Mary (who loves me more than I could possibly deserve but I'm not complaining!) sent me a Wiccan desk calendar for 2011, and I'm loving it very very much. One of the interesting things that I noticed is that yesterday was Imbolc. It was also Groundhog Day and St. Brigid's day, but since Groundhog Day was covered not only by the Bill Murray movie, but also by the AWESOME SPN episode, Mystery Spot, (the funniest parts are pictured here:)
And St. Brigid's day is not only VERY Irish, but also VERY overshadowed by St. Patrick's Day, as well as VERY depressing, because it seems like being holy is not a whole lot to be sainted for. (I always picture saints as going into battle using a staff of oak and some chutzpah and then suffering horrible deaths in the name of freeing the people. Of course, the more I know about Christian history, the more I realize that they were more often the enslavers as opposed to the enslaved, but still, you always sort of hope that Saints are more interesting than the Wikipedia blurb suggests. It just seems like chastity is such a negative action, yanno?)
But Imbolc is sort of a day of hope--you light candles, you bake cookies, you say a little prayer that the sky ain't lyin' and that spring really is coming back, and there will be fertility and joy and more cookies and maybe even, if you laid your garden right (which I didn't and don't, although I've promised Squish that I would go buy her a big pot and some seedlings) you'd get flowers.
So yesterday was Imbolc. No candles, because THAT'S a recipe for disaster in this house, no decorations, because Valentine's day is JUST around the frickin' corner, and no cookies because I was running around like a rat without a tail yesterday...
But I remembered the hope. There will be pretty days, and there will be flowers. Squish and I will make sure of it, I promise.
Anyway, beyond that? Have been very very busy. Tuesday and Wednesday, Chicken's school had testing in the morning so she went to school at eleven o'clock. Since she gets out at 2:45, this is REALLY frickin' inconvenient--no lie. There was also some signing Squish up for Kindergarten, a parent/teacher meeting to get Zoomboy set up with a 504 (which basically says that teachers MUST accommodate his ADHD, even if they don't believe it's a real thing wrong) and in which all teachers involved said, "Ritalin is not a bad thing!" I'm inclined to believe them. I mean, yeah, I did okay, but "doing okay" also meant getting most disorganized person of the class of '85--and no, until I graduated, that was NOT an actual category. It would be super-cherry-candy-awesome if Zoomboy could go through school and not be labeled "quirky" or "weird" or "eccentric"--he's going to have enough trouble being "shy", and, well, son of the weirdo writer-lady with too many cats who tends to laugh at all things inappropriate. (Starting to loathe that word, though. It can be said with such high-n-mighty-snide-n-trite disdain.)
About the only thing I really have to kvetch about, though, is the fact that I managed to keep a horse-bridle on my hair-trigger temper for once--as I was pulling into the parking lot to register Squish, the DIRECTOR was pulling out of her parking spot, which is, btb, A FOOT AND A HALF wider than the parking spots for the normal everyday peons such as myself. So, on my right is some Mercedes bling-mobile that scared the heck out of me, and to my left? Not a whole lot of line. It was like this parking spot was designed for people with Geos and Kias, and the rest of us were shit-outta-luck. So I thought, "Well, yanno? I"m gonna take up the six inches of line, and I know no one can fit in next to me, but if someone DOES fit in next to me, neither of us will actually be able to GET OUT OF OUR CARS!!! So the director lady sees me doing this, and does the hand up, "Excuse me! Excuse me! No one will be able to park there. Could you PLEASE fix your car?"
Well, I'm not usually shy about voicing my opinion in public (uhm, you all may remember a moment in Arco Arena, wherein I seriously considered decking a complete stranger for sticking her dumbassed officious nose somewhere it had no fucking business, yeah?) but... well... I was about ready to commit Squish to public education. Now, at this point, I need a backhoe and a jackhammer and some fucking miracle solvent to find my faith in public education under the deeply rooted bitterness tree that recent events have planted in my cynical little heart, but, well... Squish. My beautiful, beautiful Squish.
