Monday, April 28, 2008
A warning to unrepentant sinners everywhere
God gave me a preview of hell tonight. This preview was entitled: Going to the Grocery Store on a Monday after Work with Two Whiny Children. If that image doesn't instill a sense of abject horror so great that you drop to your knees to beg penitently for forgiveness, you are beyond salvation.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Jennifer Jo is the big 4-0!
Happy birthday, Jen! And remember:
Women are most fascinating between the ages of 35 and 40 after they have won a few races and know how to pace themselves. Since few women ever pass 40, maximum fascination can continue indefinitely.
Forty isn't old, if you're a tree.
Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.
Women are most fascinating between the ages of 35 and 40 after they have won a few races and know how to pace themselves. Since few women ever pass 40, maximum fascination can continue indefinitely.
Forty isn't old, if you're a tree.
Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Uncomfortable
The TurboFlush broke last night. Caleb flushed the toilet and, for the first time ever, it overflowed. In Caleb's defense, it wasn't his fault. When Jeff took the lid off, he found that a part at the top of the tank was broken. This was my first glimpse of what the inside of our Old Faithful looks like, and it doesn't look like the inside of any toilet I've seen before. Rather than the tank being filled with water, there is another tank inside the outer one. This inner tank is oblong, black, and supposedly made of china. Really! On this black tank, something that looks like a gasket at the top of the tank has broken. Whether or not this will be an easy or inexpensive fix remains to be seen. Jeff plans to stop at Home Depot on the way home from the basketball tournament today to see if they have the necessary replacement parts and/or any advice for him.
In the meantime, life is... uncomfortable. Jeff announced last night that he would be driving over to the YMCA to take care of any "big jobs." (Who used that euphemism in our childhood? For some reason I'm thinking it was Marcia Carlson...) I've made a mental note to not plan any fiber-rich meals for the next few days. Old Faithful's being out of commission has really made me realize how much we've taken for granted with that toilet. It will flush ANYTHING. In fact, the website has a couple videos that demonstrate how these toilets will flush paper and even ANSI test balls. Although we haven't tried that, we know that it was able to handle 'Nika's underpants without even a complaining belch (ask The Old Man or The Other, Younger, Half about the circumstances regarding that incident). I've never tried flushing even paper towels, but it would probably take on the task effortlessly.
Personally, I think that until Old Faithful is repaired, I will make daily visits to Barnes and Noble. Nothing like a bookstore to get things moving in the right direction on your own schedule. The library would probably be sufficient, too.
In the meantime, life is... uncomfortable. Jeff announced last night that he would be driving over to the YMCA to take care of any "big jobs." (Who used that euphemism in our childhood? For some reason I'm thinking it was Marcia Carlson...) I've made a mental note to not plan any fiber-rich meals for the next few days. Old Faithful's being out of commission has really made me realize how much we've taken for granted with that toilet. It will flush ANYTHING. In fact, the website has a couple videos that demonstrate how these toilets will flush paper and even ANSI test balls. Although we haven't tried that, we know that it was able to handle 'Nika's underpants without even a complaining belch (ask The Old Man or The Other, Younger, Half about the circumstances regarding that incident). I've never tried flushing even paper towels, but it would probably take on the task effortlessly.
Personally, I think that until Old Faithful is repaired, I will make daily visits to Barnes and Noble. Nothing like a bookstore to get things moving in the right direction on your own schedule. The library would probably be sufficient, too.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
And it's only Tuesday
Monday morning: We have a blessedly normal start. I got out of the house with the kids at a reasonable time, dropped them off at their respective schools, and made it to work without incident. This week is the start of dreaded "testing season," with MCAs scheduled this week and next, followed by several weeks of MAP testing. If you want to know how much instructional time is lost in the schools due to the massive amounts of state and federal-mandated testing, here's your answer: too much. Add to that time the number of mandated fire drills, tornado drills, and lock-down drills that schools are required to schedule, and it's a wonder we ever get any teaching done.
