Snow Day!

What a better way to start out a snow day than to swallow the tip of your nintendo DS stylus! Oh wait! You can make it better! Make sure you go into a hysterical panic when this happens. It will be especially helpful if you scream in protest when your mom calmly suggests we call poison control to check on any harmful side effects we should be aware of. (Note to those who may find themselves in this position in the future: There are not.) With any luck, you will soon be joined by your chronically whiny and dissatisfied little brother. I may have more blogging today. I don't know yet.

guilt vs. avoidance? Guilt wins again!

It takes a frowny face email friends. It's my thursday small supervision groups. They know how to work me(Well hell, they are counselors and social workers, they should know!). Im sorry. I do have blog-guilt every day friends. Lately though, I fear thinking creatively will hurt my brain. But today I woke up to a frowny sad face email from my friend Drew (because she looks like a young drew barrymore. Before she went bad. I mean like when she was ten. Except if she had grown up without the hard living) saying she missed the blog. OHHH OK. What do I got though? Let's see? I can recite entire sections of Elmo in Grouchland now. (For those of you uninitiated, it's the story of one monster's journey to face the darkest part of evil in order to get his blanket bank. In doing so, he manages to break through widespread apathy and unite all of grouchanity. It really was inspiring the first seventy five times or so. Now we all want to put our eyes out and puncture our eardrums as soon as bert and ernie come on the screen.)(My favorite part being when the bad guy Huxley describes how he owns everything everything he touches. "You see this tennis racket? PING I own it. This hammer? PING I own it. This velvet painting of Elvis? I didn't really want it PING I own it. And this blanket, I didn't borrow it. I didn't rent it. I didn't even taken out a thirty six month lease on it but ohhhhh PING I own it." Thats masterful dialogue friends. Masterful dialogue. Ok, Im off to work friends. Ill try to be better and catch up soon. This time it's different....honest...

Public Service Announcements For The Panflutemaster House: Wednesday 12-5-07

There will be no ketchup in our house until Friday.

It is not appropriate to pin your brother in a corner with the broad side of a broom when you are supposed to be getting dressed for school.

It is also not appropriate to add the phrase "Jews are the Jewiest" to your extrapolation of the noggin song. Especially not in front of your father, who is of Jewish heritage. Or during the intergenerational church service discussing the blending of Christmas and Chanukah celebrations.

Addendum from earlier in the week: If you are trying to convince a life long Christian to join your church, do not absent-mindedly peruse the news letter and make remarks like "Damn, Ill be in the nursery during the "Dancing goats" service".

Bad guys do indeed have to go to the bathroom like everybody else.

It's probably not the best idea to say to the football coach on your first day of practice "I want to start with something easy."

Despite popular household belief, two year olds really don't need to wear deodorant every morning.

That is all for today. Stay tuned for further announcements.

My baby, My Terrorist Captor or Anatomy of an Ear Infection

• peed on the vanity in my bathroom
• Refused to get dressed, thus forcing me to do the “pin the cat on the hot rock” dance
• Tantrummed all the way to drop Norm off at school
• Tantrummed all the way to sitter
• Had to be pried from arms at sitter
• Was happy for a total of 37 seconds after leaving sitters.
• Stripped off all clothes and ran away giggling maniacally upon return to house
• Threw a plate of chips on the floor in abject disgust
• Played quietly for about five minutes which should have been a big red alarm siren
• Speaking of big and red, came running out of my bedroom giggling as soon as suspicion was smelled.
• Greeted me waving hands covered in bright red paint, “look look”. Look at the bright red paint covering my hands and half my body.
• Ran back into the bedroom before being snatched and thrown into the tub
• Cheerfully offered to “help” as I scrubbed the bath of already dried red paint in a futile attempt to remove trail from rug.
• Yelled “top it” when I collapsed on the floor and begged nobody in particular to just put me inpatient.
• Threw another bowl of chips on the floor in a rage.
• Would not leave my side for the rest of the evening

• Fell asleep at 10pm. Woke up at 1am
• Engaged in an hour long demand ridden play fest of peek-a-boo and pat-a-cake
• Watched Melmo til 4am. Screaming MOM every time my eyes closed
• Finally asked for dad.

I will save my detailed metaphorical description entitled “my baby, my hairshirt” until Ive polished it more.

Please insert "peed on my leg after refusing to put on diaper" right after "threw second of bowl of chips on floor"

Random Tuesday Thoughts

* Chocolate Honeycombs were a huge disappointment to me. I felt truly defiled after trying them.

* I had a small epiphany today about feeding my old bread to the wildlife in my back yard. It occurred when as I was looking for something to make a sandwich with I pulled out a loaf of bread that i love in toast form but not so much in sandwich form. (actually Im a bun girl. People might not know that about me....Which reminds me, I wonder what it means that I dreamt last night that I remembered to grab the left over buns Madame Fabu offered me from mini-fabu's birthday party on saturday. It was a really good dream.)The bread was covered in white "stuff". After my initial reaction of grossed outedness, my second thought was "now this is the kind of bread that makes a person see God. This is like Revelations inspiring bread." And my third thought was just a vision of a bunch of scared and confused stoned out of their minds birds, chipmunks and squirrels trying to negotiate the last few days of uncovered ground before the winter. I cant believe i never thought of this before. I feel like the Jim Jones of small woodland creatures.

* I think my "better with butter" strategy was not such a good idea after all. (for those who don't recall, I developed this theory around the time of the turnip's birth that since margarine is bad for you and butter is bad for you, if I just indulged in the butter, I would feel more satisfied and ultimately cut down my cream type spread usage) Two years and several previously inexplicable pounds of weight gain later, Im starting to think I may have missed a flaw in that particular logical process.

*Having said that, I just now realized that if you melt a tablespoon of margarine and drip it on top of frozen pretzels, it not only tastes delicious but offers a delightful alternative to the "wet your pretzel" method Ive been struggling with since the dawn of frozen hot pretzels. Disclaimer: Oh I can wet yer pretzel baby...just not if it comes packaged frozen with disjointed instructions for salt application.

* Needless to say, this little experiment begs the question, would the pretzels taste even better with real butter?

* Which leads me to confess to the most dramatic aspertame relapse Ive had since my initial recovery. It was safe crisis management training friends. I had to be there at 8AM. There were limited caffeinating options. I am so weak.

*Ah but yet I am not! I felt pretty ass kicking good about the "physical assist" part of the training. My friend Micky may have been completely humoring me but it worked. And Spike (who was our trainer) was positive about all the ones he evaluated except for the escape holds. (which in fairness, he was positive about. He was praising of the form but did point out that they were completely wrong. He even stopped short of the fact that the only way I could probably get away using these forms would be if my attacker peed his pants from laughing. Micky, however, went ahead and took the obvious shot)

* I will elaborate at length about the training soon but will tell you that with just a little polishing I truly believe I could totally kick ass both at christmas brunch (or linner as my brother is calling it as it's moved to later in the day) when sibling stuff arises and at social drinking occasions as well. Just wait til spring season!

* I need to figure out how to remove corrosive battery residue from my sonicare innards. Its the dark side of my happy toothbrush world and I never expected to see it.

* I miss my blog friends. Thank you so much for not giving up on me. My Christmas present to myself is to catch up on you folks.

The lens of fate

Hello loyal friends. We could make this a post about how much I suck or you can just let me lay it on the line. I suck. I truly believe its going to get better. I could try to explain where Ive been but it would really not make sense to anybody but possibly Gill and Madame Fabu because my reasons for absence would sound obscure and stupid to everyone else but I assure you they are entirely real and 100% logistical. (no crisis or illness or even lack of motivation to blog. Its there my friends. I am just having pure logistical problems) In lieu of describing them in tedious detail (too late? Im so sorry!) I will allude to them with a small tale. Let me preface the tale with disclaimer that I am here not because I have solved the problem but because I am braving these severe logistical conditions because my dearest sega continues to be a rockstar in every way and has expressed the need for updates. Ok so here is my little morality play.

Did you ever have one of those moments in time when you are involved in something and you are about to take an action and a very loud voice in your head is yelling "THIS IS A VERY BAD IDEA!"? Ok I know several of my realtime friends (Luckybuzz comes to mind in particular)can relate to this both about themselves and about me re: the late 80s and early 90s. Im not talking about THAT kind of bad idea. Im talking about the kind that happens when you are absorbed in an activity that requires you moving between several different rooms and are spontaneously approached by your two year old to take off your glasses. As you take them off and put them somewhere that is cognitively identified by you as "NOT A SAFE SPACE" (but not identified in terms of specific location of course...), you immediately stop thinking about your glasses and your two year old's sudden interest in them.

Needless to say, I had this type of moment on Friday morning. I did not think about my glasses at all until several hours later when Gill and I were in our bedroom cleaning and Gill suddenly said in a very alarmed tone of voice "Crse." I look up and he is holding one lens that clearly belong(s)(ed) to my glasses. Friends, it was like finding a human hand belonging to someone you did not even know was missing. Frantically we started tearing apart the bedroom. We dissembled the bed. We emptied drawers. Of course I flashed back to that moment in time (still believing for some ludicrous reason that the glasses were still where i left them despite the clear dismemberment that took place). Nothing. Friends, we looked as much as we could Saturday. We literally tore apart the furniture in the living room in a desperate attempt to find some sort of forensic trail of evidence. Nothing. At one point, I even tried a trick that actually worked on Norm when he was the turnips age.

"Baby? Will you help mommy find her glasses?"
"Nope".
"Do you know where mommy's glasses are?"
"Glasses."
"YOU help mommy find them?"
"Nope".