She's gonna do SPLENDID in public school. Everything about her SCREAMS suck-up-to-the-teacher-until-they-love-me-so-much-I-have-to-pass, besides the fact that she's hella fucking bright and could probably pass kindergarten in about a month, as long as someone not-the-mama was giving her the tests. (She'll shine you on if she gets the chance-- no lie.) Public education, for her, is going to be a beautiful, beautiful place.
I wasn't going to do that to her. Seriously. I made her put her belt back on, I fixed the car, (and no, in case you were curious, I COULDN'T get my big fat ass back in when someone else pulled up next to me leaving six fucking inches of clearance between us--I had to come in from the other side. I hope I dinged the bling-mobile, just a little.) As I got out of the crap-mobile, the director was getting out of her car as it idled and going to put her cones in the middle of her spot so no one took it. I sighed loudly.
"What's wrong, Mama?"
"Nothing, sweets. I just allowed myself to be bent over by the man."
"Is that bad?"
"Only if you're me. Let's go, baby--your education awaits."
8 comments:
I'd been hard pressed not to run over the cones and park in her spot.
The director lady has good instincts about protecting her holy rights, too. She knows that just as soon as she was around the corner, you would have parked half into her officious space.
You are a GOOOD mom!
Re: people telling you you are inappropriate. At my father's funeral (six weeks after Mom's) we put the TV remote, his water mug, and the back scratcher he used to reach things in the coffin. As the coffin went down the aisle you could hear the remote slide down the bottom of the coffin. The family dropped heads into hands as one and giggled. Many people said afterwards, "That poor family, they've been through so much." After the service, my niece said, "Don't worry Aunt Bonnie. He has the back scratcher so he can reach it." I laughed out loud and one of my nephews-in-law told me that this was not the place!
Hi, Amy. Long time lurker, second-or-third time commenter, here, but I just have to give you my two cent's worth on the Ritalin.
My eldest (almost 11yo now)has both ADD and Asperger's (which is *such* a fun combination: the Asperger's means he needs a very strict routine to function, and the ADD means he does impulsive shit and screws up his own routine and freaks out all over the place). Anyway, when he was first diagnosed, we spent six months trying to avoid medication, running around from therapy to therapy, some of which helped, but not enough. Finally, we "caved" and put him on Ritalin. And one of the teachers at his school said something that has really stayed with me: "If he had athsma or diabetes, you wouldn't beat yourself up about it like this. You'd get him on a treatment plan and medication, and you'd work the problem. This is no different." And she was right. My boy is doing much better. It took a little juggling, but we found a dosage that gives him maximum bang for his buck. What it seems to do is give him a second or two to think before he acts. Without the meds, thought and deed were simultaneous. Now he has just a little time to think about wheteher it's really such a good idea to kick Monique in the back or stab Luke with a pencil. Sometimes he decides it's worth doing, but *most* of the time, he chooses the side of the angels. And I spend much less time in the Principal's office.
Of course, your mileage may vary, but that's been my experience.
Sorry for the epic length of this comment. Good luck and happy vibes to you.
Mmm, I hear you about the "inappropriate" thing.
My new job is in a nursery (I think the US translation is day care - private child care for the under 5s). How long does anyone think it will be before I say something "inappropriate" before an interested, knee high, audience, bets anyone?
And I'd say "good luck" to squish starting her education, but I suspect she doesn't need it!
Gah. It's probably for the best that you didn't run over the director. Probably.
as a Grammy of 4 and Mommy of 2, I just love reading about your days . I have re pressed some of these scenes from my past and now you come and write about them and make these painful images come back ...and make me laugh
we Moms have to do what we have to do sometimes NOT embarrassing our kids...
I had that calendar and loved how it really emphasized the changing of the seasons and everything is based on positivity and goodness.
It's a huge leap of faith entrusting our children with their young brains to the public schools. It's a lot of work to keep the balance at home so they get to keep their wonderful individuality.
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