Monday afternoon: I pick up Chase at preschool, get home and start dinner immediately. Jeff, Caleb and Maren are still at the vet with Hunter, who needed his annual checkup and vaccinations. I have a meeting at 6:30 at the junior high regarding the Humanities class Caleb is registered for next year. It is strongly encouraged that parents attend to learn about this course, which is basically a more challenging two-block class that combines language arts and history, rather than two separate classes for the same subjects. Hmmm. I don't really have the time to go- I'm already scheduled to be at St. Thomas for a speaking engagement on Wednesday night, then I'm going out of town Thursday through Saturday for the statewide conference for teachers of deaf and hard of hearing students. But, being a responsible parent, I'll make my appearance. As soon as the others are home we gobble down dinner and I head out the door while everyone else is starting dessert.
Monday evening: The meeting for the Humanities class should have been subtitled: "The 15% Club." When I arrive at the junior high media center, I identify myself and am handed a sheet of paper with Caleb's name on it. Also on this sheet are two sets of scores: Caleb's performance on four different types of assessments, and the scores that the meeting's presenter, the gifted and talented coordinator, says are the scores they feel are desirable for the students that belong in this class. Basically, they want students who are in the top 15% on standardized tests. Each of the scores Caleb has is just slightly below their standard and are thus highlighted in yellow to announce that he doesn't belong in the 15% Club... I mean, the Humanities course. I turn the sheet over, feeling slightly humiliated, and listen stonily as the GT coordinator and the counselor explain that students who score less than the desirable standard are not a good match for the class. After all, the counselor explains, junior high has so many new challenges for these kids. They have so many responsibilities, like learning their locker combinations ("It takes some kids three weeks!") and remembering to bring their gym clothes home at the end of the week to be washed. Can you spell C-O-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-D-I-N-G? For me, the only saving grace was that there were other parents who felt as I did, based on the comments they made during the meeting, and who were wondering if hard work and responsibility in our students count for anything.
Later Monday evening: I arrive home an hour later than I expected. Already fuming about the "not smart enough" message I was given at the junior high, I walk in the house to find my two younger children watching a Power Rangers movie instead of having their vocabulary enriched with a bedtime story. No wonder my children aren't in the 15% Club! Before I can say anything, Jeff says that "before he forgets," someone called and Maren is invited to someone's birthday party on Friday and they were going to pick her up and he would get her at the end of the party. And whose party is this, I inquire. Jeff doesn't know, as he couldn't quite hear the name. So, okay. Good luck with that, as I won't be here anyway.
Two minutes later: I call Jeff and Caleb into the kitchen so I can tell them what was discussed at the meeting. Because the district is required to open the Humanities course to ALL students, Caleb can remain in the class unless we elect to withdraw him. But before I can utter a word, Caleb exclaims, "Look at Hunter!" And so we all look at Hunter, who is prancing around with a ball in his mouth and with a muzzle swollen like an overripe watermelon. Our discussion is terminated before it starts as Jeff looks up the vet's number. At 8:45 at night, the only place open is the urgent care vet in Oakdale. Hunter is likely having an allergic reaction to his vaccine and needs to be examined. Jeff, Caleb and Hunter leave for the vet, and I'm left at to get the younger kids to bed. No Power Rangers on my watch, so we turn off the movie and I read a couple stories. If it wasn't for me, our kids would drop straight into the "Special" Club.
One hour later: Jeff and Caleb return home from the vet with Hunter. His emergency visit, which included a prednisone shot, coupled with his earlier checkup up (plus the necessary meds to keep him healthy), bring his grand total in expenses for the day to $500. Jeff declined a follow-up shot in the morning, electing instead to give him benadryl by mouth. He said the vet mentioned the medicine may make him (Hunter, not Jeff) need to pee more. Great.
