The J-Crabs had baseball games, respectively, today.
Jamie's hitting (the two at-bats that I witnessed) looked a bit sub-par. However, his Coach informed me that Jamie's inning of pitching was exemplary. 3 up, 3 down with a strike-out. No walks. Hooray for Jamie!
Jack's game (the entirety witnessed by me and my now-sunburnt arms and legs) was satisfactory. His head -- and, alas, mouth -- were in the game for the most part. 3 solid smacks that each made it, via lucky hop, out of the infield. 3 or 4 RBIs, courtesy of hitting mid-line-up. Solid play at shortstop and third with a couple of innings of right field just to put maximum distance between his running commentary and the coach's ears. Proud parent moment of the day was Jack mid-at-bat with the coach trying to give him feedback that he needed to swing (after a strike was called) retorting, "That pitch was in the DIRT!" inches from the umpire's ear. One comment to irritate two influential-in-the-moment adults. Genius!
Unfortunately, Tim does not have a like outlet. Started the day in a grumpy mood...pinching, scratching, punching, etc. After the games, he revved up at me again, this time kicking (successfully) a hole in the drywall in his room and delivering a pretty darn good corner kick to my belly. Lots of drama after, although now that dinner's over he has pretty much accepted that there's no dessert tonight and tomorrow better be an improvement. The Crab Queen is less easily calmed.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Alternative Family Life Curricular Tools.
I'm still stuck on the lack of diversity that the Science project affords if everyone shows up with a plain old potato. While Patty Essdoubleu proposed I bake the Russet to look like the other potatoes, only with hypotonicity, I worry that my archenemy, MOLD, and its ally, MILDEW, could show up on the scene and provide a valid reason for points-deduction.
Therefore, I would like to propose for future classes that the teachers for this unit allow representation from other tubers.
A hearty but colorful option, the turnip:
Our crunchy and carefree friend, the jicama:
Let's not overlook the simple radish:
And, not to be forgotten, a Maloney family holiday favorite, the rutabaga:
Better than a lemon?
Therefore, I would like to propose for future classes that the teachers for this unit allow representation from other tubers.
A hearty but colorful option, the turnip:
Our crunchy and carefree friend, the jicama:
Let's not overlook the simple radish:
And, not to be forgotten, a Maloney family holiday favorite, the rutabaga:
Better than a lemon?
Family Life
Probably because I'm feeling slightly ornery about school-related issues (or have a vile sense of humor), I continued to struggle into last evening with the Great Send-a-Spud to School requirement.
As a prior posting revealed, I went to the grocery store before Jack imparted the expectation that I would provide a potato.
Assuming that he needs an inanimate object able to fit in his hand, I remembered that Charlie had received a pristine lemon in his cubbie from a classmate. Lo!
Wouldn't that work AND save me a trip to the store?
Jack's reaction is not enthusiastic. "Mom, I have to have a POTATO. Otherwise I'll get a bad grade."
To which his sage but lazy-beyond-compare mother replies, "Jack, you can tell the Science teacher that parents think they will get a potato but sometimes you get something unexpected...like, for instance, this perfect lemon." (Granted, the availability of a lemon was purely coincidental and not intended to suggest that any of my children would be unsatisfactory used-cars).
My reaction lacked compassion, according to both Patty Kiki and Aunt Patty Cake.
Patty Kiki exclaimed when I ran the idea past her, "Your son has enough challenges fitting in without being the only kid whose mother wouldn't send in a potato."
Aunt Patty Cake was less gentle. "Buy him a damn potato."
So, now feeling more obstinate given my dear Patties' utter lack of good humor, I propose some other options that conform to the potato family but perhaps would impart an important, and obviously not fully explored in the designed curriculum, lesson to students:
* tiny potato (underweight, may need the NICU)
* sweet potato (newborn jaundice))
* many-eyed potato (not the cutest spud in the nursery
* 2 or 3 potatos (multiple births)
Again, I am shot down by the competent, composed, and conformist Patties.
This morning, Patty Kiki -- clearly unconvinced that my fanny would obtain the spud -- presented me with a Von's bag, receipt date-stamped 20:26 yesterday, with a $1.03 standard Russet. Birth weight = 1.04 lbs. No birthmarks. No siblings.
Jack's response: "Mom, I need a shoebox for the potato."
The water-torture litany of Science class requirements makes me want to NOT SIGN THE PERMISSION SLIP.
Don't miss the comments below!
As a prior posting revealed, I went to the grocery store before Jack imparted the expectation that I would provide a potato.
Assuming that he needs an inanimate object able to fit in his hand, I remembered that Charlie had received a pristine lemon in his cubbie from a classmate. Lo!
Wouldn't that work AND save me a trip to the store?
Jack's reaction is not enthusiastic. "Mom, I have to have a POTATO. Otherwise I'll get a bad grade."
To which his sage but lazy-beyond-compare mother replies, "Jack, you can tell the Science teacher that parents think they will get a potato but sometimes you get something unexpected...like, for instance, this perfect lemon." (Granted, the availability of a lemon was purely coincidental and not intended to suggest that any of my children would be unsatisfactory used-cars).
My reaction lacked compassion, according to both Patty Kiki and Aunt Patty Cake.
Patty Kiki exclaimed when I ran the idea past her, "Your son has enough challenges fitting in without being the only kid whose mother wouldn't send in a potato."
Aunt Patty Cake was less gentle. "Buy him a damn potato."
So, now feeling more obstinate given my dear Patties' utter lack of good humor, I propose some other options that conform to the potato family but perhaps would impart an important, and obviously not fully explored in the designed curriculum, lesson to students:
* tiny potato (underweight, may need the NICU)
* sweet potato (newborn jaundice))
* many-eyed potato (not the cutest spud in the nursery
* 2 or 3 potatos (multiple births)
Again, I am shot down by the competent, composed, and conformist Patties.
This morning, Patty Kiki -- clearly unconvinced that my fanny would obtain the spud -- presented me with a Von's bag, receipt date-stamped 20:26 yesterday, with a $1.03 standard Russet. Birth weight = 1.04 lbs. No birthmarks. No siblings.
Jack's response: "Mom, I need a shoebox for the potato."
The water-torture litany of Science class requirements makes me want to NOT SIGN THE PERMISSION SLIP.
Don't miss the comments below!
Heart-breaking Report of Staggering Ignorance?
So last evening, just before bedtime, I check my gmail one last time to verify that the District has indeed elected not to supply me with a draft report. Oh, something's there all right -- just not in the least complete (or dare-I-say accurate) and certainly not including conclusions and recommendations.
Here's their contribution to the testing:
Gross Motor <1st %ile
Fine Motor NO SCORES WHATSOEVER
Sensory Processing - Auditory, Visual, Touch, Vestibular, Multi-Sensory Differences
Vision Perception NO SCORES WHATSOEVER
Speech (Articulation, CAAP) standard score 55, which is -- though not 'fessed -- <1st %ile
Speech (Expressive, PLS) 2nd %ile
Speech (Auditory Comprehension, PLS) 4th %ile
Socialization (per the Vineland-II) 4th %ile
Daily Living (per the Vineland-II) 3rd %ile
Behavior Scales - TOO DEPRESSING TO REPORT HERE
Academics - Some skills above age-expectation, while missing key preschool readiness skills altogether.
And their summary:
Previous assessment has shown Charlie’s cognitive skills to be in the average range (KABC-II). Current assessment results indicate that Charlie continues to demonstrate delays in social/emotional development and self-help skills. Additionally, he is requiring very frequent cuing throughout his day to follow the basic routine and activities and to participate in peer interactions beyond limited cooperative play and parallel play. Frequent cuing and modeling also was needed during the arena assessment for novel and lower interest tasks. Readiness skills according to the ABLLS show scattered skills sometimes well above age expectation; however, Charlie is missing some foundational readiness skills. Through a thorough records review, it is apparent that Charlie has made significant progress in some areas of communication, compliance and academic readiness skills. He continues to struggle significantly with sustained attention to task, initiation of attention for non-preferred tasks, interactive peer socialization and independence with his daily routine at school.
In the area of speech and language, Charlie presents with severe delays in social communication (pragmatics), receptive language, expressive language, and a severe impairment in speech production skills. Current SLP Assessment Report includes standardized test data and non-standardized assessment data which support medical necessity for SLP service. Charlie’s speech and/or language performance is significantly below average for his chronological age and is negatively impacting his socialization with peers and his educational progress in the pre academic areas of listening and speaking.
[OT Summary]
[APE/PT Summary]
Assessment results indicate that Charlie appears to continue to require special education intervention and services in order to succeed in an educational curriculum; however, this determination will be made with the IEP team. Charlie appears to meet the eligibility criteria both for autistic-like behaviors and also under the eligibility of other health impaired due to limitations in alertness and vitality. Charlie’s neurologist has indicated he may be having very frequent absent seizures. Charlie also has a significant medical and neurological history including the removal of an arachnoid cyst and the return of a (benign) tumor. He has had very frequent illnesses especially in the past three months which appear to impact his vitality in a learning program. Although he does continue to demonstrate the characteristics of autism and these issues impact his communication, socialization and learning, the impact of the seizures, inattention and health/attendance issues may be primarily affecting his educational progress. Charlie most likely will benefit from a comprehensive and specialized program that addresses his unique health, learning, communication, sensory, motor and socialization needs with a focus on developing independence and engaged social interactions, increasing on-task behavior and reducing the amount of cuing he currently requires. Program and services will be discussed specifically at the IEP meeting.
In short, this cast of characters did not conduct and/or report scores for several of the agreed-upon assessments while selectively including previous assessment findings (conveniently discarding his School Options OT report and his independent Speech report).
Most encouraging my inclination to boo-hoo, the report seems to suggest that he's destined for a Most Restrictive Placement offer. Not one of the schools on the Grand Tour, for example, has a school nurse (which the report suggests is required). And that, Gentle Blog Readers, brings us full-circle in 4 months back to the Realm of Disagreement, Retainers, and Litigation.
Here's their contribution to the testing:
Gross Motor <1st %ile
Fine Motor NO SCORES WHATSOEVER
Sensory Processing - Auditory, Visual, Touch, Vestibular, Multi-Sensory Differences
Vision Perception NO SCORES WHATSOEVER
Speech (Articulation, CAAP) standard score 55, which is -- though not 'fessed -- <1st %ile
Speech (Expressive, PLS) 2nd %ile
Speech (Auditory Comprehension, PLS) 4th %ile
Socialization (per the Vineland-II) 4th %ile
Daily Living (per the Vineland-II) 3rd %ile
Behavior Scales - TOO DEPRESSING TO REPORT HERE
Academics - Some skills above age-expectation, while missing key preschool readiness skills altogether.
And their summary:
Previous assessment has shown Charlie’s cognitive skills to be in the average range (KABC-II). Current assessment results indicate that Charlie continues to demonstrate delays in social/emotional development and self-help skills. Additionally, he is requiring very frequent cuing throughout his day to follow the basic routine and activities and to participate in peer interactions beyond limited cooperative play and parallel play. Frequent cuing and modeling also was needed during the arena assessment for novel and lower interest tasks. Readiness skills according to the ABLLS show scattered skills sometimes well above age expectation; however, Charlie is missing some foundational readiness skills. Through a thorough records review, it is apparent that Charlie has made significant progress in some areas of communication, compliance and academic readiness skills. He continues to struggle significantly with sustained attention to task, initiation of attention for non-preferred tasks, interactive peer socialization and independence with his daily routine at school.
In the area of speech and language, Charlie presents with severe delays in social communication (pragmatics), receptive language, expressive language, and a severe impairment in speech production skills. Current SLP Assessment Report includes standardized test data and non-standardized assessment data which support medical necessity for SLP service. Charlie’s speech and/or language performance is significantly below average for his chronological age and is negatively impacting his socialization with peers and his educational progress in the pre academic areas of listening and speaking.
[OT Summary]
[APE/PT Summary]
Assessment results indicate that Charlie appears to continue to require special education intervention and services in order to succeed in an educational curriculum; however, this determination will be made with the IEP team. Charlie appears to meet the eligibility criteria both for autistic-like behaviors and also under the eligibility of other health impaired due to limitations in alertness and vitality. Charlie’s neurologist has indicated he may be having very frequent absent seizures. Charlie also has a significant medical and neurological history including the removal of an arachnoid cyst and the return of a (benign) tumor. He has had very frequent illnesses especially in the past three months which appear to impact his vitality in a learning program. Although he does continue to demonstrate the characteristics of autism and these issues impact his communication, socialization and learning, the impact of the seizures, inattention and health/attendance issues may be primarily affecting his educational progress. Charlie most likely will benefit from a comprehensive and specialized program that addresses his unique health, learning, communication, sensory, motor and socialization needs with a focus on developing independence and engaged social interactions, increasing on-task behavior and reducing the amount of cuing he currently requires. Program and services will be discussed specifically at the IEP meeting.
