth and her hair, clean her ear piercings, and do a saline rinse of her sinuses…and oh, yeah, put on some socks.  Naturally, Ruby goes and collapses on my bed, instead. 

Meanwhile, I am telling Carl that going out to breakfast wasn’t ever in the cards for today, because we just did that a couple of days ago and we have also spent too much mad money lately.  I don’t bother telling him to brush his hair or his teeth, although he needs both, but I do get him to change his pants, which I think he had slept in and maybe peed on, just a little.  Next I go listen to Ruby complain for a while, then I hold her hair back while she does the saline rinse.  Then I rapidly throw on some clothes, realizing too late, as we head downstairs, that my pants keep falling down, or my shirt is riding up, and exposing that flabby lower ab skin I love so much.  Once Carl and I make it to the kitchen, he decides he will just have to suffer through the waffles with Nutella Daddy has made for him, so long as we can add some chocolate chips and whipped cream. I am grateful for this small break in the grumping.

Next, Ruby falls down the stairs and I administer affectionate first aid and an ice pack for her bruised butt.  She still has no socks.  In the kitchen, she starts sobbing about how she doesn’t feel good but she has so much work to do today at school and she’s supposed to help a classmate with a presentation.  Her color is not good, and so I finally succumb to the urge to check her temperature.  Unfortunately, Ruby has one:  99.3, which is technically below the legal limit for school, but I know anytime she gets above 98.6, there’s trouble brewing.  Still, I keep getting the lecture at school meetings about not keeping kids home unless they’re well and truly sick, because the school loses funding every day they’re absent (over $100K last year, so it’s not trivial).  Finally, Ruby and I decide that I will drug her up and she will go in and see what she can get done—not be Supergirl, not stress over finishing all of her goals or the possibility of having to bring home weekend homework (the horror!), and cut herself a break because her body has a virus. 

Then we start to drive off and Carl drops a whipped cream-festooned waffle all over himself, the booster seat, and the seat belt of my shiny new mommy-van, and cries more.  As we leave the neighborhood, I note that my charming spouse managed to get the trashcan to the curb, but not the recycling, which we have tons of, following the Great Thanksgiving Feast and a lot of box-generating Internet shopping.  But the recycling truck was late today, so I organized and hauled it all out there once I got home, and yes, I do expect a medal; also I get one for cleaning up after the arthritic cat who can’t seem to step into the litter box to poop anymore.

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a difficult-to-schedule doctor, and the weekend is bursting with festivity—birthday parties!  Ruby’s piano party!  Christmas tree acquisition expedition! Rowdy neighborhood festival that we never, ever skip!  so of course, it makes sense that my kids would be at Death’s doorway with sinus infections or pneumonia about now.  Remember the year Ruby had mono just before Christmas?  Boy, that was fun.

Viruses aside, things are going well here.  Rod and Carl made a fancy track/ramp/thing for Carl’s itty bitty toy skateboard, and Rod and Ruby made a bed for Ruby’s doll—which I am supposed to sew fancy bedding for in my copious free time.  We went to a couple of concerts last weekend; one a kid piano recital and one a major-big-deal chamber performance by our resident violinist.  Rod replaced a friend’s faucet, the kids had some long playdates, I babysat a baby one day, and I have a bunch of volunteer work to finish up ASAP, as well as that all-important Christmas shopping/shipping/etc.  There are also a couple of knitting projects I need to wrap up in a hurry. 

We have barely started Christmas decorating, but that’s okay.  For the first time ever, I think I am actually looking forward to the kids’ break from school -- assuming they don't have a slew of sick days first, that is.

Tying up a Few Loose Ends in the Narrative

I feel like the actionnever stops and our busy-ness level is getting worse.  More likely, though, I am just progressively more slothful and not coping as well as I used to.  In short, we are fine, and I just don’t make enough time to write about it these days. 

Some have inquired lately as to things I mentioned before, so here are updates:

Thanksgiving was fun!  At least, I think it was. For me, it was a bit of blur in terms of activity and faces and carbohydrates, and it is always difficult for me to gauge at the time whether or not people are really having an okay time, or merely drinking heavily until such time as they may politely escape.  We had ten or twelve kids and twenty or so adults and way too much food, which is not a complaint.  We started at the unfashionable hour of 4:30, which resulted in having everyone fed and gone and the kids in bed by 9:30, so it wasn’t even a party marathon.  A side benefit was that the child fighting/tantrum/injury factor was minimal; the worst behaved little beast was Carl, and I will even excuse some of that, because he was exhausted and stressed out by having to share his favorite toys with the other kids (nearly all boys, and older than he).  I can report our turkeys were pretty awesome—two recipes, both roasted and soused with more butter than you’d like to know about, plus herbs and broth/wine. I had wanted to try my dad’s grilled/smoked method (best turkey I’ve ever had!) but the right grill and I just didn’t come together at the appointed time.  Rod managed to conjure up actual edible gravy, and none of the experiments were a disaster (although this roasted onion recipe really disappointed me; it was way too sweet). 