Tuesday morning: We need to get out of the house early, as Caleb wants to get some hard candy to fuel him during his MCA math test. He also needs to be at school early, as the sixth graders are going to sing a version of the YMCA song to the kids coming into the school, except it will be, "It's fun to take the M-C-A tests!" Of course, this is the morning that Maren decides she HAS to wear her striped shirt and the ONLY thing that goes with her striped shirt is her jeans, and her jeans are in the dirty laundry. After much ado and a temporary "I'm not hungry" standoff at breakfast, she finally gets back on track and we make it out the door. Walgreens is out of nearly every hard candy known to mankind, so Caleb has to settle for a distant second choice. We barely make it to school before the first bell rings. As Maren gets out of the car, I tell her to ask around about who is having a birthday party.
Later Tuesday morning: All my students are busy testing, so I take some time at work to compose an email to Caleb's teacher about the Humanities class. Does she think his skills are up to snuff for it? He gets straight A's and doesn't have to work very hard for them, but the message at the meeting was that the standardized test scores are the end-all. Doesn't his effort and sense of responsiblity count for anything? What has she observed in school?
Tuesday noon: I receive a very nice and reassuring email from Caleb's teacher, much sooner than I expected. She's disappointed at the message conveyed by the staff presenting at the junior high, and she reassured me that the class is a very good fit for Caleb. Her recommendation is to keep him in the class, as it is easier to stay in and drop out later than it is to drop out now and try to register later. Her confidence in him buoys me, especially because she used to be a teacher for the gifted and talented program.
Tuesday afternoon: After picking Chase up at preschool, we rush home so I can start dinner and get it in the oven to bake while I run over to Target to get a birthday present for the mystery birthday girl. Actually, it isn't a mystery any more, as Maren found out it is a girl in our neighborhood who is also in her class at school. And (thank you, God!) she likes Barbies, an item that has its own aisle at Target. No searching required. My philosophy about birthday presents is to pick something off the shelf and attach the gift receipt, as it will probably go straight to the return desk anyway. In a few more years I'll be able to bypass shopping step completely and just stick a gift card in an envelope. But for a 7th birthday... no gift cards yet.
Tuesday supper: I get home exactly 23 minutes before Jeff and Caleb are due to leave for basketball practice. Jeff mentions during dinner that Hunter peed a puddle the size of Lake Superior in his kennel during the day, thanks to the medicine he took for his allergic reaction. Jeff had started cleaning the mess up, but the mattress cover still needed to be washed. After Jeff and Caleb leave I make a half-hearted attempt to clean the house, knowing Mom will be here overnight Thursday to take care of the kids Friday morning while I'm gone - Jeff has to catch the bus at 6:00 a.m. The house is its usual pigsty. But... eh. Who cares. She's seen it worse.
Tuesday bedtime: Maren, Chase and I read two books from my Great Kids' Books No One Knows About: "Baby Brains, Superstar" by Simon James and "Bad Day at River Bend" by Chris Van Allsburg. If I had the energy and motivation, I would have also read "Tops and Bottoms" by Janet Stevens. But I was tired, so my children's vocabulary development and march toward the 15% Club will have to wait for another day.
Monday afternoon: I pick up Chase at preschool, get home and start dinner immediately. Jeff, Caleb and Maren are still at the vet with Hunter, who needed his annual checkup and vaccinations. I have a meeting at 6:30 at the junior high regarding the Humanities class Caleb is registered for next year. It is strongly encouraged that parents attend to learn about this course, which is basically a more challenging two-block class that combines language arts and history, rather than two separate classes for the same subjects. Hmmm. I don't really have the time to go- I'm already scheduled to be at St. Thomas for a speaking engagement on Wednesday night, then I'm going out of town Thursday through Saturday for the statewide conference for teachers of deaf and hard of hearing students. But, being a responsible parent, I'll make my appearance. As soon as the others are home we gobble down dinner and I head out the door while everyone else is starting dessert.