Cut to Sunday night and I am reliving the moment over and over trying to remember what the hell I was doing when it occurred. Bonsai calls me. She is somewhat stressed because she went back to school and because well...she lives with my brother which would require anyone to need sedative medication. I am telling her the story to cheer her up. (She does enjoy her nephews so). And I am stretched out on my bed and Im looking at my exercise bike which is about two feet from me. I suddenly remember Gill mentioning at some unrelated to frantic searching moment on friday that the bike sounded like something was stuck inside. Yup. Guess who's polishing his fine motor skills....

Maybe this is just a bad dream Monday

It cant possibly be Monday can it? Only Monday? I guess in terms of days it wasnt a BAD day per se. You just know that it isnt going to be the day you want when you here a little perky voice next to you at ten to six saying "guess what mommy? Daddy is gone already! Lets watch some cartoons in bed!" Especially when your viewing buddy is a wiggler, twitcher, climber and commenter. I sensed the day was not going to get better when I had to send Madame Fabu a briefing about a work situation and decided that the most fitting subject line would be "you are just going to love this (and no it's not a forward, its sarcasm)" (thanks for hanging in there with me through all of this today Madame F!) It could have seriously been much much worse. In fact, I now have a new character to introduce into the blog soon. Ive decided to call him Hemlock. He is my new arch nemesis. He is a supervisee and he is like the Lex Luthor to my Superman of passive aggressivity. I don't have the energy to begin the tale right now but I will tell you that he is truly a worthy adversary. As annoying and manipulative as his tactics may be, I often find myself thinking "Well-played sir. Touche."

Im reliving my childhood through my son. Soccer Mom shit? nope. Overfriending his friends? nooo. Apparently my Patsy Ramsey contribution to my son's education is to put off practicing his sight words until TWO days before the end of the nine weeks then try to teach him eight words (six of which he hasn't seen in at least a week) by chasing him around the house with flash cards that I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO CREATING YESTERDAY. Yes son, this is my legacy to you. You are five years old and already learning the art of procrastinating and cramming. Welcome to the amazing world of academics my child. Its all yours. In fact, go on ahead and have a beer because now that we've introduced you to the cycle of guilt, unbearable pressure and the sense of incessant dissatisfaction that emerges once you realize how well you could have done if you weren't such a self-destructive slack ass with avoidant personality disorder, a drinking problem is your next logical step. Seriously though? Next nine weeks will be better. I swear.

I write this pretending that it was only the sight words that escaped our review this past nine weeks. Sadly, you can guess the truth when I share Norm's quote of the night (offered in a tearful scream) "Will you JUST STOP asking me questions about my HANDS?" (it was a left right thing). Mother of the Year friends. Mother. Of. The. Year.

The Secret: And how it changed my family

Well friends. Two days and im off the wagon. But hey. Im gonna keep trying. So today's installment is about our life-changing evening tonight. I never suspected that when Gill came home last night with the DVD "The Secret" (thankfully he borrowed it) (From a fellow at work who was rumored to be hired in the same position Gill is doing at roughly ten thousand more dollars a year)(Needless to say, Gill thought perhaps there might be a connection between this little turn of events and "the secret"). How was that for a parenthetical cluster?

Anyway, as well you can imagine, (or maybe you cannot) I am somewhat cynical about any "life secret" that is being sold in DVD form and has been featured on Oprah. Don't get me wrong friends. I love Oprah. Who does not love Oprah? But seriously? Dr. Phil, A million little pieces (or whatever that scam was), Jenny McCarthy and most importantly lest we forget...the Tom Cruise couch jumping incident? Still, Gill asks so little of me(mostly because he prefers the naggy bitch approach to getting me to do stuff)so tonight we all sat down together and watched "The Secret".

I want to begin my review with something positive. I really do. Ok, so yes, I do believe in the Law of Attraction. It's called positive thinking. I know that term is probably foreign to most of you who haven't bought the DVD. Thats because those of us who have "The Secret" have been trying to keep it from you for two thousand years. Because nobody could expect a person to pick up a fucking religious text or study the life of someone who has made a significant difference in humanity or even see a therapist who might clue them into "The Secret". Is this woman serious? Am I some sort of emotional health elitist who just assumed people were not so idiotic as to need to pay 30 bucks to find out that negative thinking breeds negativity? Alright so its not what you'd call a fair and balanced review. Let me try again.

It was kind of funny. Funny is good. Each section would show a written title and some sort of truism in print (calligraphy or some other FANCY PRINT). Then there would be a whispered voice over reading the truism aloud. I really enjoyed that. So much so that I cant wait for an opportunity to start whispering really obvious statements loudly to Gill during conversations. And the music totally had a 700 club "mystical experience: I talked to Jesus" feel about it. I liked that a lot.

We spent a lot of time during the DVD explaining to Norm that much of what they were saying was true. You do need to trust the universe. You need to have an attitude of gratitude. And you always get what you want. These are messages we are trying to impart upon him anyway, but we needed to tease out the whole "and its some huge mystery nobody ever wanted you to know". I think Norm really appreciated this.

In sum, our family decided that the Turnip is already living "The Secret". Which is why we are constantly being forced to watch "melmo on demand" or suffer the dire consequences of a Turnip scorned. Norm then decided he is going to make "The Secret" work for him. To practice, we spent the rest of the evening placing demands and staring pointedly in silence at each other just to see what would happen. Periodically the Turnip would hit one of us, which of course is what we attracted to ourselves. I am sad to say that Norm appears to have gotten more of his sense of humor from his father as he was not even slightly amused when I noted that we want to be hit every time the little maniac philosopher hits us.

In all honesty, I could go on at length about my concerns about a society that is being bilked into believe basic mental health is a "secret that has travelled through the ages". I could also rant about my disgust on several different levels. But the bottom line is "The Secret" makes me realize that I could easily drive my family completely insane for the sake of my own amusement. How can that not be a gift worthy of 29.95 plus shipping and handling?

I bought bad pie and I cannot lie

And no Lucy they were not market day pies. They were pies of shit. If I told my blogger friends how many pies I own right now, it would shock you all. (I say own because my pies are currently being housed in three different locations. No wait four) I own eleven pies right now. I had thirteen. Thankfully, only five of the thirteen pies were bad pies. I have no good reason for owning eleven pies. In essence? The pies are physical manifestations of my boundary problems. Generally, Im ok with a physical reminder of bad boundaries as long as it's tasty. The not so tasty ones make me want to step up my therapy rotation.

The democratic debate is on. I miss Mike Gravel. Joe Biden has the most disturbing forehead Ive ever seen. Is it me or is Wolf Blitzer kind of bitchy tonight?

I want to give more to you tonight friends. You deserve it. But Im congested and sleepy. Its good to be back though...

For Sega

Today is my anniversary.(well for the next 25 minutes it is) I bet you think I am breaking my week long fall off the nanoblowme month (or whatever the hell it is that i need to seek remotivation for) wagon to wax poetic about my beloved spouse. Well...no. Although I did empty the trash for him today. (Happy Anniversary Honey!) In reality so far our only present to each other is a hardcover bargain book about corrupt popes in history. (and our mutual giddiness about this book might explain why we are paired so well) Its been 13 years, we have two small needy children and its a damn wednesday today so I really got nothing for him here besides a little shout out of love and a half hearted promise not to kill him by the end of november (because seriously? If you are half of a dual income family and you have two small and incredibly needy children, why would you not try to WRITE A FUCKING NOVEL DURING THE MONTH OF NOVEMBER???? Because god knows the EIGHT CHILDLESS VIDEO GAME FILLED NOVEMBERS we shared before all this did not provide ample opportunity to explore this. Nope. We must find the most absolutely inconvenient stage of our family's life and then commit to setting extremely unrealistic goals about writing so we can make our family miserable for 30 days either through neglecting them or whining about not writing when we are with them) (Happy anniversary honey).

Forgive the digression. I have been gone. I am not catching up on blogs yet. I am sort of back i think though. Tonight however, i am here for Sega. Who saved our collective asses this week during a sort of surprise audit from the state. Shall I continue? Perhaps through bulletted form.

* Stardate: Monday Nov. 12, 2007:1214pm: Get the call from Lonnie Manko that begins with, "Ok dont freak out. Well...you are probably going to freak out but you need to understand this is actually a compliment." Basically, the gist was that I was selected as part of a list of folks who were VOLUNTARILY offered to the auditor for review!

* Now friends, I don't want you to be mistaken about my response. Lonnie was right. It was not only a compliment it was a total leap of freaking faith for several reasons including but not limited to the fact that my paperwork skills have been compared to those of a small nesting rodent and the fact that during the mock audit I defied all odds by not only finding all of the common auditor traps and falling right into them but also trapping myself in awkward and inappropriate monologues.

* I may have already told you this but for the above reasons, I was actively seeking ADA status for my attention disability. I was hoping this type of status would protect the agency from being shut down in case I did encounter an auditor.

* So needless to say, I completely did freak and I did what any logical person would do faced with possible scrutiny of my clinical and administrative skills. Reviewed my paperwork Studied standard of care guidelines I CLEANED MY CAR!!! And boy didn't it look spiffy at the end.

* I will spare you blow by blow descriptions of the following twenty four hours but here are some highlights.

* I broke the cord off my laptop before I could access any of the information Ive been hoarding on my hard drive that should have already been in the chart.

* I spent about forty five minutes being lambasted by Gill for my 112 dollar mistake.

* I ate a lot of bad food.