In short, this cast of characters did not conduct and/or report scores for several of the agreed-upon assessments while selectively including previous assessment findings (conveniently discarding his School Options OT report and his independent Speech report).
Most encouraging my inclination to boo-hoo, the report seems to suggest that he's destined for a Most Restrictive Placement offer. Not one of the schools on the Grand Tour, for example, has a school nurse (which the report suggests is required). And that, Gentle Blog Readers, brings us full-circle in 4 months back to the Realm of Disagreement, Retainers, and Litigation.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Day 34
Took Charlie to the pediatric neurologist. He was perfectly well-behaved, shockingly so. It appeared to make all the difference to have his vitals taken by someone wearing scrubs that sported his beloved "Chip n' Dale" upon them.
Dr. S and I discussed a recommendation by the neuro-psych assessor that I consider having Charlie receive the treatment for Landau-Kleffner Syndrome, which involves high-dose steroids for a course of months. The treatment is curative for those with L/K. However, Dr. S reviewed how Charlie has none of the markers that hallmark L/K, most notably: normal social language development, followed by first a loss of receptive language (i.e., understanding language) followed by the emergence of behaviors consistent with autism; and an EEG that does not show the type of seizures that define L/K. His apparent genetic predisposition to autism and epilepsy are also not consistent with L/K. She offered to send us to Children's for a 2nd opinion from Dr. T (the neurologist who is the primary overseer of this treatment in San Diego); however, besides the fact that the children who undergo the steroid blow up into Michelin (TM) bodies is the scarier (to me) issue of being more susceptible to serious infection.
Home again for in-home therapy, laundry, dishes, etc. Started my new book club book (so far, quite acceptable) and enjoyed a cupcake.
Ventured out with Charlie after 3 p.m. to go retrieve the draft assessment reports in preparation for his IEP next week, as promised. My pal, Pat Matt, was there and eager to fork over his report. He professed to be somewhat uncertain what to recommend for Charlie in light of extremely splintered skill acquisition, showing me a book he was reading and telling me about consultations with his mentor from Columbia U. At least we're of a mind that it's not a slam-dunk...that is, until the IEP when his opinion will undoubtably both vex me and be proclaimed as the District Position.
For the record, no other reports were ready. Pat Matt called his boss, who assured that they'd be e-mailed to me this afternoon. Well, it's 6:21 p.m. Pacific Time and still no reports in my in-box. Perhaps my June 5th morn will feature Coast Toast and/or Egg Steamers at Brockton Villa instead of the tedium that is an IEP meeting. Dare I to dream?
Jack returned home brandishing the much-deliberated and misplaced Sex Ed Permission Slip (replacement copy). He adopted a very serious tone and lectured me severely about not signing it yet. (I'm so quaking upon my pregnant bare feet). An hour later, he re-approached me with a far more ingratiating tone, asking if I had a potato (or, if not me, perhaps Mrs. Patty Kiki might have one?). I said, they want my signature and I have to supply my crablet with a pretend baby crablet. He explained that he'd also need some tissues to tape on as a diaper. I said, can't you qualify (think CLEP out of prerequisite classes) as satisfied this exercise in agony given all your siblings? He said, if you can't buy me a potato, can I take Charlie to school?
So glad I exposed him to sarcasm and irony from such a young age.
Dr. S and I discussed a recommendation by the neuro-psych assessor that I consider having Charlie receive the treatment for Landau-Kleffner Syndrome, which involves high-dose steroids for a course of months. The treatment is curative for those with L/K. However, Dr. S reviewed how Charlie has none of the markers that hallmark L/K, most notably: normal social language development, followed by first a loss of receptive language (i.e., understanding language) followed by the emergence of behaviors consistent with autism; and an EEG that does not show the type of seizures that define L/K. His apparent genetic predisposition to autism and epilepsy are also not consistent with L/K. She offered to send us to Children's for a 2nd opinion from Dr. T (the neurologist who is the primary overseer of this treatment in San Diego); however, besides the fact that the children who undergo the steroid blow up into Michelin (TM) bodies is the scarier (to me) issue of being more susceptible to serious infection.
Home again for in-home therapy, laundry, dishes, etc. Started my new book club book (so far, quite acceptable) and enjoyed a cupcake.
Ventured out with Charlie after 3 p.m. to go retrieve the draft assessment reports in preparation for his IEP next week, as promised. My pal, Pat Matt, was there and eager to fork over his report. He professed to be somewhat uncertain what to recommend for Charlie in light of extremely splintered skill acquisition, showing me a book he was reading and telling me about consultations with his mentor from Columbia U. At least we're of a mind that it's not a slam-dunk...that is, until the IEP when his opinion will undoubtably both vex me and be proclaimed as the District Position.
For the record, no other reports were ready. Pat Matt called his boss, who assured that they'd be e-mailed to me this afternoon. Well, it's 6:21 p.m. Pacific Time and still no reports in my in-box. Perhaps my June 5th morn will feature Coast Toast and/or Egg Steamers at Brockton Villa instead of the tedium that is an IEP meeting. Dare I to dream?
Jack returned home brandishing the much-deliberated and misplaced Sex Ed Permission Slip (replacement copy). He adopted a very serious tone and lectured me severely about not signing it yet. (I'm so quaking upon my pregnant bare feet). An hour later, he re-approached me with a far more ingratiating tone, asking if I had a potato (or, if not me, perhaps Mrs. Patty Kiki might have one?). I said, they want my signature and I have to supply my crablet with a pretend baby crablet. He explained that he'd also need some tissues to tape on as a diaper. I said, can't you qualify (think CLEP out of prerequisite classes) as satisfied this exercise in agony given all your siblings? He said, if you can't buy me a potato, can I take Charlie to school?
So glad I exposed him to sarcasm and irony from such a young age.
News from Kuwait
So much for Camp VA phones...today's call had the echo/feedback going. On the sunny side, it was a free phone card so to any of you who have donated to such causes, they actually get distributed.
Ben did get to hear Charlie negotiate for those tasty Von's cupcakes that Patty Grace was kind enough to send home with me (from book group) for the crablets. Inhaled in under a minute and back for "more cupcake please". In a pathetically unsuccessful diversionary tactic, I encouraged Charlie and Ben to discuss that Daddy was in the desert. Ben was trying to talk camels. Charlie went straight to "sandy" and immediately proceeded to the fridge.
After Charlie's 11.7 second verbal exchange, Ben reiterated that the sand was in every imaginable crevice (and some that he had never noticed before!). I said that was one more facet of his existence that I found fascinating from a distance, but did not envy, which gave me the entree to critique the Udairi Mixed-Gender Floor Sleeping.
He claims that the 44 bud/buddette sleeping arrangement in the desert was actually more comfortable than his Camp VA tent. (This was in response to my noting that it seemed "sub-standard"). He also noted that it is a w-a-r, (shhh, don't tell anyone) a circumstance not known for luxurious accommodations.
The call was not without its scientific facts, notably that the desert pit viper is 14 to 16 inches in length. "Oh," said I, "that's not very big." We agreed that the possibility of snakes would likely put me over the edge, nonetheless, be they 14 inches or 14 feet. Apparently, the snakes are more interested in mice than humans. Ben said that clearly the mice have identified the humans as potential protectors, as mice seek out the tents (as a comfortable and generally snake-free environment).
Told a story of camels "attacking" his training convoy. They came right up and were nosing around the vehicles. Some of said buds/buddettes got photos of this safari. Ben also marveled at the existence of sheep in the middle of the desert. I assured him, in an effort to match his Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom narrative, that sheep are very hardy ruminants and can subsist on a very broad variety of vegetation.
Ben is awaiting his Air Force chariot to start his 12-months. He has sworn to wear his IBA during the flight and be careful.
Enter stage-left a new, but well-foreshadowed character in this saga: Worry.
Ben did get to hear Charlie negotiate for those tasty Von's cupcakes that Patty Grace was kind enough to send home with me (from book group) for the crablets. Inhaled in under a minute and back for "more cupcake please". In a pathetically unsuccessful diversionary tactic, I encouraged Charlie and Ben to discuss that Daddy was in the desert. Ben was trying to talk camels. Charlie went straight to "sandy" and immediately proceeded to the fridge.
After Charlie's 11.7 second verbal exchange, Ben reiterated that the sand was in every imaginable crevice (and some that he had never noticed before!). I said that was one more facet of his existence that I found fascinating from a distance, but did not envy, which gave me the entree to critique the Udairi Mixed-Gender Floor Sleeping.
He claims that the 44 bud/buddette sleeping arrangement in the desert was actually more comfortable than his Camp VA tent. (This was in response to my noting that it seemed "sub-standard"). He also noted that it is a w-a-r, (shhh, don't tell anyone) a circumstance not known for luxurious accommodations.
The call was not without its scientific facts, notably that the desert pit viper is 14 to 16 inches in length. "Oh," said I, "that's not very big." We agreed that the possibility of snakes would likely put me over the edge, nonetheless, be they 14 inches or 14 feet. Apparently, the snakes are more interested in mice than humans. Ben said that clearly the mice have identified the humans as potential protectors, as mice seek out the tents (as a comfortable and generally snake-free environment).
Told a story of camels "attacking" his training convoy. They came right up and were nosing around the vehicles. Some of said buds/buddettes got photos of this safari. Ben also marveled at the existence of sheep in the middle of the desert. I assured him, in an effort to match his Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom narrative, that sheep are very hardy ruminants and can subsist on a very broad variety of vegetation.
Ben is awaiting his Air Force chariot to start his 12-months. He has sworn to wear his IBA during the flight and be careful.
Enter stage-left a new, but well-foreshadowed character in this saga: Worry.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Day 33: A Glorious Day of Minor Conflict
Man vs. Man: The 3rd Installment of Jack's IEP.
Alas, my desire to continue with the love-in from last Thursday fell dreadfully short. Our progress became mired in the District OT's utter dismissal of Jack's independent OT's findings/recommendations. Then the District SLP played this game about Jack not needing WEEKLY services just "approximately 90 min/wk". (Know that this is not an insignificant amount of service and she is signed up to work on many goals so the notion that she needn't see him the first several weeks of the year, the last several weeks of the year, during standardized testing weeks, etc.) The worst part is that they didn't finish so we have to meet a FOURTH time (June 12).
Man vs. Nature: Crab Queen vs. Mold/Mildew/Dank, Nasty Smell, continued When we last saw our heroine battling the forces of micro-culture, the plumber had verified aforementioned nasty smell but ruled out drain flow as cause. Fast-forward to Thursday afternoon, when a maintenance guy from housing shows up with an industrial blower to put in the bathroom to "blow the smell out", claiming that the Maintenance Supervisor, Michael, had talked to me. (Michael had NOT talked to me). Suspending the fact that this bathroom is about 4x4 ft. and the blower's footprint is at least 4 sq. ft., I take him back and ask how the blower will get rid of the underlying smell-causing culprit (which, to my knowledge, remains undetermined).
Thus follows a circular discussion...
Maintenance Guy: I don't smell anything.
Me: That's because the ventilation fan is on and the door is open and the windows are open.
MG: I still don't smell it.
Me: If you want to smell it, I can close up the room for an hour and you can come back and inhale. Trust me, it's nasty and the plumber smelled it, too.
MG: You should always keep this window open.
Me: Well, since the planet could then watch me shower, that's not happening. I usually have it open otherwise. Well, except when no one's home.
MG: You should have it open all the time! Then, no smell.
Me: Are you saying this is MY fault?
MG: You have to keep the window open. Besides, no evidence that there's moisture problem.
Me: That's interesting, because, to me, the smell of mildew and mold indicates a moisture problem.
MG: Your tile would discolor, the walls would have MORE of this (pointing to a gray patch on the "drywall").
Me: I'm glad you mentioned that because LAST YEAR, when there was mold in this very bathroom, we had white linoleum that had faint gray patches. That's how we realized there was mold underneath the flooring. But then you all replaced the white tile with dark gray linoleum and lookit, we can't possibly see whether there's faint gray discoloration now.
MG: You need to forget about the problems before.
Me: I could except that there were problems before that with this very unit, in this very location.
MG: That doesn't mean there's a moisture problem today.
Me: Which brings us back to the unfortunate issue of the very nasty smell.
MG: Look, [sticking his finger in one spot along the baseboard], it's dry.
