This Entire Conversation Happened in My Head While Running Late on the Way to Work...

I'm sorry, Mr. Prickweenie sir, I was late today...

Yes, yes, I know school starts at 7:45--but I've got 1st period prep and four kids--didja really expect me to be here AT 7:45? Or 8:00? or 8:15? Okay...8:30 IS reasonable, yes sir, I see that now...but that's not my point...

My point is, that you guys changed up the schedule on me for testing...I mean really, is that fair? Okay...forget I asked, I guess it is fair to expect me here when everybody else is, and I actually managed (with food for my testing students!!!) last week, right? I mean--you can't say I'm not working on it...but, well, yeah...this morning was something of a mess.

No, no, my alarm clock went off at the right time--too freakin' early, that apparently IS the right time, but my middle-schoolers had an orthodontic appointment for their outrageously priced straight teeth. No, I didn't actually have to TAKE them to the appointment--they were just, you know, THERE...everywhere I tried to walk, get something, or pee, there was a middle-schooler with some obnoxious form of paperwork that I needed to sign. No. Apparently they couldn't do that last night. Yes. It had to be done at 6:15 in the morning as I tried to get clothes together for three out of six family members without waking the two that would raid the catbox for kitty roca if I wasn't watching them! So you see? That part? Not my fault?

And then the baby woke up...*giggle giggle* Christ she's cute. Well, now, that's not really RELEVANT, but I did have to cuddle her, and make her laugh, and blow raspberries on those damned fat little feet...*ahem* sorry, sir. I'll try to stick to the point. And then the Cave Troll woke up--what? No, he's not really a Cave Troll. He's just the three-year old... he's sort of a personality though...yes. I see. You don't really need to know that. Anyway, he dragged his giant Scooby Doo into bed with us last night and he needed to explain that Scooby Doo kept us safe from the monsters--that's serious conversation Mr. Prickweenie!!!! Don't you see that I HAD to listen?

Oh...yeah...there was turkeys and road construction too...Turkeys. Yes. They all sort of herd around the car sometimes. No. Seriously--we've got a sign for them and all. No I don't get high! With this job I WISH I did, but seriously--aren't I weird enough already?

Anyway, you can check out the road construction--it just started today. No. I didn't know about it. Well, if I'd known about it I couldn't possibly have woken up any freakin' earlier anyway, so I don't know why the road construction should stress you out.

Oh...the X-Large soda from MacDonalds? That's really just a kindness to my students. No, that's not a joke. Do you see these eye-circles? Do you think it's a joke?

*sigh* Okay, Mr. Prickweenie. I'll be on time for the rest of the week. And then, you know, I've got 1st period off again, so I just sort of figured I could...nevermind. Sure. Absolutely. I'll be in my room during my prep every time you check.

Because I don't need that time for anything else, you know.

Amy Lane

The Button...

I have no idea how to add this to my blog permanently...but I know that most of you do!

Hey--if anyone is out there--could you check the web site and the short story section, and see if the text is black on black? I've got one report of black on black text, and my laptop (not the computer that posted the website) registers black on off-white...if anyone else is having this same problem, let me know!

IT'S UP! IT'S UP! IT'S UP! (But I'm down...)

I've been sleeping all weekend--I don't know what I got hit with, but I'm pretty sure it was a direct result of too much stress and too little sleep, and it involved fever, shaking, and breaking out into the stanky sweats...and pretty much nothing else accomplished in the Amy Lane house of Domestic Pain...except this:

Green's Hill My Website!!!!

Mate deserves accolades and foot rubs and breakfasts in bed for this--look what he did for me!!! It's like Mother's Day and my Birthday all in one, and I couldn't be prouder!!! It has links to where you can buy the books and (catie and Louiz!) a button and, my personal favorite, short stories of mine so that people who are tempted to pay the outrageous price for my books might get a taste of what they're forking over their $$$ for.