* I realized that the 13th would be the 3rd anniversary of my mother's breaking up with us. Spent time trying to figure out the half-life of the relationship to see when I could say I was "over" her. I think i have fourteen years still but i could be wrong...

* I spent time researching information about any possible injury I could inflict upon myself that would not hurt too badly but still guarantee admission into the hospital.

* I spoke to my friend Andy who offered to a) make sure our client was "not available" or b) slip the auditor some aquadots that she had bought before the recall and had not yet returned. She figured we could tell the guy that he slept through the whole session but we would keep his little "problem" a secret. Yes of course this made me feel better.

* I did review the chart. I printed out a bunch of necessary stuff. And left it at home.

* I commiserated with Sega who is so organized and auditor friendly that she was actually my personal chart manager in preparation for an audit a few years back. I was relieved to find out that she was also terrified and had indeed cleaned her car as well!

* I imagined every stupid thing I could possibly say in front of the auditor.

* I panicked for thirty minutes about the fact that the chosen case involves a client's mother who hugs me when she sees me. I like that she hugs me. I was terrified about the implications.

* I comforted myself by inflating the importance of the clean car and fantasizing about how impressed the auditor would be with my orderliness.

* I found and wore my badge. Unfortunately, it did repeatedly flip to the backside causing Andy to speculate that I was actually trying to mask a cosco card as my Employee ID.

* I slept four hours and had nightmares the entire time.

In the end, Sega was the chosen one and friends, she was a rock star. The rest of us on the list tried not to put pressure on her to convince the auditor that nobody else would need to be seen after she had done her magic. Our friend L Pow-Yung offered to tongue kiss her if she got us out of it. I did too but it was decided that I would have done it anyway and that couldn't really count as a bribe. She had a beautiful chart and answers for everything. She wooed the auditor on the ride-along and pretty much took the bullet for the team. We passed with compliments! All told, Sega was not interested in our tongue kisses and was gracious about taking the hit for us. But she did tell me she missed my blogging so friends, this one is for her!

And to further celebrate her contribution I am going to try to resume my post a day commitment. Here is the problem friends. I feel so damn guilty if I dont read all my blogs, comment on them, and reply to all of your comments. I cant keep up so I just avoid. (yeah yeah yeah its a metaphor for my life..whatever) Im going to try something new friends. Im just going to do my best to stay posted. I will try to catch up slowly on my blogs but it's going to take time. I do want to say that I don't have an order so if you see that ive not gotten to yours, don't take it personally. I just go down the list and the list is not in order! Ok thanks for your patience friends. Happy Ides of November!

for the record

Friends, I am EXHAUSTED. The turnip did not sleep last night and every time I drifted off, he screamed in my face and smacked me. And yes, it was exactly as charming and adorable as it sounds. (please ignore sound of glass breaking as your host smashes head through the window) I cannot keep my eyes open. Slept most of the evening. Im sorry. Im even typing with my eyes shut right now. Ill make it up friends. I will!

Must. Blog. Today.

The day was long. I am tired. I drank WAYYYY too much caffeine today. BUT NO aspartame. Recycling can get very cluttery when it stays at your house. You know when you’ve been married a long time and you totally totally adore the person and you still think about beating them? Maybe giving them nose bleeds? I mean you don’t do it but you think about it? And not for huge character flaws but for little things. Like making the children miserable. Or steadfastly refusing to admit that either a) there is a problem with the laundry or b) the laundry is deliberately being tampered with to ensure that you are constantly sniffing all your clothes only to find out ten minutes after you leave the house that the one ARM you missed has “the smell”. (you know the smell friends. The “no I didn’t leave the laundry sit in the washer for three days, you are imagining things” smell.) Or claiming to lack the social skills to order a pizza or deal with the car repair guy but will tell you in detail how you failed to give the proper information. Or will pick out WINTERGREEN gum went sent by you and another couple through the express line to purchase some gum. (and shout out to Madame Fabu because yes indeed it does taste like pepto bismo) Or FORGETS to take the baby to day-care when you are sick and can barely get out of bed. I am happy in my marriage, friends. I really am. I just think I would feel better if I smacked Gill more frequently. Or even just flicked his bald head. It seems like lately I can hardly be next to him without fighting the overpowering desire to flick his bald head when he pisses me off. It just seems like it would be so…rewarding. I do look forward to growing old with him.

Ok I really hope I never become one of those ladies with a man haircut dyed orange. What makes a person think that haircut is a good idea? Those who know me in real time are probably shaking their heads right now at what might appear to significant self delusion in terms of my own hair. But here is the thing friends. I DO NOT SEEK THIS HAIR OUT. IT JUST HAPPENS. I was watching a woman get into her car today with this hair. She was middle aged and not particularly attractive (orange man-hair notwithstanding). She was with her husband. I could not stop thinking about her hair folks. What happened? Did she give up? Did her husband finally notice a really bad hair cut years ago because it was manly and orange and didn’t know what to say so he told her it looked nice which caused her to keep the cut to “impress” him? I can totally get behind the whole “I just don’t care about my appearance” idea. It’s the seeking the ugly cut I just don’t understand. Ok buddies. Just reached 500. Did not think Id make it but damn it, if I cant flick his bald head, I certainly cannot give Gill the satisfaction of missing my word count! Im off to drown my sorrows in a glass of wine and some honey mustard Pringles. Until tomorrow friends….

the obligatory sleepy post

I don’t think Im gonna make five hundred today. Im very sleepy. Its been a long day. My oldest child swallowed his tooth and missed the bus. (Does telling him the tooth fairy won’t pay him unless he digs the tooth out of his poop qualify as abusive?) (Oh relax people. He didn’t believe me anyway) My baby stuffs Lincoln logs down his diaper and is currently walking around with his toilet training seat on his head. (Does that count as showing interest?)I voted today. In support of porn and alcoholic Sundays and against clean parks. (Im sorry but I just don’t have the money for clean parks. Im saving up for legends of guitar heroes III.).

As I left the precinct, I felt a distinct sense of obligation. I should be volunteering with the board of elections. Why? Because watching the current staff of volunteers manage the electronic voting booths is like watching my Dad try to program his own cell phone. Except my Dad knows better. I stood there for ten agonizing minutes watching a clearly disoriented sixty something volunteer insist that the middle voting booth was broken. I had an uncomfortable feeling that she was simply not following the prompts but thought it best to keep my mouth shut as they were already irritated with me for holding up the line as I tried to argue that I did not need my driver’s license to vote. But quicker than you can say institutionalized racism, the bevy of elderly poll ladies were gathered around the three machines. Needless to say, they had to try about two dozen really stupid solutions before they finally asked for help. When help arrived the problem was solved in less than fifteen seconds. I am not exaggerating. I mississippied the seconds.

It was one of those moments where the better person inside of me would be reflecting upon how lucky I am to live in a place where these were the biggest challenge I would face in placing my vote today. No death threats. No standing in the rain for hours on end. No gun touting pollsters. However, the better part of me did not show up until about three seconds before I wrote that last thought down. The selfish and elitist rest of me was just damn impatient and annoyed. Hell I have 389 I might as well keep going.

I gave up aspartame last week. On Thursday to be precise. My friend J sent me an article. Actually it was one of those articles I get periodically but J has the uncanny knack of being able to convince me to do almost anything from ferberizing my baby to taking a road trip to Alaska. Anyway, I started thinking maybe this would explain my inability to remember anything (like that word for moving your feet to get somewhere..crap what is it? Oh walk that’s right) (im BARELY joking) and my constant feelings of exhaustion. Ack. I hit five hundred so Im going to try to escape to my bed now. Wish me luck friends.

The (anti) dramatic conclusion

Ok Luckybuzz has pointed out the sad truth about this story. I will bullet the rest of the highlights.

• The narrator sounded like Boris Karloff in Grinch who stole Christmas.
• Madame Fabu pointed this out by singing “dah hu lor ay, fah hu dor ay” (or whatever it is) when he first started talking.
• He reminded me of a soulful, black Spike .
• These two things made me like the guy a lot.
• The story was interrupted by mad 80’s rock versions of traditional Christmas songs like “hark the herald angels sing” and “joy to the world”.
• Which was very nice until the guitar players tried to get us all to stand up.
• Which was ridiculous.
• Oh and there was a guy three rows up with a really big head who caused us all to have to occasionally shift to see the stage.
• I did not mind except when the narrator was talking.
• And was also the point where Madame Fabu pointed out her obsessive annoyance with a hunchbacked man two rows in front of us who was chewing his gum like his life depended on it.
• I found the gum chewing fascinating as it went “chew…chewchew” in a steady rhythm regardless of what was going on musically.
• The gist of the story seemed to involve a guy in a bar who was getting free drinks from a fellow telling a story about an angel traveling the world looking for hope or something.
• The angel found a guy who wanted his daughter to come home for Christmas
• The angel then found the guy’s daughter who wanted to go home too but couldn’t find a star to wish upon so she wished upon a bar sign.
• Somehow, she ended up in the bar and the bartender gave her money to get home
• At the end of the story the guy getting free drinks realized that he was probably talking to the angel.
• I was faced with the sad reality that in my town you don’t get free drinks from angels and you don’t get travel money from bartenders.
• All you get is fellows offering to get you high for a blow job.
• After a huge light and rock guitar finally, the annoying david lee roth wannabe introduced the band and thought he was a lot funnier and more of a superstar than he actually was.
• I was annoyed by this and prepared to leave gratefully thinking it was a fantastic show despite the basketball thing and the stage presence of the guitar jackasses.
• Then DLR announced that the show was only half over.
• They started the second half with “Proud Mary”. Which was extremely enjoyable.
• The rest of the show was a blur of crazy melding of Handel’s Messiah and other classical music pieces with over the top 80’s rock.
• Which was incredibly overstimulating
• And my butt was numb
• And when they asked if we were having fun, our group reply was basically “ask us forty five minutes ago”
• Speaking of which, TSO also contained several leggy blond women in plunging necklines, fish net stockings and spiked leather boots.
• These women came and sang right by us on the sound board stage.
• At some point, they covered the equipment with thermal blankets
• And raised this platform and shot flames from two little chalices of fire.
• The fire was very hot.
• To the point that Madame Fabu and I were shrinking away.
• The women were hot too
• But their hotness did not make me shrink away.
• Then they went back and the two guitar players came and played on the sound board platform too.
• And sent fog which froze the hell out of us.
• We saw DLR’s face in close up. He was an old and sad looking man.
• They wanted us to stand. We did not
• Finally it was over and we got the hell out of there because they were coming out to sign autographs.
• Oh I forgot the “Keyboard dual”.
• Keyboard dual?
• Are you fucking kidding me?
• Am I just too bitter and cynical to think that was not the cheesiest thing ever?
• The keyboardists did kick ass though.
• The show was Three. Hours. Long.