Monday evening: The meeting for the Humanities class should have been subtitled: "The 15% Club." When I arrive at the junior high media center, I identify myself and am handed a sheet of paper with Caleb's name on it. Also on this sheet are two sets of scores: Caleb's performance on four different types of assessments, and the scores that the meeting's presenter, the gifted and talented coordinator, says are the scores they feel are desirable for the students that belong in this class. Basically, they want students who are in the top 15% on standardized tests. Each of the scores Caleb has is just slightly below their standard and are thus highlighted in yellow to announce that he doesn't belong in the 15% Club... I mean, the Humanities course. I turn the sheet over, feeling slightly humiliated, and listen stonily as the GT coordinator and the counselor explain that students who score less than the desirable standard are not a good match for the class. After all, the counselor explains, junior high has so many new challenges for these kids. They have so many responsibilities, like learning their locker combinations ("It takes some kids three weeks!") and remembering to bring their gym clothes home at the end of the week to be washed. Can you spell C-O-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-D-I-N-G? For me, the only saving grace was that there were other parents who felt as I did, based on the comments they made during the meeting, and who were wondering if hard work and responsibility in our students count for anything.
Later Monday evening: I arrive home an hour later than I expected. Already fuming about the "not smart enough" message I was given at the junior high, I walk in the house to find my two younger children watching a Power Rangers movie instead of having their vocabulary enriched with a bedtime story. No wonder my children aren't in the 15% Club! Before I can say anything, Jeff says that "before he forgets," someone called and Maren is invited to someone's birthday party on Friday and they were going to pick her up and he would get her at the end of the party. And whose party is this, I inquire. Jeff doesn't know, as he couldn't quite hear the name. So, okay. Good luck with that, as I won't be here anyway.
Two minutes later: I call Jeff and Caleb into the kitchen so I can tell them what was discussed at the meeting. Because the district is required to open the Humanities course to ALL students, Caleb can remain in the class unless we elect to withdraw him. But before I can utter a word, Caleb exclaims, "Look at Hunter!" And so we all look at Hunter, who is prancing around with a ball in his mouth and with a muzzle swollen like an overripe watermelon. Our discussion is terminated before it starts as Jeff looks up the vet's number. At 8:45 at night, the only place open is the urgent care vet in Oakdale. Hunter is likely having an allergic reaction to his vaccine and needs to be examined. Jeff, Caleb and Hunter leave for the vet, and I'm left at to get the younger kids to bed. No Power Rangers on my watch, so we turn off the movie and I read a couple stories. If it wasn't for me, our kids would drop straight into the "Special" Club.
One hour later: Jeff and Caleb return home from the vet with Hunter. His emergency visit, which included a prednisone shot, coupled with his earlier checkup up (plus the necessary meds to keep him healthy), bring his grand total in expenses for the day to $500. Jeff declined a follow-up shot in the morning, electing instead to give him benadryl by mouth. He said the vet mentioned the medicine may make him (Hunter, not Jeff) need to pee more. Great.
Tuesday morning: We need to get out of the house early, as Caleb wants to get some hard candy to fuel him during his MCA math test. He also needs to be at school early, as the sixth graders are going to sing a version of the YMCA song to the kids coming into the school, except it will be, "It's fun to take the M-C-A tests!" Of course, this is the morning that Maren decides she HAS to wear her striped shirt and the ONLY thing that goes with her striped shirt is her jeans, and her jeans are in the dirty laundry. After much ado and a temporary "I'm not hungry" standoff at breakfast, she finally gets back on track and we make it out the door. Walgreens is out of nearly every hard candy known to mankind, so Caleb has to settle for a distant second choice. We barely make it to school before the first bell rings. As Maren gets out of the car, I tell her to ask around about who is having a birthday party.
Later Tuesday morning: All my students are busy testing, so I take some time at work to compose an email to Caleb's teacher about the Humanities class. Does she think his skills are up to snuff for it? He gets straight A's and doesn't have to work very hard for them, but the message at the meeting was that the standardized test scores are the end-all. Doesn't his effort and sense of responsiblity count for anything? What has she observed in school?