Me: That's testing? One spot? No one took a shower in here this morning, of course it's dry.
MG: I don't smell anything.
Me: And I understand that. But I, who live here, do smell something and that something smells bad and wrong.
MG: And I don't see anything.
Me: Yes, we clean the surfaces in the bathroom regularly. And we even flush the toilet. And you all put the enzyme deal down the drain. And we take out the trash.
MG: So I'm supposed to put the fan in here to blow the smell out.
Me: And then what will happen?
MG: I'll come back to check on it.
Me: But you're already saying there's no problem here. So after you blow the fan for ...
MG: A couple of days.
Me: You're going to come back and tell me that the no-problem problem is resolved?
MG: If I still don't smell anything, yes. But I can already tell you there is no moisture problem.
Me: Then what do you attribute the nasty smell to?
MG: I don't smell anything.
Me: My point EXACTLY. If we don't agree there's something to fix, why do anything at all?
MG: My boss told me to come put the fan in the bathroom.
Me: He also told you that he'd already talked to me, which he hasn't.
MG: Maybe you should go talk to him.
MG: Call him please.
So I call Michael and have almost verbatim the same conversation, establishing that Michael's Plan is to blow a fan for a few days and see if that dries out whatever their guy already thinks is dry. Then Michael's Plan is to send same Maintenance Guy, who I normally find quite pleasant, back to check whether there's a smell and whether he sees anything wrong. So then we have about 10-minutes round n' round about the waste-of-time that this will be.
Call Patty Kiki, the Unfortunate Recipient of All Recent Crazy Calls, and establish that Yes, she has smelled the nasty smell and that, Yes, it is most assuredly a moisture smell.
So I, with Patty Kiki's assurance that this is not crazy-cake, kick it up a notch, calling and leaving a message for the Housing Area Manager, Alyce. As I'm leaving the message, Maintenance Guy #2 appears in my doorway with the same fan but a wholly different approach.
MG2: I have no idea what is going on but I'm supposed to put this in a bathroom.
Me: Here you go.
MG2: So there's a smell?
Me: You don't smell it either?
MG2: I smoke so my sense of smell ain't so good.
Me: Well, I'm expecting so mine is on overdrive.
MG2: I believe you.
*** At this the heavens open, birds begin singing, and there is hope for world Peace.***
He re-caulks the toilet, the outside of the tub, fixes a hole in the splash guard, takes clear silicone to seal the bottom of the splash guard, helps me extract the vent fan unit so that I can vacuum and rinse it off, replaces it for me, agrees that we will have to "ricochet" the fan in such a tiny space.
The phone rings. It's Alyce, promising to be there with her Maintenance Super on Monday morning to do moisture test sampling. For the time being, I appear to be gaining the upper hand against the Powers of MicroEvil.
Woman vs. Herself: Book Group Meeting at Patty Grace's Delightful Abode, Crab Queen's Internal Conflict about HOW MANY DESSERTS CAN GO ON HER PLATE AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT WITHOUT DRAWING UNDUE ATTENTION (while considering the rate of consumption of her competitors, I mean fellow book group babes).
I finally reach the positive reinforcer of the day...book group. Having read the book, Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani, I was unusually poised to not only attend and eat but also -- dare I say -- participate in the conversation. The following caveat was in force: Interspersed throughout the book were fables in italics. Having started the book less than 72 hours prior to the book group, I skipped these fully knowing that the book would be "less rich". Oh, well. It was still a B, maybe a B+.
But for the real dish...ah, the tasties: Strawberries with sour cream/brown sugar dip. Heavenly. Black forest brownies. Divine. Marble cheese cake Petit-fours. Yum. Carmelized onion tartlets. Always just that savory goodness that lets one return to mowing through the sweets. Chocolate truffles. Luxurious. And, for the less well-heeled, which would be this walking stomach, a VON'S cupcake.
Kudos to Patty Grace for a lovely spread, gracious home, and most of all, delightful reprieve from the crablets. (And the gratitude of a conflicted soul for backing up my book recommendation for next month, The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher). :-) I'm hosting and will be at Trader Joe's attempting to achieve a duplication of Patty Grace's epicureal delights.
Alas, my desire to continue with the love-in from last Thursday fell dreadfully short. Our progress became mired in the District OT's utter dismissal of Jack's independent OT's findings/recommendations. Then the District SLP played this game about Jack not needing WEEKLY services just "approximately 90 min/wk". (Know that this is not an insignificant amount of service and she is signed up to work on many goals so the notion that she needn't see him the first several weeks of the year, the last several weeks of the year, during standardized testing weeks, etc.) The worst part is that they didn't finish so we have to meet a FOURTH time (June 12).
Man vs. Nature: Crab Queen vs. Mold/Mildew/Dank, Nasty Smell, continued When we last saw our heroine battling the forces of micro-culture, the plumber had verified aforementioned nasty smell but ruled out drain flow as cause. Fast-forward to Thursday afternoon, when a maintenance guy from housing shows up with an industrial blower to put in the bathroom to "blow the smell out", claiming that the Maintenance Supervisor, Michael, had talked to me. (Michael had NOT talked to me). Suspending the fact that this bathroom is about 4x4 ft. and the blower's footprint is at least 4 sq. ft., I take him back and ask how the blower will get rid of the underlying smell-causing culprit (which, to my knowledge, remains undetermined).
Thus follows a circular discussion...
Maintenance Guy: I don't smell anything.
Me: That's because the ventilation fan is on and the door is open and the windows are open.
MG: I still don't smell it.
Me: If you want to smell it, I can close up the room for an hour and you can come back and inhale. Trust me, it's nasty and the plumber smelled it, too.
MG: You should always keep this window open.
Me: Well, since the planet could then watch me shower, that's not happening. I usually have it open otherwise. Well, except when no one's home.
MG: You should have it open all the time! Then, no smell.
Me: Are you saying this is MY fault?
MG: You have to keep the window open. Besides, no evidence that there's moisture problem.
Me: That's interesting, because, to me, the smell of mildew and mold indicates a moisture problem.
MG: Your tile would discolor, the walls would have MORE of this (pointing to a gray patch on the "drywall").
Me: I'm glad you mentioned that because LAST YEAR, when there was mold in this very bathroom, we had white linoleum that had faint gray patches. That's how we realized there was mold underneath the flooring. But then you all replaced the white tile with dark gray linoleum and lookit, we can't possibly see whether there's faint gray discoloration now.
MG: You need to forget about the problems before.
Me: I could except that there were problems before that with this very unit, in this very location.
MG: That doesn't mean there's a moisture problem today.
Me: Which brings us back to the unfortunate issue of the very nasty smell.
MG: Look, [sticking his finger in one spot along the baseboard], it's dry.
Me: That's testing? One spot? No one took a shower in here this morning, of course it's dry.
MG: I don't smell anything.
Me: And I understand that. But I, who live here, do smell something and that something smells bad and wrong.
MG: And I don't see anything.
Me: Yes, we clean the surfaces in the bathroom regularly. And we even flush the toilet. And you all put the enzyme deal down the drain. And we take out the trash.
MG: So I'm supposed to put the fan in here to blow the smell out.
Me: And then what will happen?
MG: I'll come back to check on it.
Me: But you're already saying there's no problem here. So after you blow the fan for ...
MG: A couple of days.
Me: You're going to come back and tell me that the no-problem problem is resolved?
MG: If I still don't smell anything, yes. But I can already tell you there is no moisture problem.
Me: Then what do you attribute the nasty smell to?
MG: I don't smell anything.
Me: My point EXACTLY. If we don't agree there's something to fix, why do anything at all?
MG: My boss told me to come put the fan in the bathroom.
Me: He also told you that he'd already talked to me, which he hasn't.
MG: Maybe you should go talk to him.
MG: Call him please.
So I call Michael and have almost verbatim the same conversation, establishing that Michael's Plan is to blow a fan for a few days and see if that dries out whatever their guy already thinks is dry. Then Michael's Plan is to send same Maintenance Guy, who I normally find quite pleasant, back to check whether there's a smell and whether he sees anything wrong. So then we have about 10-minutes round n' round about the waste-of-time that this will be.
Call Patty Kiki, the Unfortunate Recipient of All Recent Crazy Calls, and establish that Yes, she has smelled the nasty smell and that, Yes, it is most assuredly a moisture smell.
So I, with Patty Kiki's assurance that this is not crazy-cake, kick it up a notch, calling and leaving a message for the Housing Area Manager, Alyce. As I'm leaving the message, Maintenance Guy #2 appears in my doorway with the same fan but a wholly different approach.
MG2: I have no idea what is going on but I'm supposed to put this in a bathroom.
Me: Here you go.
MG2: So there's a smell?
Me: You don't smell it either?
MG2: I smoke so my sense of smell ain't so good.
Me: Well, I'm expecting so mine is on overdrive.
MG2: I believe you.
*** At this the heavens open, birds begin singing, and there is hope for world Peace.***
He re-caulks the toilet, the outside of the tub, fixes a hole in the splash guard, takes clear silicone to seal the bottom of the splash guard, helps me extract the vent fan unit so that I can vacuum and rinse it off, replaces it for me, agrees that we will have to "ricochet" the fan in such a tiny space.
The phone rings. It's Alyce, promising to be there with her Maintenance Super on Monday morning to do moisture test sampling. For the time being, I appear to be gaining the upper hand against the Powers of MicroEvil.
Woman vs. Herself: Book Group Meeting at Patty Grace's Delightful Abode, Crab Queen's Internal Conflict about HOW MANY DESSERTS CAN GO ON HER PLATE AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT WITHOUT DRAWING UNDUE ATTENTION (while considering the rate of consumption of her competitors, I mean fellow book group babes).
I finally reach the positive reinforcer of the day...book group. Having read the book, Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani, I was unusually poised to not only attend and eat but also -- dare I say -- participate in the conversation. The following caveat was in force: Interspersed throughout the book were fables in italics. Having started the book less than 72 hours prior to the book group, I skipped these fully knowing that the book would be "less rich". Oh, well. It was still a B, maybe a B+.
But for the real dish...ah, the tasties: Strawberries with sour cream/brown sugar dip. Heavenly. Black forest brownies. Divine. Marble cheese cake Petit-fours. Yum. Carmelized onion tartlets. Always just that savory goodness that lets one return to mowing through the sweets. Chocolate truffles. Luxurious. And, for the less well-heeled, which would be this walking stomach, a VON'S cupcake.
Kudos to Patty Grace for a lovely spread, gracious home, and most of all, delightful reprieve from the crablets. (And the gratitude of a conflicted soul for backing up my book recommendation for next month, The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher). :-) I'm hosting and will be at Trader Joe's attempting to achieve a duplication of Patty Grace's epicureal delights.
Day # Whatever (Wednesday PM)
The Twisted Life of Too-Many-Moving-Parts: A Cautionary Tale
Check out this timeline:
1:30 Check e-mail...one from Patty Kiki with Jack's baseball team's weekly schedule, including today's game reminder and another from Cubs Coach with Jamie's week of practice, etc. but no mention of a game. In a Most Foolish Act, I neglect to look at my calendar and give instructions based on game readiness for Jack alone.
2:15 Drop off Charlie at preschool.
2:45 Present at OB clinic. BP is 124/69 (that is to say, Pretty Darn Good). Weight is CENSORED (but 0 pounds gained since 1-month ago). Doctor says LLGA's heartbeat is great, my "fundus" (nothing fun about it!) measures exactly right, and orders up a bunch of tests (glucose tolerance (YES, I like sugar and sugar likes me), thyroid, CBC).
3:25 Make follow-up appointment and am awarded the "Stork Pass" (a preferential parking area) valid from 32 weeks to 2 months after delivery.
3:30 Out the door and on my way to the parking garage.
4:10 Pick up Charlie at preschool.
4:23 Pull into my driveway, intending to pick up Jack for his game.
4:24 Sitter A meets me and relays that Jack has not returned from school yet.
4:25 I try to contact Transportation to inquire where on earth the bus is since Jack was dismissed almost an hour ago and is about 25-minutes later than his usual arrival time.
4:26 Tim pushes Charlie. Tim pushes Jamie's head. Seconds later, I hear Sitter A utter, "Tim, don't hit me." from inside our bathroom, where she is starting Charlie's post-sandbox bath. I command Tim to leave the bathroom, apparently inviting his wrath.
4:29 Following 2 kicks to my belly, a thrown CD player, multiple attempts to bang his head through the drywall, and scratches on both of my arms, I am holding Tim onto his bed.
4:29:30 Jamie enters, mid-Tim-thrashing to inform me that Patty Kiki has arrived to take Jack to his game. I holler over the noise that Jack isn't here and to tell her to leave without him.