Go over and take a look--I'll be sleeping, but I'm pretty sure I'll feel your admiration for Mate's handiwork in my dreams:-)

Kid-topia...

An exit from the land of Bummage.

Okay, there's been some highly amusing stuff on the kid front in the last couple of weeks--let's see if I can recap:

The Cave Troll: After that horrible moment with "Take off your shoes, mama, take them off?" I went to pick him up from day care (mind you, this is 8 hours later and he's 3 1/2) and he said, "Mama, you pinched me!" (My last gasp punishment in the car to get him to stop shrieking at the top of the lungs, thereby distracting me in the world's most unpredictable freeway traffic and thereby killing us all.)

"Yes I did," I replied, "YOu wouldn't stop screaming at me."

"I'm sorry mama," he told me, "I'm sorry about your shoes." *sniff* Is there a better Cave Troll on the face of the planet? I think not.

Of course, he's still pointing out stuff we see as we go and expecting me to repeat him...this is a problem when I'm 'writing' as I drive and he starts shrieking in the middle of a lovely lull of silence. It's also a problem because his enunciation isn't perfect. Example?

"Horz, mama, horz!"

*blink* *blink* "Gees, honey, give the poor girls a break--their make-up wasn't that thick..."

"Mama, wanna ride that horz!!!"

"Thank God."

On the Ladybug front:

1. Ladybug sings--I sing to her a lot--usually that Sesame Street song (La la la la lampost, lalala linoleum,) of course, I can't remember the words so I'm making them up... (la la la la lucybelle, la la la leviticus, la la la la libertine, la la la la lepidemidimus...)and apparently, she goes to day care and sings 'la la la la urgleplarck' to her buddies, and they sing back. "I have no idea what they're saying, " says their day care person, "But they sure do like the conversation.

2. Ladybug walks--two steps, max. Then she does a complicated risk/benefit ratio calculation in her head, flops on her ass and crawls to the next place she can stand up. Watching that risk/benefit calculation is priceless though...you've got to wonder how that's playing out...

3. Ladybug dances--we have this game called Guitar Hero II--basically, it's like air guitar for the technogeek... as a family activity, I'd give it a 10+ in the interactivity scale. So, her dad is doing the medium version of Guns&Roses Sweet Child of Mine (those of you who have read the books, you must know how tickled I am that this song made the cut, even if I like the Sheryl Crowe version better) and we look over at Ladybug. She's doing the pop-lock-& roll like a hyperactive teenager, and adding hand-claps in the middle. Ah, gods, where's a video camera when you need one?

Chicken is:

Well, mostly she just is. I really hope the photos are loading tonight--I had her go down the road and take a picture of the turkey crossing sign--she was so tickled to be the official family photographer. I"ve mentioned this before, (I think) but her science teacher e-mailed all the parents in her science class and said, "This class is acting out, please talk to your child about their essay on respect that they were required to write." I talked to Chicken and she said, "I'm excused." I e-mailed the teacher to confirm and she said, "Your daughter is one of the reasons I'm so mad at the rest of the class--she wants so badly to learn."

I was prouder than words.

And Big T?
Big T signed up for high school with his dad. When Big T was the world's biggest baby (25 lbs at 4 months--no joke) I got a part time job at another school. Big T had difficulty at this age--he had what we thought was 'colic' but what we later figured was his way of dealing with his communication handicap. He screamed for hours at a time. We went through babysitters like water--as in, they'd call us up in tears at 5:30 in the morning and say "We just can't do this today. So sorry. Not happening." I got fired from the world's crappiest part time job by a vice principal who forgot that I even had a baby at home.

After my husband took T in to sign up, he said "Does Name X ring a bell?"

I said, "Uh, yeah, she's the @#$% who fired me from my first job."

He said, "Well, she's T's principal now."

Did you guys just hear the thud? I think my irony just dropped!

Bummage...

Okay...I bribed Chicken with the offer to wear my newest FO (the fingerless mitts are finally done--they're in the Samurai's yarn and they look pretty good, in spite of their fraternal status) in order that she would take pictures of our craptacular abode for bells' meme.