Carl, and Ruby, were so tired Thanksgiving night because a friend and I decided we would take our families to the Thanksgiving morning Turkey Trot.  What better than a 5K run (well, walk, in my case) to kick off the holiday weekend and pre-burn some pie calories? The weather was great and the walk was nice, but the kids were a mess.  We had to get up early, when they could already have used some extra sleep, and neither of them are morning people.  The doughnut run we bribed them with to get out of the house on time was aborted when the shop was closed.  Then Carl was super grumbly, Ruby finally allowed him to get to her, and Rod was snapping at both of them on the way, creating a truly joyful holiday mood in the car.  Carl perked up at the race, but Ruby….oh, what an exercise wimp that kid is.  She wanted to hold my hand, or drape herself on my side, the whole time.  Her feet hurt and she was hot and how much further is it, anyway?  So I don’t know if we will do it again next year or not, but it’s clear that our eldest is a whiny marshmallow when it comes to exercise.

The same day Ruby got her ears pierced Rod took Carl rock climbing, and the next day Carl was so excited to show me what he could do that we all went together.  I was just going to watch the kids and belay (hold the rope), but Carl pestered me to do it, too.   It had been a very long time since I had tried to climb, and let’s just say I have a lot of room for improvement.  Ruby was having a hard time of it and couldn’t seem to just enjoy being there and playing around.  I tried my best to cheer her up and provide perspective, but no, Little Miss This-Is-Horrible-I-Can’t-Do-It-My-Feet-Hurt-I’ll-Never-Make-It-To-The-Top-So-What’s-The-Use was an impenetrable wall of despair and bad juju.  It was sort of like her attitude toward homework and I deeply wish I could wave a magic wand and fix this aspect of her personality. (Please now tilt your head to the left to enjoy the lovely cell phone photos that prove Mommy's Still Got It and Daddy Never Lost It). 

 

 

 

 

The week prior to Thanksgiving included a turkey parade for the early childhood classes at the kids’ school.  Carl made an amazing light-up turkey last year, but this year he had practically no interest in the project at all.  Parental involvement was encouraged, thankfully, so Rod rode to the rescue and finally managed to entice Carl at the last minute with the idea of a motorized, flapping Lego turkey.  Rod made the motors and gears work, and Carl fleshed out the wings/head/tail.  It was a thing of beauty and a wonder of engineering and the pictures we took aren’t good enough, sadly.  Rod and I also had Thanksgiving lunch with the kids the day of the parade, and I did a long stint selling stuff for the PTO and the committee raising money to turn the school grounds into this fabulous showcase of a neighborhood playground (donate at this link here!). 

That week also involved me taking both kids shoe shopping, for which I deserve a medal and a spa day.  Why does it have to be so hard? Ruby’s now wearing a women’s size 6 ½ or 7, which is fairly easy to find, but she’s so darn picky and has such funky shaped feet that it’s still a semi-impossible quest.  Carl always chooses the shoe department to throw some whiny fit, and this time he decided only slip on sneakers would do, which are in short supply with feet as big as his.  So, Ruby got a pair that cost more than I had been hoping to spend (these, I believe they are), and we went home and ordered Carl a slightly bigger pair of the ones he just wore out, which he presently refuses to wear, because they're bigger than his old ones.

Ruby was chosen by the school principal to be one of a small group of kids to represent the school at a downtown farmer’s market, part of the garden program we started this year.  (See here and scroll down for the official blurb, if it works: http://tinyurl.com/2wlhm8d).  Ruby had a great time; she got a t-shirt she refused to take off for two days, she demonstrated potting plants, she met the mayor, and the kids were treated to lunch and gelato from the market stalls.  She liked it so much she wanted to take Rod and I to see the market the day before Thanksgiving.  We had a good time walking around sampling stuff and bought lunch, some fancy cheese, and a very special bottle of olive oil for Carl, who loves the stuff, mostly for dipping his bread, on the rare occasions we let him. Then I took Carl off to the dentist to get sealants on his new molars, a miracle of modern dentistry Carl does not fully appreciate, but I did, since I had had to make an emergency visit to the dentist earlier in the week to get a crown glued back on.  Maybe Carl won’t have molars that are 50% fake by the time he’s my age. 

Someone wanted to know: what happened with my boob ultrasound? It was about as much fun as usual.  This time, though, I realized they were looking at fluid pockets, not solid masses, so I calmed down pretty fast; my previous biopsies have all been for solid lumps, not liquids.  It seems I was retaining an impressive amount of water in my chest, nothing to worry about, said the nice radiologist, but something they want to monitor, and so they would like me to come back in six months, blah, blah, blah.  And then a week later I got a letter in the mail that said come back in six months but also come back now so we can do yet another mammogram, and my brain exploded so I am ignoring that one and going with what they told me in person. 

And what, you wondered, came of my conference with Carl’s teacher? It was also an occasion of pleasant surprise.  No, he isn’t about to be expelled.  If anything, he’s getting his work done more promptly and playing nicer with the other kids these days.  He’s participating in group pretend play at recess.  He’s even singing sometimes in music class and during circle time.  He likes art, and seemed to really enjoy the unit they did on Native American culture.  His teacher was particularly proud of how hard he worked on a complicated weaving project and the fact that he finished it first among the kindergarteners. 