4:30 Jack enters, with a tale of brushfire near the freeway and awful-awful traffic, in a panic about his ballgame, his coach's impending wrath (note the coach has not shown one iota of any emotion -- excepting perhaps exasperation with Jack's lack of attention/eye contact and weird commentary), and the location of various uniform parts.
4:33 Sitter B arrives, 33 minutes late. To her credit, she jumped right in and basically told me to disengage even after I commented, "Bad day to be late". (I would later learn that she'd had a flat and had attempted to call the house, but apparently Sitter A had not answered the telephone).
4:34-4:41 Jack dresses, while I find, piece-by-piece his uniform. Naturally, never one to suffer silently, I mutter various nasty comments about Tim, my belly, my son's inability to maintain his uniform in one place, etc. Jack remains quite upset about what the coach is going to do. (Hmmm, bat you late in the batting order? play you in the outfield? have you sit out an inning? Already routine experiences.)
4:41:30 Jack segues into fretting about Bus Bully Kid, who will be on the opposing team again today. For whatever reason, this topic hits my hot button.
4:42 Load into vehicle, but cannot find Jamie. (This is the third instance in as many days of Jamie disappearing without providing a forwarding contact).
4:42:30 Get into the vehicle, call Patty Kiki (who is NEVER not where she is supposed to be) to
A. Preview that I'm having a Really Crappy Hour. (She had indeed figured that out).
B. Ask if she knows where in tarnation my 3rd son is. (Here at the ball fields with me).
C. Relate that he is in GI-NORMOUS trouble with his mother, having failed to extract permission to leave from me and having failed, even without permission, to let any household-based person know that he was leaving.
D. Rant for a few seconds about Bully Boy. (Patty Kiki volunteers, in light of my dark mood, to interface with both coaches to apprise them of the previous issues and my expectation that Jack play free of inappropriate commentary/mocking).
4:45 Arrive at ball field with Jack. Ascertain that Patty Kiki has notified coaches of the conflict between Jack/BB as well as let Jack's coach know the reason for his tardiness.
4:46-4:48 Locate Jamie, and commence dressing-down of leaving without notice. He casually -- oh so casually -- mentions that a lot of his team is here. (This is akin to the bathroom "being weird"). We get into the vehicle, as I intend to drive him home and circle the lot to view:
Jamie's entire baseball team, in full uniform, warming up. Jamie would be seated next to me, in our vehicle, wearing school clothes and a sweatshirt. No glove, no cleats, no cap, no uniform.
4:49-4:52 Drive back toward home, calling Patty Kiki again and ask if she'll please tell the Cubs that my dumb-ass son will be there a little after the game begins.
4:53-4:56 Into the house to reprise my 4:34-4:41 experience only with grumpier commentary and a bit faster luck locating items.
4:58 Back in the car.
5:02 Drop Jamie at his game. Find a parking spot.
5:04 Answer the phone from Sitter C, who informs me that the freeway is now closed (brushfire, I assume) and she'll be late.
5:07 Call my house to learn that Sitter A did not wait for Sitter C's arrival and had already departed. Sitter B report is that the situation is under control.
Watch Jack's game. Jamie's team lost. Jack's team won. Home. Meds. Showers. Bed.
GAME OVER FOR THE DAY.
Check out this timeline:
1:30 Check e-mail...one from Patty Kiki with Jack's baseball team's weekly schedule, including today's game reminder and another from Cubs Coach with Jamie's week of practice, etc. but no mention of a game. In a Most Foolish Act, I neglect to look at my calendar and give instructions based on game readiness for Jack alone.
2:15 Drop off Charlie at preschool.
2:45 Present at OB clinic. BP is 124/69 (that is to say, Pretty Darn Good). Weight is CENSORED (but 0 pounds gained since 1-month ago). Doctor says LLGA's heartbeat is great, my "fundus" (nothing fun about it!) measures exactly right, and orders up a bunch of tests (glucose tolerance (YES, I like sugar and sugar likes me), thyroid, CBC).
3:25 Make follow-up appointment and am awarded the "Stork Pass" (a preferential parking area) valid from 32 weeks to 2 months after delivery.
3:30 Out the door and on my way to the parking garage.
4:10 Pick up Charlie at preschool.
4:23 Pull into my driveway, intending to pick up Jack for his game.
4:24 Sitter A meets me and relays that Jack has not returned from school yet.
4:25 I try to contact Transportation to inquire where on earth the bus is since Jack was dismissed almost an hour ago and is about 25-minutes later than his usual arrival time.
4:26 Tim pushes Charlie. Tim pushes Jamie's head. Seconds later, I hear Sitter A utter, "Tim, don't hit me." from inside our bathroom, where she is starting Charlie's post-sandbox bath. I command Tim to leave the bathroom, apparently inviting his wrath.
4:29 Following 2 kicks to my belly, a thrown CD player, multiple attempts to bang his head through the drywall, and scratches on both of my arms, I am holding Tim onto his bed.
4:29:30 Jamie enters, mid-Tim-thrashing to inform me that Patty Kiki has arrived to take Jack to his game. I holler over the noise that Jack isn't here and to tell her to leave without him.
4:30 Jack enters, with a tale of brushfire near the freeway and awful-awful traffic, in a panic about his ballgame, his coach's impending wrath (note the coach has not shown one iota of any emotion -- excepting perhaps exasperation with Jack's lack of attention/eye contact and weird commentary), and the location of various uniform parts.
4:33 Sitter B arrives, 33 minutes late. To her credit, she jumped right in and basically told me to disengage even after I commented, "Bad day to be late". (I would later learn that she'd had a flat and had attempted to call the house, but apparently Sitter A had not answered the telephone).
4:34-4:41 Jack dresses, while I find, piece-by-piece his uniform. Naturally, never one to suffer silently, I mutter various nasty comments about Tim, my belly, my son's inability to maintain his uniform in one place, etc. Jack remains quite upset about what the coach is going to do. (Hmmm, bat you late in the batting order? play you in the outfield? have you sit out an inning? Already routine experiences.)
4:41:30 Jack segues into fretting about Bus Bully Kid, who will be on the opposing team again today. For whatever reason, this topic hits my hot button.
4:42 Load into vehicle, but cannot find Jamie. (This is the third instance in as many days of Jamie disappearing without providing a forwarding contact).
4:42:30 Get into the vehicle, call Patty Kiki (who is NEVER not where she is supposed to be) to
A. Preview that I'm having a Really Crappy Hour. (She had indeed figured that out).
B. Ask if she knows where in tarnation my 3rd son is. (Here at the ball fields with me).
C. Relate that he is in GI-NORMOUS trouble with his mother, having failed to extract permission to leave from me and having failed, even without permission, to let any household-based person know that he was leaving.
D. Rant for a few seconds about Bully Boy. (Patty Kiki volunteers, in light of my dark mood, to interface with both coaches to apprise them of the previous issues and my expectation that Jack play free of inappropriate commentary/mocking).
4:45 Arrive at ball field with Jack. Ascertain that Patty Kiki has notified coaches of the conflict between Jack/BB as well as let Jack's coach know the reason for his tardiness.
4:46-4:48 Locate Jamie, and commence dressing-down of leaving without notice. He casually -- oh so casually -- mentions that a lot of his team is here. (This is akin to the bathroom "being weird"). We get into the vehicle, as I intend to drive him home and circle the lot to view:
Jamie's entire baseball team, in full uniform, warming up. Jamie would be seated next to me, in our vehicle, wearing school clothes and a sweatshirt. No glove, no cleats, no cap, no uniform.
4:49-4:52 Drive back toward home, calling Patty Kiki again and ask if she'll please tell the Cubs that my dumb-ass son will be there a little after the game begins.
4:53-4:56 Into the house to reprise my 4:34-4:41 experience only with grumpier commentary and a bit faster luck locating items.
4:58 Back in the car.
5:02 Drop Jamie at his game. Find a parking spot.
5:04 Answer the phone from Sitter C, who informs me that the freeway is now closed (brushfire, I assume) and she'll be late.
5:07 Call my house to learn that Sitter A did not wait for Sitter C's arrival and had already departed. Sitter B report is that the situation is under control.
Watch Jack's game. Jamie's team lost. Jack's team won. Home. Meds. Showers. Bed.
GAME OVER FOR THE DAY.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Art Show @ Charlie's Preschool
Ben reports that blogspot photos are easier to view than kodakgallery (due to bandwidth issues?) so am posting these here.
But don't miss the blog entry of even date below!!
Room 8's display
Ah-ha, I finally spy Charlie's submission.
The description:
Close-up of the sunflower:
But don't miss the blog entry of even date below!!
Room 8's display
Ah-ha, I finally spy Charlie's submission.
The description:
Close-up of the sunflower:
May 27th Padres Game
I rallied and packed up the eldest three boys, having made the executive decision to leave Charlie with the babysitter in the hopes of walking faster and not risking further development of his cough.
Just getting out the door is quite dramatic for a 13-y-o boy who is terrified of being caught out of his house when its nighttime. Lots of nervousness about that issue, whether his dietary needs (LOTS of CALORIES on DEMAND) would be accommodated, further clarification of whether we were going to Petco Park for the Padres or McEvoy Fields for Jack's Giants and/or Jamie's Cubs. Of course, then we needed a modification of the shorts/t-shirt Tim had been sporting, which also necessitated doffing and donning his sneakers. Lots of complaining, whining and the crescendo: head-banging in the front-seat of the CR-V.
So when the J-crabs joined forces in the cause of Backtalk and Disobedience to Maternal Directives, they were informed -- quite civilly -- that they would be staying home. Funny how speedy their little feet and paws carried up the empty recycling and garbage bins and how cooperatively they located sweatshirts. If only we had Padres tix every night for a carrot-stick routine.
We parked, schlepped, and presented at the turnstile at 5:15 for our 5:30 event. Only problem, park wasn't open yet. Tim began a dramatic verbalization of the schedule he'd been given by a hopelessly under-researched mother. Miraculously, one of the Petco employees came out to direct me to a super-secret park entrance that WAS open. A bit more schlepping (mind you, I have 2 blankets, 3 parkas, a picnic mat, and a tote with camera, $$, keys, emergency candy rations, 4 hats, and sunglasses) not to mention that beach ball appendage in front but if it's a choice between DRAMA and schlepping, we shall schlep and gratefully.
The folks from Ruby's Diner and XXSportsRadio, in conjunction with the Armed Services YMCA, hosted the "Military Family Day" event. "Private party" fenced off with other early arrivals already scooting through. Free t-shirts for the kids and burgers, chips, cookie, and beverages for all.
Jack and Jamie immediately ditched Tim and me to join in the fray on the wiffle-ball diamond. Both were featured numerous times on the big screen but I could not get a decent photo. Tim and I watched BP from the Park-at-the-Park.
Within one hour of our arrival, Tim had already consumed a large cheeseburger, 2 packages of chips, 2 (Von's sugar!) cookies, a Dr. Pepper, and 2/3 of a bag of popcorn. His next mission was to establish that we would not go to the upper-nosebleed seats ("I don't like to sit inside.") but rather stay put on the grassy knoll. Having schlepped considerable distances already, I readily agreed.
Eventually the pre-game festivities began. We had a soprano saxophone instrumental of the National Anthem and the first pitch was thrown barefoot by a famous inspirational speaker (who was born with no arms). There were less than 5,000 people there by the start -- in my humble estimation. Jack was dispatched for a hot pretzel and I waved the cotton candy vendor over to procure a "Tubby". Jamie dashed to the kid snack shack for milks and a fruit punch. Yet the Stomach was not Easily Diverted!
As along came the puberty-cracking-voiced litany of "Is the game almost over yet?" "This is the last inning." "Now we can go home!" The initial goal of 3 innings quickly reduced to 2, to the great cacophony of whining from Jack and Jamie. Mind you, Jamie was doing log-rolls down the hill and Jack was eagerly trying to win baseball cards from a Petco usher (by answering geography quiz-bowl and pre-algebra questions).
The "Wolf Pack" picked a spot near us; this is about 7 or 8 college-type guys wearing wolf masks and howling every time Randy Wolf (last night's starting pitcher) was on the Big Screen. (Not thinking that Tim was convinced about our departure before dark -- or our physical safety -- by this point). We saw 3 of the eventual 6 total runs scored and packed it up to trudge back to the convention center parking garage.