She did it--we had pictures of the the crap-family-castle and the adorable children and the fingerless mitts--all in all, Chicken did us proud.

And then blogger blew chunks, so last night's post was a total wash. Bummage? Yes. Bummage.

Then there was the Cave Troll's morning melt down. "Take off your shoes and socks, mama...take them off. Go to bed. Sleep. Sing to me. TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES!!!!" Is your heart broken yet? I've been picking up the little bitty pieces of mine out of my sleeve and my hair and from my pockets and trying to put them back together, but so far, there is just not enough heart left for me to do my job. Bummage? Yes. Bummage.

I tried to do my job. I was teaching Emily Dickinson and I was getting EXCITED about it--I always get psyched when I'm teaching something I either haven't taught or haven't read, and we have new anthologies and there's always something in there that I haven't read or haven't taught or both...I rediscovered Uncle Walt this year, and Mending Wall is always fun and I love Dickinson already... but the little fuckers wouldn't shut up. I'm sure that out there is a some mother absolutely appalled that I would call a class room of 16 year olds 'little fuckers'. That's because this mother hasn't faced a classroom full of the little fuckers while trying to hand them the keys to the Goddess benighted universe only to have them spit vitriol in her face. I have. I maintain that my 3rd period is made up of little fuckers. Individually, I like them. As a clot, they're giving me an aneurysm. Bummage? Yes. Bummage.

A kid from my 5th period brought in El Dorado. I love that movie--I'm a sucker for high quality animation with snarky humor and heart and soul.

I caved. I caved like Carlsbad, I caved like a cardboard condominium, I caved like a Saxon mineshaft, I caved like a hibernating bear. I caved.

El Dorado? It's fucking brilliant. Bummage? Well...we changed our schedule up for star testing, so the movie will be over 1/2 an hour before the period is up. (No, no...I don't have the strength to rant about Star Testing now.) So when the movie is over? Then there will be bummage.

But only for 1/2 an hour.

Then there will be hope.

Another Quickie...

Sorry to leave you all hanging on that 'giant flesheating beetle' thing...the Cave Troll was in fine shrieking form yesterday... I'm not sure what was bothering him, but it was, by effect, bothering the whole rest of us. I heard myself writing yesterday's post in the grocery store, trying to apologize to the whole produce section for the giant roue that Chicken had just dragged to the claw machine. (That's a whole other post that I'm trying to avoid...)

Anyway...it's all good. The beetle has crawledout of the Cave Troll's ass, (and we've bought him quite a few American Idol happy meals...#$%^ing McDonalds...I don't even WATCH that show!!!) and he is back to his irrepressable self. One of his more endearing quirks at present? When he and Ladybug have the same toys (like, say, happy meal toys...) he insists that she has her toy when he has his. Since she truly, honestly, doesn't give a diaper of beetle-shit about whether their toys match--and, in fact, frequently tosses her toys cheerfully overboard from the car seat to hear the noise they make when they hit the crunchy bottom (you don't even want to see my car...I cringe just looking at it from the outside)--this can cause...well, it can cause enough friction to ignite a holiday bonfire in Alaska sleet, that's what it can do.

But it's really sort of funny and endearing too.

And on the other funny and endearing fronts? I was putting the Cave Troll's sandals on this morning (Because we've lost his tennis shoes already. We're bad parents. I've said this.) when Ladybug stuck her fat little foot out so I would put a shoe on IT. Well, that did it--I rooted her Easter sandals out of the rubble and put those Buster Browns where they belonged. And then laughed until I wet myself because she couldn't stand up in them...she just rolled around the living room trying to figure out how to get her shoes under her. High comedy...trust me!!!


Asta Manana Amigos!

May I Have Your Attention Please:

Will the mad scientist who genetically engineered the ginormous toxic flesh eating beetle the crawled up my son's ass this morning, please come back and reclaim his work. The poor kid needs a nap.