Because Carl is the only kid in the class thus-far formally identified as gifted (don't fret, there’ll surely be more once the testing finished in a month or two), she wants him to participate in an extra project, the “Invention Convention” Ruby has done before.  The teacher thinks Carl needs to have in depth projects, things he will need to go back to multiple times to finish, and wants Rod and me to work with him on all the steps of this invention thing: brainstorming ideas, research, prototypes, etc. I don’t know if we’re up for it, but we’ll see. 

The teacher expressed some concern that Carl seems to not ever want to be touched—he never wants a hug, you put an arm around him and he squirms away, she can’t physically comfort him when he gets upset, etc.  I told her that when he’s angry or knows he’s in trouble, I’ve found touching or restraining him to be counterproductive, and I’d noticed that he is hands-off in general with other adults, but he’s plenty affectionate with me and Rod and even Ruby when he’s in a decent mood or sad/hurt (as opposed to angry), so I’m not terribly worried.  We jointly lamented the fact that although Carl wakes up early, he is not a morning person and it can be really hard to get him going in a productive way.  The other thing I got out of the conference is that we need to gently expect more from Carl.  The teacher said he’s doing great on his academic work, but he’s reluctant to read in class, and he knows he’s a bit behind where some of the other kindergarteners are on reading.  We agreed that it’s probably because he simply needs more practice, especially at home.  She would like to see Carl take on more long term, deep-thinking, creative projects.   She also is a big fan of job charts and chores, and while I’m not great with administering those kinds of charts, I see the need to be more consistent about Carl doing Carl’s Jobs.  So all in all, it was an excellent report.

What more?  I have been doing my share of the Internet shopping lately; all good deals, but mostly for my already-spoiled kids.  I still haven’t figure out what we’re giving all those difficult adults with whom we have yet to sign a Holiday Gift Non-Proliferation Agreement.  My Secular Advent Holiday Countdown Calendar for the kids will be starting late yet again this year, because I am not ready, nor have we done much of anything else to start Christmas preparations.  I have put in a lot of volunteer time at the kids’ school lately, for the PTO, and the book fair, and a Montessori group, and a couple of district-level committees I’m on.    I am ready for a holiday wind-down on that front.  I’m knitting some clothes for Ruby’s doll, which may or may not turn out to fit.  Carl’s junky toy obsession of the week is over this stuff: itty bitty toy skateboards!  He’s also interested in some Lego skateboarding sets that aren’t sold anymore, but he’s worried he'll always, always be outbid on eBay….and he’s broke, so it’s all a bunch of pointless whining and salivating, and really charming to be around.

Long, Long Ago, In a Galaxy Down the Street

Let’s get this out of the way:  yes, I got my roots touched up and the ends trimmed.  My pedicure is fresh, but I skipped the manicure (I destroy them within hours and they are therefore futile for me).  I  have been using my skin medications more faithfully, but I opted against a round of wrinkle filler (because I may be vain, but we also just bought a car). I got my legs waxed for the first time, but really it was just to see if I was brave enough to actually do it.  I also shopped for some new party clothes, but didn’t buy anything.  And yes, you guessed it….it is my 20^th college reunion this weekend. 

I am trying to be excited about the reunion. I get to see at least a couple of really great old friends and their new families, after all.  These are the people who took care of me when I was young, foolish, on the make, unemployed, scared, and going through a series of bad perms. 

But still.  Will you think less of me if I’m a cliché?  It could be that I’m a tiny bit nervous.  I feel ….old. Fat.  Out of shape.  And above all, I feel unaccomplished, given my current housewifeliness and the various fabulous careers of said friends.   Let’s not forget, too, that I am a shy little wallflower who hates to mingle and chit chat, and I can’t remember the name of anyone who I don’t see every week. But now that I've told you I'm going, I can't chicken out, see?

Last weekend was relatively free of social engagements and will be the last one that way for months, so I decided it was time for the fall garden makeover.  We do a lot of talking at the kids’ school about how much children like gardening, how important it is for them to see where food comes from and how plant biology works, how kids just thrive with some responsibility for plants, how good it is for us to spend time working together on the garden as a family, etc. 

“Bah Humbug!,” I say.  My kids like buying the plants, making unrealistic demands (not mere suggestions) about what to plant where, and spraying the hose (sometimes).  When there is real work to be done –weeding, spreading, digging—they are nowhere to be found.  Or their hands hurt!  And gloves just make them feel  icky!  Or they are deep in the middle of some big important non-garden project, thank you very much. 

When they weren’t avoiding me and the gardening, the kids went skateboarding, Carl did Legos, Ruby played with her doll, and their friends came over for a long playdate.  Rod and Ruby went to the Brownie meeting, which was a big get-ready session for the Brownie campout next month.  Rod is one of the people in charge of that, and don’t think he’s not excited. 

Other than that, it’s the same-old, same-old here, but I didn’t want you to think I was holding out on you.