We loaded into the CR-V to head home. Mind you, this is my 4th or 5th time in this parking garage...there is an EXIT painted on the back wall. So when I tried one direction but was blocked and tried another direction only to find it blocked and had only a third (but that was where we'd entered), I directed Jack to exit the vehicle, move a cone, wait for me to drive thru, and replace it. 2 problems: one, my identification of Jack as a ready accomplice and two, the parking garage "securitas" attendance about 1/8 mile away. Jack got out, touched the cone, and then FROZE. Said 70-y-o security guy breaks into a trot. DAMMIT!
In the future, Jack, the sequence goes like this: Lift. Move. Replace.
So he begins yelling at me that this "no exit!" I try calmly -- seated next to Tim, the head-banging One, to explain that we had meandered two routes through the labyrinth to no avail and, referencing the GIGANTIC SIGN just beyond the blockade that indicated "EXIT THIS WAY", indicated I just needed him to move the cone and I'd be on my way.
But he was having none of it. He literally begins jumping up and down, proceeding to say, "When you are driving, you must use your eyes." Well, no sh-t! By now, the exchange is quickly heading off the cliff into the Darkness. Tim is in full-on drool and "Ha!" mode. Security guy instructs me to back up (!) down a long aisle of parked cars -- because THAT'S a safe, recommended maneuver -- to triumphantly point out a little tripod exit sign that had been placed along a wall where I'd previously entered.
This sign is shown to scale. Now I'm, no other word for it, PISSED OFF.
So, as we do in America, I ask for his name and to speak to a supervisor. This thrusts him into a whole new tirade. By now he's shrieking at me, while still hopping up and down. Little ACE parking guys are popping out of various aisles. Mercifully, as it is the 2nd inning, there were no other civilians. One guy comes over and tries to get the fellow (Nguyen is the name he has provided) to calm down. But Whack-job Attendant is now shrieking into his walkie-talkie "Linda!Linda! Linda!" Tim is asking the new guy what HIS name is repeatedly. Jack and Jamie are stunned into silence in the rear.
Finally, the lovely Linda cruises up to the scene in her golf cart. Whack-Job Security Guy intercepts her, starts the bobbing up and down, accusing me of "She ask for my NAME!" I explain that I have paid $10 and was trying to follow the signage as visible from my parking spot to exit. I pointed out that it was the 2nd inning and that this gentleman seemed more interested in me committing ridiculous acts of driving in a maze (and backing up) rather than just explaining the proper exit and letting me leave, that I was clearly here with a disabled person and that I did not appreciate his mocking my driving in front of my children. blah, blah... She told me that I was "free to leave". Now I was furious. I have always been free to leave, but you have a whack-job employee who is shrieking at your patrons.
No good outing goes unpunished. The good news is that Jack and Jamie immediately began talking about how "inappropriate" and "not good customer service" the episode was. Then, naturally, we mocked "You no drive good". Of course, I cell-phoned Aunt Patty Cake to have a 17-minute tirade (Aunt Patty Cake monitors such statistics) about whether I should call ACE Parking the following day or let my fellow parkers endure someone of questionable stability. By the time we reached Pacific Beach, I was clear that were I to become a bank robber someday, Jack is not going to be associated with the get-away driving. If he'd just done what I told him to do, this "No Drive Good Driver" would have been the hell outta there!
Just getting out the door is quite dramatic for a 13-y-o boy who is terrified of being caught out of his house when its nighttime. Lots of nervousness about that issue, whether his dietary needs (LOTS of CALORIES on DEMAND) would be accommodated, further clarification of whether we were going to Petco Park for the Padres or McEvoy Fields for Jack's Giants and/or Jamie's Cubs. Of course, then we needed a modification of the shorts/t-shirt Tim had been sporting, which also necessitated doffing and donning his sneakers. Lots of complaining, whining and the crescendo: head-banging in the front-seat of the CR-V.
So when the J-crabs joined forces in the cause of Backtalk and Disobedience to Maternal Directives, they were informed -- quite civilly -- that they would be staying home. Funny how speedy their little feet and paws carried up the empty recycling and garbage bins and how cooperatively they located sweatshirts. If only we had Padres tix every night for a carrot-stick routine.
We parked, schlepped, and presented at the turnstile at 5:15 for our 5:30 event. Only problem, park wasn't open yet. Tim began a dramatic verbalization of the schedule he'd been given by a hopelessly under-researched mother. Miraculously, one of the Petco employees came out to direct me to a super-secret park entrance that WAS open. A bit more schlepping (mind you, I have 2 blankets, 3 parkas, a picnic mat, and a tote with camera, $$, keys, emergency candy rations, 4 hats, and sunglasses) not to mention that beach ball appendage in front but if it's a choice between DRAMA and schlepping, we shall schlep and gratefully.
The folks from Ruby's Diner and XXSportsRadio, in conjunction with the Armed Services YMCA, hosted the "Military Family Day" event. "Private party" fenced off with other early arrivals already scooting through. Free t-shirts for the kids and burgers, chips, cookie, and beverages for all.
Jack and Jamie immediately ditched Tim and me to join in the fray on the wiffle-ball diamond. Both were featured numerous times on the big screen but I could not get a decent photo. Tim and I watched BP from the Park-at-the-Park.
Within one hour of our arrival, Tim had already consumed a large cheeseburger, 2 packages of chips, 2 (Von's sugar!) cookies, a Dr. Pepper, and 2/3 of a bag of popcorn. His next mission was to establish that we would not go to the upper-nosebleed seats ("I don't like to sit inside.") but rather stay put on the grassy knoll. Having schlepped considerable distances already, I readily agreed.
Eventually the pre-game festivities began. We had a soprano saxophone instrumental of the National Anthem and the first pitch was thrown barefoot by a famous inspirational speaker (who was born with no arms). There were less than 5,000 people there by the start -- in my humble estimation. Jack was dispatched for a hot pretzel and I waved the cotton candy vendor over to procure a "Tubby". Jamie dashed to the kid snack shack for milks and a fruit punch. Yet the Stomach was not Easily Diverted!
As along came the puberty-cracking-voiced litany of "Is the game almost over yet?" "This is the last inning." "Now we can go home!" The initial goal of 3 innings quickly reduced to 2, to the great cacophony of whining from Jack and Jamie. Mind you, Jamie was doing log-rolls down the hill and Jack was eagerly trying to win baseball cards from a Petco usher (by answering geography quiz-bowl and pre-algebra questions).
The "Wolf Pack" picked a spot near us; this is about 7 or 8 college-type guys wearing wolf masks and howling every time Randy Wolf (last night's starting pitcher) was on the Big Screen. (Not thinking that Tim was convinced about our departure before dark -- or our physical safety -- by this point). We saw 3 of the eventual 6 total runs scored and packed it up to trudge back to the convention center parking garage.
We loaded into the CR-V to head home. Mind you, this is my 4th or 5th time in this parking garage...there is an EXIT painted on the back wall. So when I tried one direction but was blocked and tried another direction only to find it blocked and had only a third (but that was where we'd entered), I directed Jack to exit the vehicle, move a cone, wait for me to drive thru, and replace it. 2 problems: one, my identification of Jack as a ready accomplice and two, the parking garage "securitas" attendance about 1/8 mile away. Jack got out, touched the cone, and then FROZE. Said 70-y-o security guy breaks into a trot. DAMMIT!
In the future, Jack, the sequence goes like this: Lift. Move. Replace.
So he begins yelling at me that this "no exit!" I try calmly -- seated next to Tim, the head-banging One, to explain that we had meandered two routes through the labyrinth to no avail and, referencing the GIGANTIC SIGN just beyond the blockade that indicated "EXIT THIS WAY", indicated I just needed him to move the cone and I'd be on my way.
But he was having none of it. He literally begins jumping up and down, proceeding to say, "When you are driving, you must use your eyes." Well, no sh-t! By now, the exchange is quickly heading off the cliff into the Darkness. Tim is in full-on drool and "Ha!" mode. Security guy instructs me to back up (!) down a long aisle of parked cars -- because THAT'S a safe, recommended maneuver -- to triumphantly point out a little tripod exit sign that had been placed along a wall where I'd previously entered.
This sign is shown to scale. Now I'm, no other word for it, PISSED OFF.So, as we do in America, I ask for his name and to speak to a supervisor. This thrusts him into a whole new tirade. By now he's shrieking at me, while still hopping up and down. Little ACE parking guys are popping out of various aisles. Mercifully, as it is the 2nd inning, there were no other civilians. One guy comes over and tries to get the fellow (Nguyen is the name he has provided) to calm down. But Whack-job Attendant is now shrieking into his walkie-talkie "Linda!Linda! Linda!" Tim is asking the new guy what HIS name is repeatedly. Jack and Jamie are stunned into silence in the rear.
Finally, the lovely Linda cruises up to the scene in her golf cart. Whack-Job Security Guy intercepts her, starts the bobbing up and down, accusing me of "She ask for my NAME!" I explain that I have paid $10 and was trying to follow the signage as visible from my parking spot to exit. I pointed out that it was the 2nd inning and that this gentleman seemed more interested in me committing ridiculous acts of driving in a maze (and backing up) rather than just explaining the proper exit and letting me leave, that I was clearly here with a disabled person and that I did not appreciate his mocking my driving in front of my children. blah, blah... She told me that I was "free to leave". Now I was furious. I have always been free to leave, but you have a whack-job employee who is shrieking at your patrons.
No good outing goes unpunished. The good news is that Jack and Jamie immediately began talking about how "inappropriate" and "not good customer service" the episode was. Then, naturally, we mocked "You no drive good". Of course, I cell-phoned Aunt Patty Cake to have a 17-minute tirade (Aunt Patty Cake monitors such statistics) about whether I should call ACE Parking the following day or let my fellow parkers endure someone of questionable stability. By the time we reached Pacific Beach, I was clear that were I to become a bank robber someday, Jack is not going to be associated with the get-away driving. If he'd just done what I told him to do, this "No Drive Good Driver" would have been the hell outta there!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Castle Alert: Our Villian, Mold/Mildew, Has Returned and Brought Another Obstacle: "Not-so-Universal Remote Controls"!
Yes, for all the joy that comes from living on the cul-de-sac and having a fancy fireplace in our 4BR quarters, there is a dark secret: Living with this million-dollar view (maybe only $990K given the current housing market) comes with The Curse of Moisture.
Housing "Service Mngr." sent over Plumbing Guy this morning. Lo and behold, Plumbing Guy agreed with me: that dank, nasty smell is not plumbing-related. So, I called "Service Mngr." upon hearing these tidings...he chuckled and said, "That's easier to fix." Making me want to thrust my hand through the phone to wring his neck...if it was easier to fix, then why are we fixing it AGAIN?
(For those of you who may not catalog each/every Sand Castle curse, malady, and substandard construction issue, both bathrooms had to be torn apart last spring, mold/mildew cleaned out, replaced linoleum, replaced parts of the walls, and replaced baseboards. This required us to be out of the home for a day, which was not met with mirth and merriment.)
The good news is that accusations that my pregnant olfactory senses are on overdrive are erroneous. I might be more sensitive, but I'm accurate.
Moments ago, within 1/2 hour of the fleeing plumber, I received a call from our housing maintenance dept. to ask about my customer satisfaction with this "ticket". I hope that poor soul gets some positive feedback because all I can think about is my unborn baby's incidental contact with spores of unknown danger (okay, that's way more dramatic than I'm actually feeling)...all I can imagine is another day of trying to reconfigure Charlie's in-home therapies to another location and finding a day/time that the Family Crab will not need to be in our home. In my personal -- and loathsomely inaccurate -- crystal ball, Aunt Patty Cake flies back and we take the kids to Disneyland for a night while all the nasty spores suffer a violent eradication. Also in my Fantasy Camp, since I'm writing the script, our housing office reimburses me what a night at the "Navy Lodge" would cost. Ha, now I've become a comedy writer!
Programming the Replacement of the Replacement Universal Remote~ Frustrating and Foiled Again. Turns out, now that I endured a Wal-Mart trek to procure another remote, that more than 64 internet posters agree: Trutech (TM) is wicked, evil, and does not promulgate its TV/DVD codes. So my choice is keep on trying until I land on the 4-digit sequence that works. (Maybe I have a future in the Human Genome Project as other-than-a-donor?) Think world's worst game of Mastermind(TM). The model was discontinued 2 months ago so, naturally, it is not available online. Moreover, Trutech's own website does not show accessories available for this model. I suppose the other obvious choice is to lumber across the room the "old-fashioned" way. Argh!
Admittedly, my commentary today is skewed (to the glass-half-empty) by Charlie's coughing party from 3-5:45 a.m. It took me about 2 hours of tossing/turning/irritation to overcome my inertia and just administer the asthma meds already, so I suppose I can only legitimately whine about 45-minutes of sleep deprivation. Just think of the whining I'll have up my sleeve by September! Won't this be a fun, insightful blog then!?