In summary (too late I know), the music was awesome. The light show was great. Everyone but DLR was extremely hot. And DLR was NOT an original member which made me think I would like the show if he was not part of it. Senor bought a CD and we listened on the way home. It was really nice actually….

804 words friends! Anyway, I promise this is the end of TSO. Lonnie Manko did have a very pleasant experience up in her seat so do not be deterred if you are thinking of seeing them. Unless you are Maggie May. Because my little soul drinking buddy, I think you will have a similar response as me....

And the beat goes on.....

So friends, our scene is set. We are crammed in our hemorrhoid inducing section expectantly waiting for the show to begin. Despite my circumstances, Im pretty darn excited about the fact that the row in front of us is empty. Mentally, I am thinking of subtle ways to create more space by stealthily manipulating these chairs once the concert begins. I do a quick risk assessment and see that the elaborate soundboard system approximately five feet from Gill’s seat will be a problem (consider this foreshadowing friends). Of course, as soon as the lights dim, six inconsiderate bozos trail in to take those seats (please note that when I am late and intrusive people need to be understanding and polite, but when others are late and intrusive they should defer to my comfort levels. In this case that would have entailed either standing in the back of the stadium or leaving altogether lest they ruin my comfortable viewing experience). The show begins with the announcement that the TSO will be donating the proceeds of the night to a local charity. Would you like to hear what the charity was? The local college women’s basketball team. Madame Fabu and I looked at each other completely flabbergasted. (at this point I may have fallen in love with the folks behind us who were also vocally appalled). Are you even fucking kidding me? (hey friends, the liquor was flowing freely. With the liquor comes the f word) So the women’s basketball team has a chronic or terminal disease and can’t afford to pay bills? They are dying and need a wish? Madame Fabu immediately begins listing local charities that might have been better allowing us to ask questions like do they need homes built? Do they need protection from abusive spouses? Do they need toys for their children for Christmas? ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING KIDDING ME? Ok this is a total digression (How about when I went to write digression, I wrote the word aggression instead?) and for the sake of my patient readers, I will complete the story today despite the word count issue. Anyway, I still had hopes for the show. Now bear with me friends, I am remembering from two nights ago. I believe it began with two long haired fellows doing the 80’s hair band guitar thing to alternate sides of the stadium. (You know, standing on amps, thinking they were Eddie Van Halen sort of stuff) I do like 80’s hair bands. Is this going to be an 80s hair band thing? Well ok, I can get behind that. I think. (I was wrong). I then remember lots of flashy lights and guitar posturing. Then the lights went dim and this guy began talking.

Ok friends. I just lost over five hundred additional words about our lovely story. I am tired. It is late. I am sorry. Its all gonna be anti-climactic when I finally finish this damn story....

Trans-Siberian Orchestra (part one)

I am once again suspending the Sesame Street post to discuss last night’s Trans-Siberian Orchestra show, not just to honor the request of the delightfully brilliant Maggie May but also to purge the experience from me while it is still fresh. I have to admit, when the
Fabus (im linking them in case i need to for nablopomo) first mentioned that we should go to this concert, all I knew about the group was that they had some funky Christmas song that I would recognize if I heard it and the music also had a light show. Plus, my boss Lonnie Manko had expressed interest in going so we got her tickets for Boss’s Day. Needless to say, I immediately agreed to go a) because the Fabus can pretty much anything fun b) if Lonnie Manko wanted to go then it would probably be good because she has good taste and c) Im all about pretty sparkly lights. I meant to google the group before we went but of course time got away from me and I was no more prepared than I’d been the day we bought the tickets.
Last night, before the show, we took a risk on a local seafood restaurant that I’d remembered being good ten years ago but is currently suffering from rumors that it’s gone around the bend. We were pleasantly surprised to find this not to be the case at all! Despite having to face the unfortunate reality that tonic is not an acceptable substitute for diet soda which resulted in me having to embarrass myself by asking my server to top my vodka and tonic off with sprite (yeah, im twelve years old), the risk paid off and we all had high hopes for the evening. We had asked for the best available seats and had paid extra money for them. Apparently, by the time we bought our tickets, 42 bucks gets you into a crowded row of folding chairs with no pads. Our tickets were in Row D on the floor. We knew we did not get fourth row seats but we at least thought this would mean we were in the fourth row of our section. Not so much. It appears that the folks who organize the logistics of seating at our venue do not believe in breaks between sections because we seemed to be behind another entire alphabet of rows.
Now friends, you may know me here on the blog to be kind of weak and self indulgent but deep in my heart, I am a survivor. I was undaunted by the prospect of being crammed into this small space on a butt numbing folding chair for the show. (Admittedly, I was between Madame Fabu and Gill, who was on the end, which made my experience a bit more pleasant than say, Senor. Fabu’s.)(And I did look longingly at the stadium seating until Madame assured me that they had unpadded chairs as well.) I was prepared to enjoy the spectacle. We called Lonnie Manko on the cell and found her located in the stadium seats much much closer to the stage. I deliberately did not ask about her seat padding just in case Madame was lying to make me feel better. I realize Ive hit five hundred words but I still am deliberately not going to begin the show until my gentle readers less familiar with the Trans-Siberian Orchestra experience have an opportunity to go here and learn about what the show was meant to be. I want you to have that image firm in your mind when you come back tomorrow to hear about the reality of it.

Emergency Blog Post

Ok Im on borrowed time here people so this one will not be 500 words. I think Im slightly allergic to nuts. have i shared that before? We went to see the Transiberian Orchestra tonight. I had no idea. I just can't do the experience justice without the five hundred words. You folks deserve that. From the david lee roth wannabe clearly living out his eighth grade fantasy to almost being set on fire. Yes friends. You deserve that.

Its November BABY

My month people. Well not traditionally but damn it, sucktober is finally over. (Im sure i stole that word but it feels good and right). And friends, Im back with a vengeance. In an unprecedented melding of my two worlds (ok maybe there is a precedent for melding, but it sounds dramatic) Im going to join the ranks of my favorite blog general and rising blog star Ash and join NaBloPoMo! I solemnly pledge to post every day in November. Furthermore in order to satisfy the insane demands of my partner in procrastination Gill, I am also (while not joining nanowrimo as he ordered me to do) committing to trying to write five hundred words a day. People the blog world is ready for this. Im not sure how Im going to do it and it may come down to me posting the contents of my refrigerator or randomly turning on the tv and writing down whatever comes out of it, but damm it Im going to do it.

In case you are wondering that last sentence marked 173. Anyway I really do have a lot to share. I think. Lets see...what was I going to tell you folks...

Well sesame street is on right now so Ive got some stuff to throw out there. First, have you noticed that there is very little cross-over between the muppets in the skits and the muppets that actually inhabit sesame street. Elmo seems to be the one exception. And sometimes bigbird. (muppets on elmo's world are the exception as it seems to be the nether world between the street and the skits). Why is this? Like you never see Ernie and Bert running into Maria or Gordon. And the poor cookie monster (my true soul mate because of course, c is not just for cookie its for crse too!) is like a damn pariah. (Did anyone ever see the daily show expose about the cookie monster? its pee your pants funny) Ok so there is that.

Plus, drop the bricks casey (I have no idea what that means except my grandmother says it when something is obvious) i just finally realized that there is a direct correlation between what happens on the street and what happens in the skits. Man thats brilliant. But being 37 years old and on about my fourth incarnation of sesame street viewing before I caught that is probably not. Brilliant. (407! rock on crse!)

Finally, Ive noticed the adults can kind of be jerks. I never picked up on this before. Now Gina? The vet? She is still fresh. But we are currently watching an episode "on demand" (i heart on demand) where Bob not only ostracizes the elephant from the word game they are playing, (fluffy, s/he lives with oscar) but he is a bitch when Fluffy actually does understand the rules and follows them (and lets be honest, if I was an elephant, and some guy like bob was a dick in front of my trashcan and I had to fight to play the game, and I had a huge elephant trunk, Id be sore ass tempted to spray water all over him when he wanted a W word. Take that you ignorant motherfucker). (537!!!!)