Some days you're the cat...

Some days you're the dead mouse that's been flopped back and forth until your eyes bulge out and your insides are jelly.

Today was my second AP Saturday, and, for an extra bit of spice, I brought the little ones... Mate was tied up seeing a friend about a horse (yes, really--not that we'd actually own a horse, but my friend Wendy does, and there was some brouhaha about a trainer and a bill and a $10,000 horse being sold to cover a $250 check...it's convoluted, as Wendy's life gets, but she wanted muscle, and got Mate instead. Mate will be good at this though--he has an innate ability to calm people down and make them deal reasonably. It sort of explains how he's lived with me for twenty years.) However, as much fun as HE may have had, Bryar and I were chasing small children around Round Table while I explained the complexities of the interpretive novel essay to a group of amused but game high school Seniors scarfing pizza. We had a good time, ultimately, and I feel good about the kids going into the test. I wish more had taken it, but the time I should have been pushing them was the time when the weirdness was going on, and I have a small, inexpressible hard kernel of anger in my gullet about how this one nightmare parent and her juggernaut of bad opinion and toxicity was allowed to poison students to the extent that they'd jeopardize their own futures by blowing off something as important as an AP exam, but the upshot is, that a few (14) dedicated souls will be taking the exam, and since I'm pretty sure all but one have a good chance of passing and most of those with a score of a 4 or above, I know that my last year teaching AP will be hard one to live up to. (For the record, the small private school we rival with, just got their first 5 last year--I was surprised at this, because I usually get about two a year.)

And that's one of the things that's gnawing at me...I knew going in this year that the head prickweenie was gunning to get me out of the AP program--why he wanted to do this, when, in a school whose regular test scores are so far below the state average this was one of the few places where we actually SURPASSED not just the state average but the national average, I have no idea. Wait. That's not true. I HAD no idea. But I just had two enlightening conversations with some colleagues of mine, and the consensus (among us) seems to be that Head Prickweenie is simply not happy with those of us that HE DIDN'T HIRE. That's me. Actually, I've got seniority in the entire department (but no MA--I dropped out of that program and wrote books instead.) And so, a few of us have adopted the "Fuck him and his head Prickweenie horse" attitude--and it's working for me. In fact, I'm a lot happier than I have been--when you can narrow down the focus of your anger and say "fuck you and your head Prickweenie horse," it is like throwing an emotionally charged firebolt at a dartboard picture or burning a prickweenie effigy... it's very cathartic, to say the least. But the thing that's gnawing at me is, talking to these students today--I made a difference with them. I have letters from a host of Advanced Placement students that tell me that I made a difference with them too. I just worry that I won't get that kind of praise feedback again, that's all. I seem to be an emotionally fragile creature and in order to do some of the things I do, I need props. I need amazon.com reviews from my readers, sugar kisses from my babies, hugs from my middle-schoolers and "Thanx mizz macs" from my students, and quite frankly (and I've heard this from other teachers) this year's sophomores and juniors wouldn't thank they guy who dragged them from a burning building, they'd curse at him for scuffing their shoes. How am I going to make it in my self-publishing wasteland when the pool of that sustained my fragile little teaching ego dries up?

Forget I asked. I'm wallowing. I'm wallowing in depression about my horrible Sophomores, my doomed (if amusing) Juniors, and the fact that Prickweenie thinks I'm too cool to teach Seniors. I'm wallowing because I have two agents that haven't gotten back to me and one that's sent me the most impersonal rejection I think it's impossible to get. "I'm sorry I can't give you better feedback but due the the fact that we're a huge company and I have too much to do, I can just tell you you're not what we're looking for." That's actually a nice paraphrase, really.