Tonight the Crab Family and a sitter are supposedly attending the Nationals @ the Padres on tix supplied by the Armed Services YMCA to feast upon free burgers n' sodas. Will depend on Charlie's coughing status, the weather forecast, Tim's mood, and my energy level. Odds of going: 50/50 as of 11:41 a.m.
Housing "Service Mngr." sent over Plumbing Guy this morning. Lo and behold, Plumbing Guy agreed with me: that dank, nasty smell is not plumbing-related. So, I called "Service Mngr." upon hearing these tidings...he chuckled and said, "That's easier to fix." Making me want to thrust my hand through the phone to wring his neck...if it was easier to fix, then why are we fixing it AGAIN?
(For those of you who may not catalog each/every Sand Castle curse, malady, and substandard construction issue, both bathrooms had to be torn apart last spring, mold/mildew cleaned out, replaced linoleum, replaced parts of the walls, and replaced baseboards. This required us to be out of the home for a day, which was not met with mirth and merriment.)
The good news is that accusations that my pregnant olfactory senses are on overdrive are erroneous. I might be more sensitive, but I'm accurate.
Moments ago, within 1/2 hour of the fleeing plumber, I received a call from our housing maintenance dept. to ask about my customer satisfaction with this "ticket". I hope that poor soul gets some positive feedback because all I can think about is my unborn baby's incidental contact with spores of unknown danger (okay, that's way more dramatic than I'm actually feeling)...all I can imagine is another day of trying to reconfigure Charlie's in-home therapies to another location and finding a day/time that the Family Crab will not need to be in our home. In my personal -- and loathsomely inaccurate -- crystal ball, Aunt Patty Cake flies back and we take the kids to Disneyland for a night while all the nasty spores suffer a violent eradication. Also in my Fantasy Camp, since I'm writing the script, our housing office reimburses me what a night at the "Navy Lodge" would cost. Ha, now I've become a comedy writer!
Programming the Replacement of the Replacement Universal Remote~ Frustrating and Foiled Again. Turns out, now that I endured a Wal-Mart trek to procure another remote, that more than 64 internet posters agree: Trutech (TM) is wicked, evil, and does not promulgate its TV/DVD codes. So my choice is keep on trying until I land on the 4-digit sequence that works. (Maybe I have a future in the Human Genome Project as other-than-a-donor?) Think world's worst game of Mastermind(TM). The model was discontinued 2 months ago so, naturally, it is not available online. Moreover, Trutech's own website does not show accessories available for this model. I suppose the other obvious choice is to lumber across the room the "old-fashioned" way. Argh!
Admittedly, my commentary today is skewed (to the glass-half-empty) by Charlie's coughing party from 3-5:45 a.m. It took me about 2 hours of tossing/turning/irritation to overcome my inertia and just administer the asthma meds already, so I suppose I can only legitimately whine about 45-minutes of sleep deprivation. Just think of the whining I'll have up my sleeve by September! Won't this be a fun, insightful blog then!?
Tonight the Crab Family and a sitter are supposedly attending the Nationals @ the Padres on tix supplied by the Armed Services YMCA to feast upon free burgers n' sodas. Will depend on Charlie's coughing status, the weather forecast, Tim's mood, and my energy level. Odds of going: 50/50 as of 11:41 a.m.
Monday, May 26, 2008
May 26 (or Day 30)
News Bulletin: Troop 506 Sweatshirt, long on the lam, is located! A neighbor found it at her home several weeks ago, but had set it aside for "later". Jack is set to retrieve it later today. 2 factors inhibited my engagement in wild dancing of happiness and hugging this woman.
1. Her children have required maximum intervention/supervision by me for at least the last month. Think of the following blog items: boy on the roof on Mom's Day, boy delivering ass-whupping to Jamie in my front yard this week, boy on top of our diningroom table during scout meeting, etc.
2. She expressed utter shock that Jack was a Boy Scout. The fact that I am her son's den leader would naturally exclude Jamie's elder brother from Boy Scout participation?
Nonetheless, Jack survives to lose said sweatshirt or other personal possessions for another day.
Party Recap:
* Charlie was eager to take his plywood M1 and brandish it at anyone under 6 years of age. (Said weapon was made by Patty Kiki's husband). This charming greeting was made all the more parent-prideful with the word "SHOOTING" said repeatedly. He only dashed across the cul-de-sac unbridled a couple of times. He showed some mild interest in touching the fire pit until a neighbor's daughter showed up with a beach chair with a mini-parasol attached...or I should say, formerly attached because Charlie did a firearm-exchange in order to reprise the lead role in "singing in the rain". Until he thought he could climb to the top of a short-but-steep bank in our yard and then dash top-speed as if to become airborne. That's my Boy Brilliant!
* Tim ate (and ate) and made himself scarce. Jack and Jamie were their normal pack-running selves.
* Our "Guest" Bathroom (or, Boys' Bathroom) is POSSESSED. Yes, friends, an otherwise charming albeit frigid evening ended rather suddenly for Mrs. Crab. Admittedly, there had been a mini-parade of children availing themselves of the facilities throughout the night. However, at 9:05, I realized that a child who had gone in a full 15-minutes earlier was still there. (Only noticed because I needed to grab a diaper for Charlie from that bathroom). Approximately 3-minutes later, I hear a small, fearful voice ask, "Mrs. Allbritton?" trailing into a very fast informational module: "thetoiletisoverflowing." Sure enough, it is an exact copy of the Tim Incident of not-quite 4 weeks ago. Only this lad (yessiree, one of the erstwhile Dumpster Divers) attempted to "leave no trace" by pressing into service 2 bath towels. Not so much on the "leave no trace" even so. Oh, yes, another special bleach-infused memory. Thus ended my fit-for-company persona and I resumed the role of She-Crab.
Bleach Count: 2
* Now to finish cleaning up the kitchen (given that we ate grilled hot dogs outside, I am stunned by the sinkful of dishes), track down a fancy-Eddie-Bauer BBQ fork, and reunite the assorted items residing in our front yard with their rightful owners. The joys of hosting...and I have the rest of the holiday to recover.
1. Her children have required maximum intervention/supervision by me for at least the last month. Think of the following blog items: boy on the roof on Mom's Day, boy delivering ass-whupping to Jamie in my front yard this week, boy on top of our diningroom table during scout meeting, etc.
2. She expressed utter shock that Jack was a Boy Scout. The fact that I am her son's den leader would naturally exclude Jamie's elder brother from Boy Scout participation?
Nonetheless, Jack survives to lose said sweatshirt or other personal possessions for another day.
Party Recap:
* Charlie was eager to take his plywood M1 and brandish it at anyone under 6 years of age. (Said weapon was made by Patty Kiki's husband). This charming greeting was made all the more parent-prideful with the word "SHOOTING" said repeatedly. He only dashed across the cul-de-sac unbridled a couple of times. He showed some mild interest in touching the fire pit until a neighbor's daughter showed up with a beach chair with a mini-parasol attached...or I should say, formerly attached because Charlie did a firearm-exchange in order to reprise the lead role in "singing in the rain". Until he thought he could climb to the top of a short-but-steep bank in our yard and then dash top-speed as if to become airborne. That's my Boy Brilliant!
* Tim ate (and ate) and made himself scarce. Jack and Jamie were their normal pack-running selves.
* Our "Guest" Bathroom (or, Boys' Bathroom) is POSSESSED. Yes, friends, an otherwise charming albeit frigid evening ended rather suddenly for Mrs. Crab. Admittedly, there had been a mini-parade of children availing themselves of the facilities throughout the night. However, at 9:05, I realized that a child who had gone in a full 15-minutes earlier was still there. (Only noticed because I needed to grab a diaper for Charlie from that bathroom). Approximately 3-minutes later, I hear a small, fearful voice ask, "Mrs. Allbritton?" trailing into a very fast informational module: "thetoiletisoverflowing." Sure enough, it is an exact copy of the Tim Incident of not-quite 4 weeks ago. Only this lad (yessiree, one of the erstwhile Dumpster Divers) attempted to "leave no trace" by pressing into service 2 bath towels. Not so much on the "leave no trace" even so. Oh, yes, another special bleach-infused memory. Thus ended my fit-for-company persona and I resumed the role of She-Crab.
Bleach Count: 2* Now to finish cleaning up the kitchen (given that we ate grilled hot dogs outside, I am stunned by the sinkful of dishes), track down a fancy-Eddie-Bauer BBQ fork, and reunite the assorted items residing in our front yard with their rightful owners. The joys of hosting...and I have the rest of the holiday to recover.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday's Sporadic Items
Today began with Charlie having a series of bad dreams..."No school, no school! I want to see SHANNON!" (Shannon is an OT who treats him on Wednesday afternoons). Since it is not a Wednesday, Charlie is out of luck. Of course, the noise awakens Jack and Jamie even earlier than usual. So next my sleep -- having successfully soothed Charlie -- is interrupted by the two J's being squirrel-ly about when they can go to baseball practice.
Luckily, therefore for Ben, I was already awake, alert, and no longer holding any expectations of further slumber when the telephone rang at 8:23 a.m. The connection between Kuwait and San Diego is far superior to the one between Camp McCrady and San Diego. (Ben remarked, "Of course the telephone is fine here! Satan has arranged for quality connections...even he cannot survive without the telephone to distract him from the climate conditions!") At this point, Ben accused me of swiping witty commentary for use on my blog. I said that recently it seemed he had a bit more material to work with, so why on earth would I reject equal-opportunity blog subjects?!
Jack took a turn speaking with Ben; ever the "sea lawyer", Jack assailed Ben with tales of rising grades, perfect math quizzes, superior marks on his Math Survey project, and his perception that his literary magazine (subject: C.S. Lewis) will be easy-as-pie. Then it was Jamie's turn. First issue: Jamie apparently, despite 9-years on the planet, still doesn't know how to talk into a phone ... he was trying to talk to Ben as if on a walkie-talkie (except speaking into the end that's supposed to be held to his ear). Second issue: Jamie apparently, despite 28-days away from his father, has nothing to talk about. Well, except his latest baseball statistics.
The call wrapped up with my realization that Major Crabs -- even a world away -- is firmly engaged with the family finances and household budget. RATS. He was able to recite a bank account number (of 10-digits!) and the correct user ID and password off the top of his head. For a fellow usually a bit slow to recognize and react to a family milestone (e.g., birthday, anniversary, etc.), it was not only impressive in its celerity but also rather SPOOKY. He claimed that "Major Provider's" paycheck should increase a bit in the near future; I again had to impassively reply that it will be exactly the same paycheck as it was when he was relatively-safely floating in the Gulf last year, when he had a satellite-phone in his private stateroom and there was a communal body armor attached to the good ship Antietam's hull.
Next came the long-awaited and much-heralded (at o-dark-thirty) baseball practice. I noted to the Coach that my children seem far more eager for Sunday baseball than for Mass. (Sorry, Dad, just driving the Straight-Talk Vanpool today).
Germaphobia Interlude!!!
So as I was pulling up to the ball fields this morning to fetch my children as well as the sons of Patty Who-Shall-Remain-Anonymous, before I could wrench the Windstar into park, my eyes were stabbed by the sight of:
THREE CHILDREN (2 of whom were my pending responsibility) ENGAGING IN VARIOUS, UNSATISFACTORY PREPOSITIONS (including ON, INSIDE, and ON TOP OF) RELATING TO AN OPEN DUMPSTER!
I daresay my hollering began before I'd even flung open the van door. Prepared for nearly no disaster, I AM prepared for the near occasion of fighting microbial assault to human skin surfaces. With my trusty pump-bottle of Purell (TM), I ambled-with-a-purpose toward the dumpster-divers, liberally applying said antibacterial product -- whether it works, Patty W-S-R-A, or not! The 1 child, age 4+ years, for whom I bore no responsibility whatsoever (other than the level of concern I pray others would to have for a child of mine were one to get up close and personal with garbage of questionable etiology) actually asked me WHAT I WAS PUTTING ON HIS HANDS. "Is it soap?" he finally asks, since the apoplectic mother pumping frantically in his direction was unable to respond verbally. "Well, you sure don't eat it, son." With a bit of time and perspective, I am left to marvel at this youngster's suspicion of an adult-approved activity (vice his utter nonchalance at the source of my consternation, the dumpster's contents).