Ok I hit the goal for today so you will have to wait til tomorrow to hear about how Maria brings my mother issues to the surface.
Post script to be deleted soon Im backdating this to win prizes. Dont tell anyone.

its not the wii i swear

I have been lost in my own confusion. Yet I have so much to tell you all. Ive been doing more analysis of sesame street, so i have that to share. Also, I wanted to toss out some neighborhood etiquette questions. Halloween stories and yes, we went back to church! (and I even joined Lucy's membership/hospitality committee!) (have I mentioned how dropping the phrase "going to church" into my conversation continues to tickle the hell out of me). Are you intrigued? Titillated? Anyway, I promise Ive got a date with myself tomorrow night to sit down with a bowl of Turnip's candy and settle in to catch up on my blogs. Ive missed you folks. And I swear the lapse is temporary.

A quickie (please don't feel cheap...unless you like it that way!)

Friends, I said I was never gonna be that mom. I would never buy into the holiday hype and go on a rampage for a cabbage patch/sleep and smack ernie/nintendo game box. I would be a reasonable parent who explained in advance that the toy could be there in January so there would be no disappointments. We would have wonderful children who were pleased with themselves not to be sucked into the blatant consumerism of christmas. HA. Then came...Baby Alive. "But Crse," you say. "I know you are into non-gendered stereotyping for the children but was Norm that desperate for a Baby Alive?" No friends, no he wasnt. But Princess Fabu, she was a different story. As I watched my very own Madame (and senor and mother fabu for that matter!) Fabu stalk three counties for a Baby Alive after the Princess decided late in the season that she would ask Santa for one, I saw the inevitable future. Looking at her sweet little princess face when she discussed how she was getting one with confidence was enough to convince me not only that I would beg borrow and steal to make sure that I was not responsible for crushing that look off my own child's face, but also that I would indeed get up with a raging hang-over and drive for three hours (estimated but damm it was a hang over) to loyally shop beside my friend to ensure that look remained on the princess's face as well. Why do i tell you this story? Well friends, because we bought a wii. Yes it is only October. I have been sick about making sure we get a wii since august. (Madame has been keeping me motivated with the "remember Baby Alive" mantra.) Yesterday, in one of our "mysteries of marriage" conversations, (where i think "wait? how come you dont know that gill? dont you read my brain at night?") I share my insecurity about this with gill. He responds with complete surprise. "Crse, you can walk in anywhere and buy a wii!". What? WHAT? WHAT??? I thought there was some sort of shortage where there were lotteries and such. Apparently not! So needless to say, I decided to say once again, screw the house payment, and now we have wii. And friends, it shouldn't make me feel better but it does. Dammit, it does. Ok I have way more but I want to get a shower before the turnip wakes up. (reminder, post about kindergarten breakthrough, collective work bitterness, and turnip issues!) ok friends, im sorely behind on blogs but i look forward to catching up!

Im back...sort of..

Sorry for the absence folks, didnt mean to alarm anyone! Im just now recovering from being sick and twisted literally (figuratively of course I still am). Ill be back with reports about my kindergarten breakthrough and the adventures of Madame Fabu's mad and bitter weekend. (It stemmed from her week. Policy prevents her from sharing too much with me in terms of work difficulties, but I know its been a bad week when she spends saturday morning yelling "Fuck you, I know you are lying" at Paula Deen and the Barefoot Contessa.) Hope you folks are all well!

GO TEAM BALLISTIC!

Ill say it hard and Ill say it loud.
We took last place but are unreasonably proud!

Here is why I love kickball. You can do something really stupid but good things might happen like while the other team was trying to make a spectacle out of getting you out, your team-mate who is actually fast and good can score a run and people are still very excited for you! Friends, Ive been waiting my whole life for something like this to happen.

RT friends remind me if im mistaken, but I dont really remember Norm constantly challenging himself to find new and different ways to create messes, destroy property and physically endanger himself and others. Ok what is the positive here? The turnip is not a behavior problem waiting to happen. He is just....goal driven. Go turnip.

OMG! On a completely different note the turnip just linked together the words poop and ma butt! There was babble in between but judging from the stink, I think he is developing the ability to elaborate on his communication. Go turnip. Again.

Ok stay tuned as i bitch myself to gretty and hold on to my tuesday twelve til hers as done. In the meantime, Ill try to get my little photo essay of last night with gretty. Ive entitled it "A designated driver in decline".

oh there's a tuesday twelve a comin'

But it aint here yet. Instead? You guessed it. Stars devoid of theme.

* My right palm has been getting very itchy for the past three nights when I go to bed. Like flesh tearingly itchy. But without any rash. Gill thinks Im coming into some money. I think Gill is insane and that I am having some allergic reaction to something by my bed.

* Have you ever been in a situation where you need to make someone who doesnt like you or believe in what you do cooperate with you? Well, thats basically my job. I dont mind it but Im realizing more and more that when my efforts result in making said person like me, I become kind of depressed and slightly horrified. Its like accidentally being too friendly to the creepiest kid in school and finding that they glommed on to you. Except instead of subtly but firmly brushing the person off, you have to keep being friendly. And at the end of the day, after they've looked down your shirt (with your consent) a few times, you just feel kind of....gross.

*Tomorrow is the last game of the kickball season. We did not make play offs. But we found out that we are not at the bottom. We are actually in a three way tie for last place. If we win tomorrow that jumps us up the board like crazy (but we still will not make play offs)

* Have I mentioned lately how much I love Dexter (not the laboratory but the serial killer)? My only complaint is that his sister continues to over cuss. It sounds stupid. Im all about cussing but it has to flow. Her cussing doesnt flow. I dont blame the actress. Its written that way.

* Gret has helped me come to the realization that im possibly overmedicated right now. It would explain why when my shrink upped my adderall to 60mgs from 50 I completely fell apart organizationally. I see him on thursday. My therapist wants me to go medieval on his ass. I just might.

* Well that provided a perfect segue (yes for you Moe because it will NEVER get old!) into my therapeutic breakthrough this evening! (its a story so im not starring paragraphs) I was sharing some frustration with different areas in my life and relating my surprise at both my strong reactions to these frustrations and how right these strong reactions felt for me. We were discussing the difference between these reactions and those irrational "omg my meds clearly need adjusted" moments. I was sharing my fear that I may have evolved into a complete jerk and just dont care anymore. My therapist said one sentence and it was like the fog lifted. "You arent being heard".

Friends, I thought Id been struck by lightening but in a good way. It explained why i keep thinking that the world would be a better place if people just LISTENED to me. DAMN RIGHT IM NOT BEING HEARD!!! It was so obvious because I was so clearly not being heard in either of the areas Id identified to her and had actually mentioned this to people who cared enough to listen to me but I didnt link it to my strong frustration. I even began an email addressing some frustrations to my friend the other day and one of my first lines was "thank you so much for hearing me". Yet i still didnt realize any connection. My first reaction was "ok so why do i need to get heard so badly? what deficit is this in me?" and then she throws me ANOTHER curve ball! She says its NORMAL and NECESSARY to make yourself heard. Im not going to bog the blog down with lengthy explanations as to why this is novel to me but Ill tell you, Im kind of pumped up about it! We didnt get to the part where she told me how to manage it so we will all be waiting two more weeks to find out. I do see this as a new stage in Operation Kiss My Ass and Im excited!


Stay Tuned for Gretty's tuesday twelve. Twelve songs that make me feel happy!

A dream and some random crap

So if you add up all the time Ive spent in classrooms in my life, I believe that my first four years and a few gappy years in my twenties were my only non-school years. So at the very least, Ive spent about 30 years in classroom settings. Having said that, I find it extremely odd that when I dream about classrooms involving my current job, the setting is always a very specific classroom that Ive never actually seen in life. Ive dreamt about this classroom four or five times and its always the same damn classroom. Last night, the dream involved me creating a situation where I needed to walk about fifteen miles from the classroom to my office. At the end of the dream, after I made friends with a kindly bus driver who cut several miles off the walk by letting me ride with her elementary school kids, I realized I could have driven the whole time. Im sure its symbolic somehow. I just don't know how.

* We have a new bank. I like the fact that it appears to be user friendly. However, it is uglier than the old bank. Im finding the ugliness outweighs a lot of the joy im getting out of the new found efficiency.

* I think I really like Bill Richardson. It makes me sad that he totally has no chance of winning.

* In a related note, just because Al Gore won the Nobel Prize does not mean he has a chance if he ran for president. Interestingly, I read a great article in Vanity Fair talking about how the Clinton Gore relationship failed in 2000 because of Hilary's run for senate. Sources say that had Bill been more supportive of Al, he would have won the election hands down (oh wait, he did...). Still, the moment is gone.

* We watched Fast Food Nation yesterday. I wish I could tell you folks that I was disgusted and would never eat fast food again. It was kind of gross, but its not like I thought I was eating corn fed Angus that had spent many happy years wandering the pastures and died a sweet peaceful death with its calves surrounding it. I am still buying happy chicken eggs and I havent actually bought beef for our home in quite some time. Thats a lie. I just bought frozen hamburgers from sam's club. Damn. Its so easy to forget. Ive got to become a better person.

Tuesday Twelve

Because Im way behind on the tts, and because its probably not all that effective to deal with the last three hours of baby tantrum by screaming in the same high pitched tone back in the turnip's face or offering up phrases like " "Melmo hates mean babies" and "Shut your DAMM pIIIIEEEE holllle". And also because Norm responded to my warning that im a woman on the edge with "no you arent, you are a woman with your straight eyes open" Im clearly in need of a smile list.

Twelve things that make me smile:

1. Screaming "Shut yer damm pie hole" at my two year old.

2. Having my five year old jump in and scream it with me. (ok this isnt my "how am i mother of the year" list so back off)

3. The season premiere of "The Office".

4. Premium Cable On Demand. Who thought of this? Because it is FUCKING BRILLIANT.

5. Avoiding a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party only to have gill share the conversation he walked into between my friend T and someone else as he arrived at the party:
T: How come all the husbands get out of these things? (notices gill approaching) I see the husband in your relationship got out of it too.