And what I really need to do is woman up, take a walk, rub some dirt on it, and come back and write. Because BITTER MOON may be the best thing I've ever written. In fact EVERY next thing may be the best thing I've ever written, and they weren't joking when they said that it's 90% persperiation, because grabbing your ovaries in both hands and giving a giant psychic HEAVE is sometimes the hardest thing I've ever done. And sometimes, getting up in the morning and facing those indifferent faces and the constant talking pulls ahead in the pain race, just a smidge. Either way, I'm working on my thickened estrogen skin, because it looks like, on both fronts, I'm going to need it.

I'm not the cat today, but I'll be one tough-assed mouse if I have to.

Ripping Off the Band-Aid...

Okay okay okay...

I know it was the "Thinking Bloggers" meme, but did you really need me to THINK? So. Not. Fair.

I'm still terribly proud that bells named me (you should see her knitting by the way...So. Gorgeous.)but I don't blog enough--I don't read enough blogs, that is. The ones I do read, I tend to give my whole and undivided attention to, so whats I'm gonna do is...

Name only three--three bloggers who make me think seriously, make me laugh, cry, and enjoy my itty-bitty-teeny-tiny online community--that should be good, right? (Of course, that is a number...we all know how I am with numbers...)

Roxie Roxie is like the older sister I never had. She's smart, funny, totally comfortable with herself. She also uses words and digital pictures like watercolors, and paints my grumpy, irritable, sleep-deprived world with optimism and grace. And she has cats. All good.

Mother of Chaos She's a smart mother of four, who recently qualified for my dream job of being self-employed. (I don't really know what she does, but she doesn't have to desert her lovely offspring at daycare anymore...hence, it's my dream job.) Her prose is BRILLIANT, and what's more, it's CLEAN. I mean, no typos, no grammar wonkiness, no messiness period--and her knitting? FABULOUS. Plus, she just got nominated as a hot mommy blogger (or something like that.) I have no idea what she looks like, but she is a definite 10 on the intellectual hotness scale. She will make you laugh out loud...but watch out--she is also a mother--the occassional weeper post makes its way in there, dammit... but then, I always feel better for a good cry.

Samurai Knitter aka Julie--okay, shall we talk about brilliant? She has read more books than I can dream of, and she, like, totally gets them. And breaks them down for you. And she's snarky and cool and she has visible tatoos and the world's second most adorable baby. (Sorry, Julie...I love you, but I just can't dis the Ladybug like that...on my blog, my kid is the cutest, on your blog, The Baby rules.) Oh yeah--and she dyes gorgeous yarn. In a week, I'll have the fingerless mitts to prove it!

Our beloved harlot How many of us started blogging because of Steph...that fact that we've taken the knitting blog--a medium Steph elevated to an art form and made it our own really, just makes us knitters, right?


Someday, I will have a little more time and will read other blogs...someday, I will get to all of the people I DO read as often as I like. But until then, in my tiny, self-involved world, these are my milestone bloggers... And the rest of you gorgeous, wonderful, amazing people? You are my dearest of cyberfriends, and on days like today, when my job is more than depressing and my children are sad and my thighfat is asking for it's own zip code, you are an indespensible, funny, sad, irritable, perfect part of my life and if the worldwide web ever gets apoplexy and goes belly up, you would all motivate me to actually (gasp!) pick up a pen and actually write because I love knowing you.

*whew* All done with that...yay!

On other fronts...hm...

Today we had a lockdown drill wherein I entered grades that I couldn't earlier because my computer was down then and I couldn't enter later because I was at the world's most depressing student meeting...I'll spare you the legally private details, but all I can say is that our world sucks sometimes and the foster parent program is in the back of the vacuum, picking up the gummiest, smelliest, most appalling of human detritus and it often is the very embodiment of suckage and if I had anything left of me, I'd fix it but I can't and it just makes me sad.

The lockdown drill, btw, was pretty funny (in the grim, gallows type of humor that you develop teaching in my district) because it was followed by a stage of 'high alert' as some asshole from Yuba City picked up an ak47 and went running about two counties (or so we were led to believe) in a boxy red Honda talking about making himself another Virginia Tech. Fucking moron, I hope he dies of constipation. (I'm sorry, was that harsh? Ooops... see, this job really is killing my people skills, isn't it?) Anyway, nothing like having that announced after 15 minutes of mandatory drill silence (like my students could be silent, no, not even when their lives theoretically depended upon it) by the announcement that we're not in a lockdown drill anymore, but, hey, there's a maniac on the loose. Dueant, god of compassion, spare me!