With my heart barely reverted to a normal rhythm and pace, I gather my numerous charges to load the van. One of the recent Germ-avoidant Rules offenders was not with the group. I turn back to the field just in time to view this wonder of acts:
REMOVES BASEBALL CAP FROM HEAD, DIPS IT PAIL-STYLE INTO A "FOUNTAIN" OF STANDING (AND FILTHY) WATER, AND INVERTS IT AS HE REPLACES THE CAP ON HIS HEAD.
I have not words, just wordless shrieking. The coach, apparently thinking the lad was parched, digs into his SUV and hands said child a Juice Box. I'm mouth-agape, trying to understand the use of a primary reinforcer for this behavior. Clearly, my trusty Purell (TM) is not applicable to a dripping wet pate.
Remember, O Gentle Readers, A. we in San Diego are "enjoying" unseasonably chilly weather and B. said child's most recent physical activity involved the dumpster.
Thus ends my Germaphobe Interlude.
Then McD's lunch. Then our sitter appeared in the doorway -- Yay!
AMENDED HOUSEHOLD RULE:
By order of Mom, ANYONE caught removing a DVD from a DVD player and setting it down on any surface other than the interior of its properly designated DVD case will be punished severely. By more than nagging, lecturing, or shrieking.
The above replaces former household rule of same matter, just puts a bit more teeth into it while leaving open the possibility of liberal punitive measures.
With the extra set of child-watching eyes available, I set my sights to HOUSEHOLD IMPROVEMENT SERIES: The Front Yard. We are hosting a neighborhood pot-luck/BBQ this evening with grilling to occur across the street and kids' kickball game up in the cul-de-sac.
Among my amazing accomplishments of just this very day:
1. Cleared area behind the patio wall of everything. Photographic evidence provided for your "ooo, aaahh, oohhh". Swept. (Pick yourselves up off the floor! It's not like I NEVER use a broom.)
2. Relocated our vehicles to the side street.
Placed parking prohibitions (aka: picnic benches) to allow for free flow of persons between Patty Jenny Across-the-Street's grill zone and the Crab Family's eating area.
3. Moved lawn furniture to be more hospitable.
4. Cleaned (yes, actually scrubbed) BBQ grill (from whenever Ben last grilled) and drug it across to Patty Jenny ATS' with charcoal. Cleaned out (sans that annoying scrubbing step) the fire pit and drug to middle of yard.
5. Hung patriotic metal stars, which Jack was quick to read the warning "can cause cancer or birth defects". Hung 2 garden flags in the pristine Garden by Patty Kiki. Standard suburbia decor applied, rendering me officially Hostess with the Mostest. ha!
6. Placed recycling and trash receptacles in tasteful locations.
7. Hollered at my two middle children for their abysmal ability to stow garbage in cans and hit the recycling bins with recycling refuse. It was B.A.D. in the side/back yard. Told Jack it was against city ordinances to not stow appropriately. He, of course, has added that infraction to his certainty of his own imminent arrest and incarceration.
8. Made a fetching vegetable "tray". Located red and blue bowls for the chips. Protected the 19 blue cookies from many would-be poachers.
Time to party...here's hoping that my children do nothing during festivities that qualifies as "blog-worthy".
Luckily, therefore for Ben, I was already awake, alert, and no longer holding any expectations of further slumber when the telephone rang at 8:23 a.m. The connection between Kuwait and San Diego is far superior to the one between Camp McCrady and San Diego. (Ben remarked, "Of course the telephone is fine here! Satan has arranged for quality connections...even he cannot survive without the telephone to distract him from the climate conditions!") At this point, Ben accused me of swiping witty commentary for use on my blog. I said that recently it seemed he had a bit more material to work with, so why on earth would I reject equal-opportunity blog subjects?!
Jack took a turn speaking with Ben; ever the "sea lawyer", Jack assailed Ben with tales of rising grades, perfect math quizzes, superior marks on his Math Survey project, and his perception that his literary magazine (subject: C.S. Lewis) will be easy-as-pie. Then it was Jamie's turn. First issue: Jamie apparently, despite 9-years on the planet, still doesn't know how to talk into a phone ... he was trying to talk to Ben as if on a walkie-talkie (except speaking into the end that's supposed to be held to his ear). Second issue: Jamie apparently, despite 28-days away from his father, has nothing to talk about. Well, except his latest baseball statistics.
The call wrapped up with my realization that Major Crabs -- even a world away -- is firmly engaged with the family finances and household budget. RATS. He was able to recite a bank account number (of 10-digits!) and the correct user ID and password off the top of his head. For a fellow usually a bit slow to recognize and react to a family milestone (e.g., birthday, anniversary, etc.), it was not only impressive in its celerity but also rather SPOOKY. He claimed that "Major Provider's" paycheck should increase a bit in the near future; I again had to impassively reply that it will be exactly the same paycheck as it was when he was relatively-safely floating in the Gulf last year, when he had a satellite-phone in his private stateroom and there was a communal body armor attached to the good ship Antietam's hull.
Next came the long-awaited and much-heralded (at o-dark-thirty) baseball practice. I noted to the Coach that my children seem far more eager for Sunday baseball than for Mass. (Sorry, Dad, just driving the Straight-Talk Vanpool today).
Germaphobia Interlude!!!
So as I was pulling up to the ball fields this morning to fetch my children as well as the sons of Patty Who-Shall-Remain-Anonymous, before I could wrench the Windstar into park, my eyes were stabbed by the sight of:
THREE CHILDREN (2 of whom were my pending responsibility) ENGAGING IN VARIOUS, UNSATISFACTORY PREPOSITIONS (including ON, INSIDE, and ON TOP OF) RELATING TO AN OPEN DUMPSTER!
I daresay my hollering began before I'd even flung open the van door. Prepared for nearly no disaster, I AM prepared for the near occasion of fighting microbial assault to human skin surfaces. With my trusty pump-bottle of Purell (TM), I ambled-with-a-purpose toward the dumpster-divers, liberally applying said antibacterial product -- whether it works, Patty W-S-R-A, or not! The 1 child, age 4+ years, for whom I bore no responsibility whatsoever (other than the level of concern I pray others would to have for a child of mine were one to get up close and personal with garbage of questionable etiology) actually asked me WHAT I WAS PUTTING ON HIS HANDS. "Is it soap?" he finally asks, since the apoplectic mother pumping frantically in his direction was unable to respond verbally. "Well, you sure don't eat it, son." With a bit of time and perspective, I am left to marvel at this youngster's suspicion of an adult-approved activity (vice his utter nonchalance at the source of my consternation, the dumpster's contents).
With my heart barely reverted to a normal rhythm and pace, I gather my numerous charges to load the van. One of the recent Germ-avoidant Rules offenders was not with the group. I turn back to the field just in time to view this wonder of acts:
REMOVES BASEBALL CAP FROM HEAD, DIPS IT PAIL-STYLE INTO A "FOUNTAIN" OF STANDING (AND FILTHY) WATER, AND INVERTS IT AS HE REPLACES THE CAP ON HIS HEAD.
I have not words, just wordless shrieking. The coach, apparently thinking the lad was parched, digs into his SUV and hands said child a Juice Box. I'm mouth-agape, trying to understand the use of a primary reinforcer for this behavior. Clearly, my trusty Purell (TM) is not applicable to a dripping wet pate.
Remember, O Gentle Readers, A. we in San Diego are "enjoying" unseasonably chilly weather and B. said child's most recent physical activity involved the dumpster.
Thus ends my Germaphobe Interlude.
Then McD's lunch. Then our sitter appeared in the doorway -- Yay!
AMENDED HOUSEHOLD RULE:
By order of Mom, ANYONE caught removing a DVD from a DVD player and setting it down on any surface other than the interior of its properly designated DVD case will be punished severely. By more than nagging, lecturing, or shrieking.
The above replaces former household rule of same matter, just puts a bit more teeth into it while leaving open the possibility of liberal punitive measures.
With the extra set of child-watching eyes available, I set my sights to HOUSEHOLD IMPROVEMENT SERIES: The Front Yard. We are hosting a neighborhood pot-luck/BBQ this evening with grilling to occur across the street and kids' kickball game up in the cul-de-sac.
Among my amazing accomplishments of just this very day:
1. Cleared area behind the patio wall of everything. Photographic evidence provided for your "ooo, aaahh, oohhh". Swept. (Pick yourselves up off the floor! It's not like I NEVER use a broom.)
2. Relocated our vehicles to the side street.
Placed parking prohibitions (aka: picnic benches) to allow for free flow of persons between Patty Jenny Across-the-Street's grill zone and the Crab Family's eating area.
3. Moved lawn furniture to be more hospitable.
4. Cleaned (yes, actually scrubbed) BBQ grill (from whenever Ben last grilled) and drug it across to Patty Jenny ATS' with charcoal. Cleaned out (sans that annoying scrubbing step) the fire pit and drug to middle of yard.
5. Hung patriotic metal stars, which Jack was quick to read the warning "can cause cancer or birth defects". Hung 2 garden flags in the pristine Garden by Patty Kiki. Standard suburbia decor applied, rendering me officially Hostess with the Mostest. ha!
6. Placed recycling and trash receptacles in tasteful locations.
7. Hollered at my two middle children for their abysmal ability to stow garbage in cans and hit the recycling bins with recycling refuse. It was B.A.D. in the side/back yard. Told Jack it was against city ordinances to not stow appropriately. He, of course, has added that infraction to his certainty of his own imminent arrest and incarceration.
8. Made a fetching vegetable "tray". Located red and blue bowls for the chips. Protected the 19 blue cookies from many would-be poachers.
Time to party...here's hoping that my children do nothing during festivities that qualifies as "blog-worthy".
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Day 28 or 4-weeks-down or May 24th
Early "Reveille" (pre-dawn) to get the J-crabs up and dressed in order that the Supremely-Motivated Patty Kiki could take them to the Memorial Weekend Flag-Posting Scout event at Fort Rosecrans Ceremony on Point Loma. Here's some photos of them beforehand:
Not sure why it is that Jamie's shoulders look like I've weighed them down! POSTURE, people!
Shockingly, our sitter arrived a full hour early (9 a.m.) this morning; not so shockingly, she wants to also leave a full hour earlier than scheduled.
Frustrated Errand-Girl, An Under-sung Superheroine.
1. 24 minutes, 21 seconds of cell phone interaction surely across at least 1 ocean with Motorola's customer service to arrange a warrantied replacement of a cell phone accessory (car charger) that expired after less than 4-weeks of mild use. (That was after 8 minutes with Verizon's customer service to get the information necessary to contact Motorola). The fact that I didn't ask to be bumped up to a supervisor is due to my supreme -- and highly unusual -- reservoir of patience.
2. 50 minutes in the Naval Hospital main pharmacy AND I forgot my book. After all that, the inventory did not support the Rx so I get to return for a do-over (short 12 quantity of 1-mg and 194 (one-hundred and ninety-four!!) quantity of 2-mg.
3. Target Boutique for a replacement of the broken TV/DVD remote control. *** Upon returning home, it seems that I am unqualified to program the $6.99 cheapskate version I selected and, this errand, too, shall prove a do-over unless "the Darrin" can intercede.
4. Vons to procure our family's contribution to tomorrow's Memorial Day celebration in the cul-de-sac. Thinking "I can have a nicer-looking vegie tray than that [the 3.5 lb. one that was on special for $9.99], I spent over $15 on a la carte items. Splurged on "patriotic frosted sugar cookies", too. (Think blue-frosted Lofthouse(TM) with red/white/blue stars...YUMMY! I know I'll have blue teeth and lips while chatting with my neighbors...it's a look.)
Sensing a trend of Throwing Inordinate Effort at Activities Likely to Require Additional Effort at Some Future Date, I went home. Funny, that's pretty much a description of running the Sand Castle and parenting the Crablets. Never a "to-do-list" that gets permanently crossed off.
Not sure why it is that Jamie's shoulders look like I've weighed them down! POSTURE, people!
Shockingly, our sitter arrived a full hour early (9 a.m.) this morning; not so shockingly, she wants to also leave a full hour earlier than scheduled.
Frustrated Errand-Girl, An Under-sung Superheroine.
1. 24 minutes, 21 seconds of cell phone interaction surely across at least 1 ocean with Motorola's customer service to arrange a warrantied replacement of a cell phone accessory (car charger) that expired after less than 4-weeks of mild use. (That was after 8 minutes with Verizon's customer service to get the information necessary to contact Motorola). The fact that I didn't ask to be bumped up to a supervisor is due to my supreme -- and highly unusual -- reservoir of patience.
2. 50 minutes in the Naval Hospital main pharmacy AND I forgot my book. After all that, the inventory did not support the Rx so I get to return for a do-over (short 12 quantity of 1-mg and 194 (one-hundred and ninety-four!!) quantity of 2-mg.