(T, if you are reading this I SWEAR I was legitimately falling asleep mid conversation)

6. Norm just now approaching me shyly, in dead seriousness, and asking in the most conversational tone, "Can I smell your armpits?"

7. Being able to scream the lyrics to "I think I love you" by the partridge family at the top of my lungs in my car after finding a lost mix cd.

8. Lindsay Lohan finally committing to sobriety. I pray for that girl every day. (ok that statement was for my own amusement)

9. The turnip counting to 20:
....un....feee...feee...feee....nine..nine...nine...fee..eight.. un...un...un...eighteen... eighteen... eighteen... eighteen... fee... fee... fee ...TEET!!! (this is counting along with sesame street)

10. Mentally creating a thursday thirteen list of all the things I hate about zoe monster from sesame street.

11. A possible light at the end of the tunnel of my double job. (I cant say anymore for fear of jinxing myself).

12. Why does this man have a small faux votive candle on his head? Stories soon to follow.

Ben 10

is the coolest cartoon EVER. Today it is anyway. Except for foster's. Oh and justice league unlimited. Random stars Random stars

*Dateline-Saturday October 6. 1108am. Living room. Captain and crew are watching A BRAND NEW CODE LYOKO! I capitalize it because the preferred way to discuss the show is not to just call it by name but to sing A BRAND NEW CODE LYOKO! every time you mention it. You must do this until your five year old bursts out into screams telling you he cant take it anymore.

* So, Ive got more cleavage data to share. Back at the middle school (workplace of the guidance counselor looky lou, I think we will call him SHAZAM) V-neck. Not too low. Talking with ( probably more attractive than I) friend in crew top. Shazam ignored hot crew top friend. Had a jokey conversation with my chest. I really want to seriously commit to a long term analysis of this ("Examining The Correlation Between Low Cut Tops and Achieved Clinical Outcomes at the Middle School. A Longitudinal Study") but I have a kid in crisis there now so the girls have to attend everything for the next few weeks.

* I had my heart break in a million pieces yesterday. A million pieces. (everyone is ok physically) The thing I hate the most is when everybody in a dynamic is someone i love or like and hurting still happens.

*I also hate it when someone tells me something extremely shocking and painful about their past, and I am not shocked. Because Ive wallowed in similar swamps of dysfunction before. Alone and with others. I hate being familiar with so much depravity.

* The past two items are unrelated.

* I meant to search my archives to find out how many times Ive actually posted about what a BAD IDEA it is to take my tired children shopping at night. Especially when my adderall is wearing down and my ADD is full force. I dont actually have words to describe last night's visit to target, but ill try.

-Turnip: Scream. Climb.
-Norm: Have to go to the bathroom.
- Both children: (INEXPLICABLE DEAD SILENCE AND PERFECT BEHAVIOR IN BATHROOM)
- Turnip: Scream.
- Norm: "can we get my pokemon cards now?"
-Turnip: Cry. Smack
- Me: Struggle to pin climbing child down in cart.
- Turnip: Scream.
-Norm: can we get my pokemon cards now?"
-Turnip: Climb. Grab at merchandise.
-Norm: "can we get my pokemon cards now?"
-Turnip: Scream.
-Me: Carry child while pushing cart. (ADD kicks in here).

Two walking children. Two hiding under racks children. One child back in cart Scream. Cry. One child firmly chastised for modeling dangerous behavior to his lttle brother.

-Norm: Have to go to the bathroom again. (INEXPLICABLE DEAD SILENCE AND PERFECT BEHAVIOR IN BATHROOM)
-Turnip: Scream. Cry. CLimb.
-Me: Pin down child in cart.

It went on. And on. And on. Children walked and rode and screamed and cried. And pokemon cards were gotten despite hiding in racks due to extremely redeemable and helpful five year old recovery behavior. And much outward apologizing and explaining to onlookers and store staff that I now realize this was a really bad idea. And much inward rage and resentment and desire to scream "OH? You think he's tired? Well thank you OBI FUCKING WAN KENOBI! I thought the crack pipe i let him smoke when he came back from pimping his bad little diapered ass for me would keep him awake!" or "No jackass, he does NOT need a smack on the ass. If he was five, he might need one but he is TWO and it his PAST HIS BEDTIME and as you can see, despite the little mishap in the clothes racks the five year old also does not need smacked. But you do motherfucker!" or "Here is why i dont just take that poor baby home. He is part of a neo-Nazi clinical trial run by a high ranking German official who is disguised as a gerbil and lives in my dining room. We are doing an over stimulus sleep deprivation test on this child and ask that you do not interfere. I will express your concerns to Herr Goebells. But he will probably have you killed for it".

I think i need some sort of 12 step program where i am not allowed to take them both somewhere alone until I call someone to talk me down. Gill clearly enables this although he did suggest I leave turnip home. "But he misses me! He will just cry!" Im such a fucking idiot. Anyway, thats enough for now.

* I will sign off with the possibility that I may just be on blogtalk radio tonight. Madame Fabu and I will be riding home from a wedding drunk off our asses. Nothing better than a group drunk dial from the road!

Because I was not a mass of depressive need before today....

(no im kidding. I was. I have been all week)

But without trying to sound desperate or pathetic, Im joining the ranks of half my blogroll and calling out delurkers! If you read and don't comment or havent commented in a while or even just want to pretend to be someone else to make me feel better, today is the day friends. Today is the day.

WTFIIO Wednesday?

In place of the WTF wed, Im offering the why the fuck is it only wednesday post. You know, im not going to apologize for bullets or stars anymore. Unless there is a story, why would i put it in paragraph form. I embrace the random lists of crap friends. Go me.

* The PTO meeting resulted in me volunteering for some community advisory council. For about ten minutes I was excited that Id be able to use my expertise to make a difference in Norm's school. That illusion was quickly shattered as it became more and more clear that the fact that I own a laminator outshines any clinical value id have in an advisorial position.

* Friends, I know I disobey rules of grammar and do not proof-read, so this claim may not ring true for some but the truth of the matter is...Im kind of smart. Like nerd smart. Im bringing this up because I found out that I was in grad school with the actual clinical advisor. Friends, I say this without judgment. She is really not bright at all. In fact when I think of the intelligence scales the phrase (my favorite phrase in fact) dull normal comes to mind. Plus she is mean. Mean and dumb. Im half dreading working with her and half looking forward to the chance to be smarter than her in a group setting. I realize thats not very nice. But she really isnt very nice either. And my ego needs this. The fifth graders are taking me for granted these days....

* Speaking of which, you know the work day was pretty much a complete waste of what could have been an eight hour nap when the most therapeutic moment of your day involved the sentence "you aren't the boss of the marshmallows." And you are the one saying it.

* It did not get better. I went to a meeting after school with my team and a teacher. It started normally enough as we followed the teacher back to her classroom. She was a bit odd looking, extremely thin with long crunchy looking dyed blond hair. And a face that had to have seen better days. Still, if this job has taught me anything, its that there are a lot of odd looking people out there. So nothing was amiss. Yet. This is going to require another star.

* As we walk into her classroom, the first thing we notice is a GIANT hourglass on her desk. Not an egg timer. An hourglass. You know, like the one the wicked witch of the west times Dorothy's demise with? And friends, it was trickling. Then as we started talking, it immediately became clear that the teacher had some sort of verbal tic. Every sentence seemed to involve a hiccup and ended with her using a tone about an octave higher. Now friends, im a compassionate person. I really am. But just as my faithful readers will remember, I have issues with missing body parts, I struggle equally with situations such as this one. I really wanted to a)try not to ask questions so she wouldnt have to use sentences b) somehow stop the meeting and do a stress reducing exercise in case the tic was stress related and of course c) laugh. Thankfully I didnt do anything like this. My friend Andy is part of the team and she was with me. I was terrified to make eye contact with her lest we spontaneously burst into chimpanzee like laughter or at the very least, mortified giggles. It truly was mortifying. I feel like I should break this into more stars.

* The situation was not helped by the fact that she really had zero interest in talking to us and practically threw us out of her room. Ok this feels starred wrong. I apologize.

Ill stop now. I need a smile list.

The week in summary

I realize its tuesday and i will do my things to be happy about tuesday twelve when Gret does. Or before. Or after. Anyway here is my week in review (but not in any particular order)

* Wednesday was a grumpy day for both the perfect storm and me. We were both tired from the day out on tuesday and I was getting more and more bitter every time she bragged about making the pretzel. Hey PS! You sucked ok? Just accept it.

* Wednesday afternoon proved my theory about the correlation between my cleavage exposure and cooperation from the one guidance counselor. I didnt particularly need anything so I went crew neck. What I did not expect was for him to be a total prick throughout the whole meeting. It looks like Im going to have to get the girls back over there soon so he doesnt fuck up the rest of the year.

*Kickball was cancelled Wednesday night. I wasnt sorry because I was REALLY tired.

* Thursday was ok. There were a few dark moments like sitting in the Gulag house while the amazon mom was on the phone. She had a pair of toe nail clippers right there and friends, Ive never in my life felt so compelled to clip my toenails in my life. It was the strangest thing! All I could think of was taking off my shoes and clipping my toenails. It got better after she got off the phone but it really never subsided until I left. I never want to go to that place in my mind again friends.