And now for the thing that really, totally, threw me, and is probably responsible for the foulness of the second half of my post (the first half I was talking about great people--my tone was decidedly less foul). This morning, the Cave Troll threw his first "Mom I don't wanna go to daycare" tantrum EVER. And because it wasn't mom, alone, who can't call in sick or late to work because the would require four other people to go backwards in time in order to activate the sub system but it was mom AND dad, well, dad looked at me with bloodshot eyes and...

Caved to the Cave Troll.

Oh yeah, you all heard that right. He caved--the kids stayed home with him today. And I know what you all are thinking...

That's it, we're done for...

Mate and I are officially the Cave Troll's bitches...

And I cried all the way to work.

Not a problem...

Okay, first of all, I've realized I don't read enough blogs. This is a problem--I've maxed out my computer time as it is. The reason I realized this is that I was trying to think of my top five thinking blogs, and I realized that I wanted to nominate EVERY BLOGGER I KNOW. Because you're all my blogging friends, and I love you all. I don't read enough blogs to have that 'objective' thing going...so choosing my five "Thinking Bloggers" is killing me. I'm tired, I'm irritable, I'll do it tomorrow. (But I WILL do it--I promise!!!.)

And other than that...there is continuous work wierdness going on--maybe, when I don't want to pick up the computer and throw it across the room when I think about it, I'll tell you all, but right now it's the only laptop I've got so I'll brood about it until I can really make it sing.

Last night we were out late on a school night--hence the tiredness and irritability. We were doing one of those 'time-share' seminars...it's actually pretty funny. About two years ago, Mate's dad gave us a timeshare as a gift. I was like, "Has he met us?" because in order to use those things you have to plan your vacations months ahead of time instead of, like, hours ahead of time and I was sure we'd never get our collective shit together enough to make this really generous gift work. But now the one group met the other group and they've decided to kiss their timeshare owners asses (this is my interpretation...I'm sure the shark, uhm, I mean timeshare rep can describe it better) and anyway, I think we've come up with an arrangement by which we can take the whole famn damily out on the road once in a while and leave the mortgage to rot in peace. Totally groovy, actually. Or it will be when we get the hell out of dodge in an airplane and NOT the Dodge, actually.

So I'm tired today, too tired, in fact to have written this poem, which I wrote yesterday. (Dueant, god of compassion, that was the stinkiest seque in aeons, forgive me.) Anyway, I was modelling writing images to show a scene for my sophomores, and this is what I came up with. Since it's sort of a response to Louiz's question, "How do you manage?" I thought it would be good to post.

At the 5:30 am dark, the three year old makes
A worm burrow into the covers,
Plants his radiator body next to mine, and cries,
"See ducks mom, see ducks!"
He wants to go to the zoo.
I want to sleep 'til my alarm goes off--at 6:30.
At 6:00 am, my daughter comes in, yellow light in the bathroom
Teeth, hair, make-up,
"Mom did you wash the thing, the only thing I own worth wearing ever and always today?"
"Yes, now let me sleep 'til 6:30."
At 6:10 my son comes in, yellow light in the bathroom, teeth, no hair, I wish he'd brush hair, but noooooo, it's all a mess,
Steals my favorite sweatshirt from the pile by the bed.
"Need money, mom."
"It's in my purse."
"Did you sign my planner."
It's on the table, go away."
At 6:20, the baby cries.
I get her, get a bottle, change her diaper, sit on the couch
Glaring at the DOODLEPOBS through muck-gritty eyes
And kissing a soft neck.
From my bedroom, I hear the DJ's cheery chirp.
My alarm's gone off.
It's day.