Tuesday noon: I receive a very nice and reassuring email from Caleb's teacher, much sooner than I expected. She's disappointed at the message conveyed by the staff presenting at the junior high, and she reassured me that the class is a very good fit for Caleb. Her recommendation is to keep him in the class, as it is easier to stay in and drop out later than it is to drop out now and try to register later. Her confidence in him buoys me, especially because she used to be a teacher for the gifted and talented program.
Tuesday afternoon: After picking Chase up at preschool, we rush home so I can start dinner and get it in the oven to bake while I run over to Target to get a birthday present for the mystery birthday girl. Actually, it isn't a mystery any more, as Maren found out it is a girl in our neighborhood who is also in her class at school. And (thank you, God!) she likes Barbies, an item that has its own aisle at Target. No searching required. My philosophy about birthday presents is to pick something off the shelf and attach the gift receipt, as it will probably go straight to the return desk anyway. In a few more years I'll be able to bypass shopping step completely and just stick a gift card in an envelope. But for a 7th birthday... no gift cards yet.
Tuesday supper: I get home exactly 23 minutes before Jeff and Caleb are due to leave for basketball practice. Jeff mentions during dinner that Hunter peed a puddle the size of Lake Superior in his kennel during the day, thanks to the medicine he took for his allergic reaction. Jeff had started cleaning the mess up, but the mattress cover still needed to be washed. After Jeff and Caleb leave I make a half-hearted attempt to clean the house, knowing Mom will be here overnight Thursday to take care of the kids Friday morning while I'm gone - Jeff has to catch the bus at 6:00 a.m. The house is its usual pigsty. But... eh. Who cares. She's seen it worse.
Tuesday bedtime: Maren, Chase and I read two books from my Great Kids' Books No One Knows About: "Baby Brains, Superstar" by Simon James and "Bad Day at River Bend" by Chris Van Allsburg. If I had the energy and motivation, I would have also read "Tops and Bottoms" by Janet Stevens. But I was tired, so my children's vocabulary development and march toward the 15% Club will have to wait for another day.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Pulp fiction, by guest writer Maren B.
My dad lives in the orgaon. I am in jall. I do not now why. Naw I rebembr. My mom forst me to go to jall becuose I was pestaring her. Hmm. I forgot why I was pastaring my mom. I'm 7 and I'm pregnet.
(Publisher's note: Closer scrutiny of author's TV viewing habits is currently in progress.)
(Publisher's note: Closer scrutiny of author's TV viewing habits is currently in progress.)
Friday, April 11, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Springtime is on my mind
Springtime is on my mind
Flowers blooming, all the time
Smell the roses
Smell the grass
Old Man Winter can kiss my ass.
("Springtime" by Spinal Tap)
I received the first glum report today around noon, from a staff member at one of my schools, that we're expecting more snow. Being busy, I didn't give it too much thought until I got home and sat down at the computer. Logging on to Weatherbug, I received a delightful surprise: the forecast for Thursday was a high of 74 and a low of 60. "Wow!" I thought. "They sure were wrong on that snow thing."
And then I saw: "Your local weather for Atlanta, GA."
ARGHHHHH.
According to Weatherbug, we'll be slogging through a few more inches of snow the next few days. I'm guessing that's not a kiss that Old Man Winter gave us in our ass.
Flowers blooming, all the time
Smell the roses
Smell the grass
Old Man Winter can kiss my ass.
("Springtime" by Spinal Tap)
I received the first glum report today around noon, from a staff member at one of my schools, that we're expecting more snow. Being busy, I didn't give it too much thought until I got home and sat down at the computer. Logging on to Weatherbug, I received a delightful surprise: the forecast for Thursday was a high of 74 and a low of 60. "Wow!" I thought. "They sure were wrong on that snow thing."
And then I saw: "Your local weather for Atlanta, GA."
ARGHHHHH.
According to Weatherbug, we'll be slogging through a few more inches of snow the next few days. I'm guessing that's not a kiss that Old Man Winter gave us in our ass.
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