* Thursday evening's supervision almost ended in a fist fight. instigated by me. because after arguing with someone for the better part of an hour throughout group, i had the realization she was not going to listen. which would have been fine if i wasnt fairly certain she was going to ignore my directive to keep her mouth shut to families and go about spreading misinformation. If this seemed confusing, let me sum up with this phrase JENNY MCARTHY IS NOT AN EXPERT ON AUTISM. It doesnt MATTER that she was on Larry King. SHE IS NOT AN EXPERT.

* Fortunately thursday ended well with two surprises. The first was a phone call from Norm saying I got my package. Guess what? My Rockdog stein came in the mail! Ill have pictures as soon as i can find my camera. Thanks RD. I feel commemorated.

* The second surprise was a lovely party hosted by my very good friend sega. It was one of those food parties. (And sorry lucy, i booked. Its sega's SISTER! She is really nice. Not like phyllis at all. And I promise vodka slushies). I realize this shouldnt have been a surprise but I kept forgetting about it so everytime madame fabu reminded me it was like finding out I had something fun to do all over again.

* I forgot. The third surprise was some home-made wine at the party from my other friend, Shakes. Apparently her father makes wine. I was particularly fond of the green apple!

* Friday morning wasnt great. I fucked up end of the month stuff and it took way longer than it should have so I missed my fifth grade party. The good part was i got there right when the sheep died in "Babe" (they watched a movie) so it went pretty fast.

* It got significantly better after I was done at school. I arrived at the office to find that Shakes had left me a bottle of green apple wine! Delightful friends. Just delightful.

* I then got to spend the evening first having dinner with Gretty (who gave us a gerbil) then drinks (and drinks) and bread with my darlin' Feather. It was much needed soul time all around and it also just tickles my spirit that Feather pronounces gerbil with a hard G which makes me think of Goebells. I dont know why that pleases me. It does though.

* Saturday. Ill sum up our saturday morning.(norm is angry and bitter. I am firm but whiny.)
Norm: I hate soccer.
Me: I hate soccer too but we still have to go.
Norm: Why? Its not fair.
Me: Because we made a commitment and im afraid of uncle-coaches wrath.
Norm: Whats a commitment
Me: Remember when i said you couldnt quit if you hated soccer when we signed up? That was a commitment
Norm: Why did you let me do that? Its all your fault.
Me: You said you wanted to play. It doesnt matter now because we are stuck until the end of the season and then we never have to do this again.
Norm: I hate soccer.
Me: Me too.

I think I will stop there. Saturday and Sunday were relatively uneventful. I took the kids to my brother's for the weekend, leaving gill to his own devices. He appeared to be intact and the house was somewhat better than when we left, so im guessing it went good for him too. Yesterday? The PTO meeting? Well...thats best left for the next post.....

A tag

Ok folks,
Im wayyyyy behind. End of month + out of town + whiny whiny baby= lack of sleep. And Im going back to bed after this. Im planning a week in summary post but first, I answer this tag from Bunny. Here is my desk top. It is available for a limited time only. I will not identify those in the picture but know they are well-loved family here at chez panflutemaster. And this is my current all time favorite picture. And the turnip is not wearing an ascot, its a hair band. And a harry potter shirt. Which of my regular readers can guess where he got the harry potter shirt? Anyway, there are a lot of icons because even my desktop is disorganized.

I tag my blogroll.
Besides Bunny.
And zig. Who she already tagged.

Edited to add: not sure why the picture is so small. I cant figure out how to make it larger. Click on and its a bit bigger....

My newest credential

As well you can imagine, im quite proud. My pride is only slightly lessened by the fact that the little kid with me also got a certificate and her pretzel was a piece of shit. After I got over the bitterness that she skated right into the title , I realized, my work will speak for itself.

It is sunday and my head hurts (a possible live blog?)

It is 1230. Ive been up for a few hours and i have a headache. Sadly it is not hangover related so i cant even say that at least it came with a good time. Im embarrassed to resort to this again so soon, but its random stars of crap again friends.

* Im going on record as saying that I. LOVE. MY. NEW. CABLE. and that the ability to access premuim channels on demand is one of those creations that ranks up there with sliced bread and penicillin.Ive managed to watch the entire first season of "Flight of the Conchords", a lot of "Curb your Enthusiasm" and am starting to watch "dexter". Here is the thing about dexter. When it came out, I was TOTALLY intrigued by the idea of it, but the first episode was somewhat....lackluster. On the plus side, dexter is hot and i love the crime stuff. On the other side, the side stories seem completely contrived. Like his sister is supposed to be this tough talking vice cop. Which means that she says "hell" and "fuck" in a forced way throughout normal conversation. Ok. I get it now. Im going to keep watching before I decide because im never keen on pilots.

* Ive been up for two and a half hours. So far my day consisted of catching up on blogs, eating a power bar, a banana and some garlic pita chips, discovering we are completely out of sweet n low, and watching a lot of television. Gills day has involved some serious cleaning. He randomly comes in to shame me. I laugh obligingly with self-deprecation. It works because we are both happy.

* The reason im not being brow beaten into helping is because Im supposed to be writing many many notes. Which I am going to do. Realy soon.

Three. Now I have three stars. Maybe i will come back and add more stars soon-

Fifth Grade: It aint for the weak or simple.

Well maybe the simple....Here are some things I love and hate about the fifth grade:



THINGS I HATE: Start here first so I can end on a positive note

* Its always the SAME FREAKING PEOPLE. Every. Single. Day. In other words, fifth grade triggers the worst symptoms of my ADD.

* Im not allowed to raise my hand and give the answers which sucks because Im so clearly able to dust these little mo-fos academically.

* Lunch sucks. The coating of chicken nuggets should never ever come off in your mouth like that. I felt....violated.

* The lunch ladies are always yelling at us.

* There is this stupid "healthy kids" policy that means they do not sell any more treats in the cafeteria. The snacks they sell are ok but not nearly as good as they were.

* The building is devoid of cute guys. From the principal to the janitor, our range is from unattractive to slightly above average (with personality being a boosting factor).

* Its too freaking early. And too many days in a row.

* Gym is twice a week. WTF.

* There is no appropriate adult response to comments like these "I want to grow up to be the Mexican guy who sells sunglasses out of his truck". This is complicated by the fact that not only can I not laugh but the child is dead serious.

THINGS I LOVE:or at least really like

* The day goes pretty fast

* All my teachers are really nice.

* I have a BFF who eats lunch with us every day. She is adorable. She reminds me of a much cuter fifth grade version of myself. She is slightly more socially adept than Perfect Storm which is great for us therapeutically.

* I. FUCKING. RULE. THE FIFTH GRADE KICKBALL GAME. (Oh yeah i said fucking. Thats how good i am)(I swear this is also therapeutic! we started because PS has a crush on the teacher who pitches and this would be the first time in her history )

* Fifth grade boys are surprisingly sweet and gentlemanly. Its refreshing to be with pre-teens who have not had the humanity beaten out of them yet.

* This could be attributed to the fact that the gym teacher is REALLY NICE! He is a little bit of a freak and randomly goes on religious rants when he is speaking to the adults in the room, but he is the only gym teacher Ive ever liked in my whole life.

* Im saving a lot of lunch money since I can't leave the school and I now pack. Kind of.

* In all serious, the perfect storm is doing amazingly well and if i may be bold, I think her success is somewhat due to me being there.

* Did I mention I rule the kickball field?

Ok if that is not enough to end on a high note, I will end with this quote from the littlest fabu as told to the Madame on their way to daycare yesterday.

"Mommy, George is my boyfriend. He can't talk and isn't shaped like a boy but I love him." (George being my dog)

Tuesday twelve

Ok read the post below first, so you can end on a high note.....done? Onward to the Tuesday Twelve (and my apologies to Gretty for being such a bad stalker and posting it on Wed!) But first my apologies for lack of comments lately. I have a lot of them saved up. Its the damn google reader! Oh and confidential to Mert? Your blog is still shutting down. I tried to subscribe to your comments but it only takes me back to a post from january. Pippa? Yours is stalling too! Just wanted to let you know!

Twelve things that make me smile.

1. Finally channelling my power to kick the ball (or "tattoo" it, as one of my team-mates says!) just in time for what i consider to be our grudge match.
2. Finishing what i consider to be the "ultimate packet" only to have the school postpone a meeting which means Im now PREPARED IN ADVANCE!
3. Having Norm validate that the lady who non-verbally scorns me every day when we are borderline tardy is indeed "yelly".
4. Finding a new sitter that can ease Gretty's overtime burden during her two weeks of transition to the world of grown ups.
5. PREMIUM CABLE (madame fabu, i adore you)
6. Rocking the fifth grade kickball field. Hell yeah.
7. Overtime pay.
8. "Birdie maman!(im so tickled with his french at age two!) Its Birdie (big bird) Birdie (Ernie) and Bert. And melmo. Its Melmo!"
9. The most fabulous kindergarten smile in the world.
10. Taking pride in being married to the only curly mustached man at the open house, only to be overshadowed by a man showing up late in a black cossack. It was like being beaten by a gold medalist.
11. Having to explain to an 11 year old that she was caught on video tape punching another kid. Four times. (This makes me giggle. I dont know why)
12. The politics of kickball turning out way better than I even imagined! Go (it kills me to say it) Ballistics!

First a story, then Tuesday 12.

My favorite guilty pleasure Xavier Onassis has been posting lately about the death of a fellow blogger. I never read the guy myself but I know a few of you not only read him but posted tributes of your own. Also, my friend T experienced a loss with extremely tragic circumstances (not that all death is not somewhat tragic, but this one is particularly heartbreaking) a few days ago. Anyway, XO wrote something about what does one say in a situation like this. It reminded me of one of the anecdotes a prof in grad school used to exemplify the process of joining during grief.

The mom of a third grader got a phone call from her daughter's friend's mother one afternoon. Turns out her daughter's friend had recently lost her father and the call was to let the mom know that her little girl had been an incredibly support to her bereaved friend. The widow expressed her gratitude and amazement of the compassion of the 8 year old. After the call, the first mom was curious about whatever words of wisdom her daughter had offered the little girl so she asked her.

The little girl thought a minute and then replied. "Well she was so sad. And I didnt know what to say to make her feel any better. So I just sat down and cried with her." And friends, sometimes thats all you can do....

Im not sorry

Id like to be but damm people. I am busy trying to replace Gretty (did I tell you she is moving on? Its a good thing for her and I will cope as long as we still have mandatory visits and she accepts i might need to call her more often). The Perfect Storm situation is still brewing and well... Norm's kindergarten is dominating my life much more than i thought it would. SO Id like to be sorry for being so far behind but damn it people what do you expect from me! Ok Its gonna be a RBOC. Im actually ripping off my newfound stalkee The Delightful Adjunct Whore and using stars. Well because they are pretty.

*It is 1:30 pm on Sunday. I have kickball at 6. I need to go grocery shopping. I have three behavior plans to write, one using a format I have NO FREAKING CLUE how to work within by tomorrow morning. I have not started. I did however catch up on blogs. Go me.

* Im hating Norm's kindergarten more and more. His actual teacher rocks but the principal is clearly migrating over towards dickville in my cognitive map of elementary administration. Also the lunch lady who I thought was nice, may actually be somewhat passive aggressive. Plus Norm told me that his afternoon teacher is kind of mean. Which means she is probably the kind of person who gets grumpy with kids and acts annoyed a lot. Now friends, I interrupt to ask for advice. I have raised the kids to respect adults. At the same time, Ive raised them to believe that NOBODY has the right to take a bad mood or grumpiness out on you through tone and/or words and actions. As an adult, I find this unacceptable and I want to raise the kids to find it unacceptable too. When we are grumpy at home we try to apologize. (we are better apologizing to Norm and Turnip than to each other but we've both been in time outs because of it and own it when it happens)I dont want him to accept this behavior or think its ok. What does one do with that? I would tell him to suck it up but dammit, why should I? Its not his! And its tainting his kindergarten experience!

*On that note, I want to thank you all for your support during the 9/11 aftermath here at chez panflutemaster. I feel awful because I think it sounded more intense than it was. Norm does typically have weird scary things going on his mind. I blame gill for overexposing him to stuff. Its not that unusual. And although its frustrating that they did this, it also kind of gives me my first little valid complaint about school which makes me happy. I do think Im going to say something next year about warning parents in advance about what was said. They probably wont listen and i can be bitterly gleeful or gleefully bitter. Anyway, you guys rock.

* Also making me happy is that we got to spend bonus time this weekend with our beautiful birthday girl (as of friday) Auntie Feather. She just makes me damn happy thats all.

* And we ate some kickass lasagne with the fabuwomen for Princess's birthday (her party is next saturday). Plus I got two very cool zach efron rings from her cupcakes. I make them talk to each other about how much they love me and how much they liked it when i licked frosting off them.

* Ok this was completely irrelevant but i need to work on plans before kickball. THere are some political complications im going to need to address im afraid. I feel a little sick....

A Day of Remembrance: Norm Style

So, I called Norm after school today and grilled him about his day as is our routine. He told me about lunch and the procuring of some hashbrowns as snack. He talked about drawing a branch for brown day. Then, he proceeded to tell me why today was such a "special day". He then described how "a long lot of years ago some bad guys crashed into some skyscrapers and some big tall buidings with their planes and lots and lots of people died. People on planes died and lots of other people died too." Oh? When did you hear about this buddy? "When we first got to school we had to be quiet. Because they died and its very sad." Was your teacher talking about it? "No just the principal. When we first got there because it happened when we got there." (Did I miss the fucking "prep your five year old for 9/11 reality check?" Nope. Double checked. No memo.) And what did you think about this buddy? "Well. It kind of freaked me out. Did you know people that died mommy?" WEll no buddy. It happened very far away. "Well if all those people died how come you didnt know nobody" (I relate a few stories about people we know and care about losing loved ones in 9/11)"Hmmmm...Ill bet their mommies are dead too. And there daddies are dead. Right mom?" Well not necessarily buddy. Lots of people were grown ups who didnt live with their mommies and daddies. (Mentally I am psyching myself up into professional calm reasonable crse for my next call which is to the principal asking for a debriefing on what was said and offering my sincerest thank you for opening this little metaphysical can of worms as a surprise for our family. Is this your idea of the welcome wagon?) Norm then begins to list all the death he knows about personally, from my grandmother to every last goldfish. We talk. We reflect. We mourn greenie and spottie together.

We end the conversation because he's finished a popsicle or had some other pressing matter. I immediately call the school. I try my best to explain the situation to the secretary. She is extremely kind. She knows Norm and tries to find me someone who can help me figure out what the hell was said. I end up talking to the lunch lady. (I kid you not). (She, too, was extremely nice) I politely explain again what had just transpired with Norm and ask if she can tell me what exactly was said. Apparently, she helps herd children into the gym when they arrive at school and this is where the speech occurred. She explained that it was "patriot day" and the principal was explaining why the kids were encouraged to wear red, white, and blue. "But wait...we didnt hear anything about that..." I say. Ah...thats because it was brown day in kindergarten she explains. (Ok so you dont include them in the red, white and blue dress because you dont want to interrupt brown day for the little ones. I see. And was that decision made in the same conversation where the inclusion of a description of the massive loss of human life through an act of evil would be a good idea for the five year olds? Red white and blue...hmmm no lets not confuse them by veering off brown day. Much better to let them struggle with their first realization that the world is a cold and bitter place completely devoid of justice. Well because that wont involve new memos about color week.) Lunch Lady then confidently reassures me that the talk was not graphic and their was nothing about planes crashing or anything. It was so awkward to mention to my new friend that in fact the words "planes crashing into buildings" actually came out of my five year olds mouth. She apologizes saying that it was hard to focus because of the herding of the children.

Friends, let me interject that this was no "Operation Kiss my Ass" endeavor. I felt so bad that I was putting this sweet lunch lady in an awkward position. I then try to explain that Im only calling because it was a topic not yet introduced in the home and I really didnt want to confuse my son any more than he already appeared to be. Which led me to the next question. Friends, let me ask you this. How does one politely ask if a school speech included any mention of hope for the future or spiritual comfort? It sounds so condescending to even ask such a thing. My reason for wanting to know this is because if the speech was meant to be as stark as it sounded to impress the importance of the day, I did not want to offer some sort of comfort that the principal had already shot down as a platitude. (What kind of grown up shoots down spiritual platitudes to a five year old? Oh wait. See above.) Also, was the concept of terrorism discussed? Obviously he couldnt have said "its ok, we caught the bad guys" because the bad guy released a tape last friday. My new friend didn't really have an answer. She gave me a few suggestions for exploring the topic with Norm. I was graciously grateful. Apologized for bothering. Thanking for understanding. Etc. Etc. Finally, she explains that the principal left for a meeting which is why I was talking to her. More apologies. More gratitude. I hang up and call Madame Fabu. Am I crazy or what the fuck just happened? We share different school stories from today involving the princess, norm, the perfect storm as well as other bizarro situations that had happened over the past eight hours. She reassures me. Im thinking ok we let this pass and see what happens.

Later that night, Norm starts a conversation while playing with his new matchbox set. "People are robbing banks somewhere in the world right now arent they mommy?" Well yes buddy, but people are helping people out there too. You need to remember that. Are you still feeling freaked out about today buddy, or are things ok for you? "Well...Im just feeling a little little bit freaked out still. (Not a lot of little bit, a little little bit)But thats ok. Because its a sad day and we got to be quiet." It is a sad day buddy. We talk about all the people that helped out in the aftermath and talked about heroes until he interjects accusingly. "Mommy, how come you never told me about this day before?" (allowing myself a mental burst of derisive laughter) Well buddy its a very hard thing that happened and its hard to understand and we wanted to wait til you were a little older. Soon after, in the kitchen "I think we should make a cake for the people that died mommy. You know, because its such a sad day" Hmmm...cakes are always a nice expression of the hopeless void of an illogical and unjust universe. Why not? "Oh never mind mommy. Lets make the cake another day. Sponge Bob is on" Almost immediately afterward, in an alarmed yet sort of calm tone "Mom, I just felt grammy's spirit. Can we talk to her?" Sure buddy. "Um Grammy? I miss you a very lot. And Um well...Im a little bit scared right now so maybe you could go away for a little bit. But um...you dont have to. You can stay because Im glad you are here". He looks at me for reassurance. I just say "we miss you grammy and we love you and you would be very proud of norm because he is a wonderful little boy". Back to sponge bob. He is a little clingier tonight than usual but so far its ok.

My bottom line? Im a little pissed that my five year old who is afraid of monsters and "bloody mary" and the goosebumps commercial on cartoon network is now pondering something vast and horrible. Im unsure because I dont know if this is exactly vast and horrible for him and I dont want to make it more so. Im guilty because I should have prepared him regardless. I knew the day was coming. Im wondering if I should prep the teachers for possible death talk tomorrow. Strangely, nothing like this occurred in any of the schools I worked in today.

Thanks for letting me process friends.