3. Target Boutique for a replacement of the broken TV/DVD remote control. *** Upon returning home, it seems that I am unqualified to program the $6.99 cheapskate version I selected and, this errand, too, shall prove a do-over unless "the Darrin" can intercede.
4. Vons to procure our family's contribution to tomorrow's Memorial Day celebration in the cul-de-sac. Thinking "I can have a nicer-looking vegie tray than that [the 3.5 lb. one that was on special for $9.99], I spent over $15 on a la carte items. Splurged on "patriotic frosted sugar cookies", too. (Think blue-frosted Lofthouse(TM) with red/white/blue stars...YUMMY! I know I'll have blue teeth and lips while chatting with my neighbors...it's a look.)
Sensing a trend of Throwing Inordinate Effort at Activities Likely to Require Additional Effort at Some Future Date, I went home. Funny, that's pretty much a description of running the Sand Castle and parenting the Crablets. Never a "to-do-list" that gets permanently crossed off.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Day 27
Tim did not have school today. Ahhh, how I love a 4-day holiday weekend. Really takes the bounce (or the vigorous blogging buzz) right out of a girl.
Charlie had Physical Therapy followed by in-home "school" services followed by in-home "regional center" services. The middle appointment was chock full o' tantrumming, hollering, and another rendition of "Get Out of My House!" Charming child.
It was cold (high of 56-degrees), rainy, and windy. Riverside County even had funnel clouds sighted yesterday, which is a real rarity.
Parenting Highlight -- perhaps more aptly put: Moment of Stunned Disbelief: Jamie and Jack scurrying around for nearly an hour with an energy-level typically reserved for Forbidden Activities or Really Fun/Preferred Activities (sometimes the same), asking to be assigned chores and then, for the most part, fulfilling my every request. (The words "Backyard Baseball", a computer game, were only uttered in hushed and reverent tones a couple of times). Very strange and somewhat unsettling. Makes you wonder if a hostile coup attempt is right around the corner. Think I'm safe only because I'm still the only option with a driver's license AND access to money.
Going to settle in for a TV baseball game and call it a day.
Charlie had Physical Therapy followed by in-home "school" services followed by in-home "regional center" services. The middle appointment was chock full o' tantrumming, hollering, and another rendition of "Get Out of My House!" Charming child.
It was cold (high of 56-degrees), rainy, and windy. Riverside County even had funnel clouds sighted yesterday, which is a real rarity.
Parenting Highlight -- perhaps more aptly put: Moment of Stunned Disbelief: Jamie and Jack scurrying around for nearly an hour with an energy-level typically reserved for Forbidden Activities or Really Fun/Preferred Activities (sometimes the same), asking to be assigned chores and then, for the most part, fulfilling my every request. (The words "Backyard Baseball", a computer game, were only uttered in hushed and reverent tones a couple of times). Very strange and somewhat unsettling. Makes you wonder if a hostile coup attempt is right around the corner. Think I'm safe only because I'm still the only option with a driver's license AND access to money.
Going to settle in for a TV baseball game and call it a day.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Day 26 (alias, May 22nd)
Last night's game highlights...
Jack, defensive lowlight = Jamie, offensive highlight. Jamie cracked a hit over the head of the center fielder (playing mid-depth), which would be Jack. Way to go, Jamie!
Jamie pitched an entire inning and didn't have the 5-run "mercy" rule apply! It's a miracle. 2 strike-outs and at least 2 walks. Not so speedy at covering home plate with runners stealing on passed balls/wild-ish pitches. He had a smile on his face the whole time, which (in spite of the agony of the Mom in the bleachers) is what counts.
Jack, defensive highlight = Jamie, base-running lowlight. Jack tagged Jamie trying to get to third in a beautiful play.
Jack's hitting bonanza, including one hit off that lanky #6. Jack had a solid hitting performance, responsible for at least 2 (maybe 3) RBI.
Nonetheless: Cubs win, Cubs win! (Jamie's team).
Jack's IEP- Mostly a thing of beauty...
Attending was a reduced-size IEP team, including:
Surprisingly Less Defensive Case Manager
Surprisingly Cheerful Site-Based Diagnostic Resource Teacher
Pleasant, Cookie-eating Vice Principal
The Beloved Seminar English Teacher (40-minutes)
Dependably Decent Program Diagnostic Resource Teacher
On-Task Occupational Therapist
Delightful Speech Therapist
Retired Navy Officer, Now Special Ed Ombudsperson
Amazingly Tractable Mom
English teacher concurred with PhD's reading/writing assessment. He spoke in eloquent, lofty terms of Jack's thinking and efforts. Major breakthrough was his verbalization that Jack saying "I don't like this author/book/genre." had been previously assumed to mean that Jack was unmotivated or bored or uninterested or critical or otherwise obstinate. He now thinks that Jack was trying to convey "This is difficult for me. It's not a just-right book." Insomuch as the PhD found Jack's independent (silent) reading to be grade 3.5 even while he was being expected to read 6th grade (and in many cases, much more advanced materials), it was a bit of an epiphany for those who work with him.
Math teacher came through with recommendation that math be considered an area of need in terms of metacognitive skills (fancy word for having an internal ability to plan, sequence, and attack a problem -- it's the self-talk we all use to get through any multi-step process). There is finally consensus needs to be specifically taught to Jack). Again, this is a huge (and entirely unforeseen by me) buy-in for the IEP team. Jack is very upset to hear that she is recommending Adv'd Pre-Algebra for next year (instead of the Adv'd Algebra that some of his classmates will be taking). However, I am trying to impart that it is important to have a solid foundation and that it's not a sprint. (Not to mention were he to take Adv'd Algebra in 7th, I'd be compelled to drive him to a H.S. daily for Geometry as an 8th grade middle-school student!)
But then...cue the Darth Vader theme music:
- The Dark Side of General Education - REVEALED!
Seminar social studies teacher gave written input that Jack should be culled from the Seminar social studies program for 7th grade. WHOA! Otherwise charming mom thrusts upward the flag of the Noble Nation of B.S. But history is Jack's raison d'etre. His grades have been perfectly acceptable. Each/every time this teacher was consulted, Jack was fine -- just fine. Right up until the Alexander the Great CD Project where Jack did the work -- all on his own -- and got a 52/120. Right up until Jack's mom raised a bit of uproar about whether the IEP was being implemented.
To the IEP team's credit, they sent a messenger to summon this teacher to the room. He entered a small Tigger, an oh-boy-I-need-to-explain-myself-now Tigger. To my HUGE credit, I kept my lips sealed except to say kind platitudes. It turns out this recommendation to effectively demote Jack was due to some combination of the following:
1. Teacher's desire (as the presumed 7th grade seminar SS teacher) to not have Jack in his class next year. Perhaps, more accurately, teacher's disinclination to have interactions w/ Jack's mother?
2. Teacher's concern about Jack's "SELF ESTEEM" since he's "the lowest writer in the Seminar class" and wouldn't it be better for Jack to take an easier class? (To which, the Ombudsperson asked, "What kind of impact would kicking Jack out of the Seminar SS program have on his self-esteem?")
3. Teacher's determination that Jack shouldn't have a -- this is a quote -- "team of people doing his work for him". HUH?! This is from the gentleman who graded him harshly for drawing his own pictures upon and having an "unprofessional"-looking CD project.
4. Teacher's assertion that eventually Jack won't have the benefit of an IEP with accommodations built in...eventually, he has to face real life. (The ombudsperson went a bit APE on him at this point, remarking that accommodations under the Vocational Rehab Act continue into post-secondary education as well as many employment situations).
5. Teacher's belief that if we just made it easier for Jack, then he could be independent and not need special education. At this point, I had to cover my told-you-so smirk as I'd reported to the team that this teacher had a very real sense that special education service providers were effectively "the enemy" and that the only reason kids should get spec ed is if they were "stupid". (The ombudsperson had a FIELD DAY with this issue, too.)
Some goals were agreed to; a lot of present levels were crafted. All this without the "assistance" of the Legal Dept's so-called "Facilitator".
CR-V clean-out with Jamie
Points for Effort= 100.
Negative Points for Condition of Said Vehicle = negative 50.
Quote: "Mom, THIS (extending an unidentifiable artifact excavated from a crevice) is why Dad's CR-V already smells like moldy french fries!"
Negative Points awarded to Jamie for being able to identify said fast foodstuff by scent = negative 50.
In short, the effort only broke-even.
NEW HOUSE (well, really FRONT YARD) RULE:
By decree of She Who Must Be Obeyed (or at least Avoided), any and all persons under the age of emancipation may be evicted from premises of the Sand Castle if they are witnessed by any adult (but particularly by Mrs. Crab) to be delivering an ass-whupping of a member of the Family Crab. This By-Law applies whether or not said altercation was instigated by a third party (including but not limited to the aggressor's elder brother), whether or not there is inclement weather, whether or not the aggressor was provoked by a crablet, whether or not there was a football or other sporting equipment implicated, and whether or not Mrs. Sand Crab is of sound mind or expanding girth. There are no procedural safeguards afforded the accused. Disciplinary action may be expedited to exclude defensive explanation or witness testimony.
(Motion passed unanimously by the sole voting adult present).
Darrin's installation: Now THAT'S Home Improvement.
2 Air-Conditioning Units have been installed in my bedroom and the middle boys' room. Solidly. Involving multiple trips between the cul-de-sac and Darrin's Blom St. residence. With locks on the windows. And the units even work. And they filter dust, allergens, etc. The next 90-degree+ day will be declared the "Day of Darrin".
Jack, defensive lowlight = Jamie, offensive highlight. Jamie cracked a hit over the head of the center fielder (playing mid-depth), which would be Jack. Way to go, Jamie!
Jamie pitched an entire inning and didn't have the 5-run "mercy" rule apply! It's a miracle. 2 strike-outs and at least 2 walks. Not so speedy at covering home plate with runners stealing on passed balls/wild-ish pitches. He had a smile on his face the whole time, which (in spite of the agony of the Mom in the bleachers) is what counts.
Jack, defensive highlight = Jamie, base-running lowlight. Jack tagged Jamie trying to get to third in a beautiful play.
Jack's hitting bonanza, including one hit off that lanky #6. Jack had a solid hitting performance, responsible for at least 2 (maybe 3) RBI.
Nonetheless: Cubs win, Cubs win! (Jamie's team).
Jack's IEP- Mostly a thing of beauty...
Attending was a reduced-size IEP team, including:
Surprisingly Less Defensive Case Manager
Surprisingly Cheerful Site-Based Diagnostic Resource Teacher
Pleasant, Cookie-eating Vice Principal
The Beloved Seminar English Teacher (40-minutes)
Dependably Decent Program Diagnostic Resource Teacher
On-Task Occupational Therapist
Delightful Speech Therapist
Retired Navy Officer, Now Special Ed Ombudsperson
Amazingly Tractable Mom
English teacher concurred with PhD's reading/writing assessment. He spoke in eloquent, lofty terms of Jack's thinking and efforts. Major breakthrough was his verbalization that Jack saying "I don't like this author/book/genre." had been previously assumed to mean that Jack was unmotivated or bored or uninterested or critical or otherwise obstinate. He now thinks that Jack was trying to convey "This is difficult for me. It's not a just-right book." Insomuch as the PhD found Jack's independent (silent) reading to be grade 3.5 even while he was being expected to read 6th grade (and in many cases, much more advanced materials), it was a bit of an epiphany for those who work with him.
Math teacher came through with recommendation that math be considered an area of need in terms of metacognitive skills (fancy word for having an internal ability to plan, sequence, and attack a problem -- it's the self-talk we all use to get through any multi-step process). There is finally consensus needs to be specifically taught to Jack). Again, this is a huge (and entirely unforeseen by me) buy-in for the IEP team. Jack is very upset to hear that she is recommending Adv'd Pre-Algebra for next year (instead of the Adv'd Algebra that some of his classmates will be taking). However, I am trying to impart that it is important to have a solid foundation and that it's not a sprint. (Not to mention were he to take Adv'd Algebra in 7th, I'd be compelled to drive him to a H.S. daily for Geometry as an 8th grade middle-school student!)
But then...cue the Darth Vader theme music:
- The Dark Side of General Education - REVEALED!
Seminar social studies teacher gave written input that Jack should be culled from the Seminar social studies program for 7th grade. WHOA! Otherwise charming mom thrusts upward the flag of the Noble Nation of B.S. But history is Jack's raison d'etre. His grades have been perfectly acceptable. Each/every time this teacher was consulted, Jack was fine -- just fine. Right up until the Alexander the Great CD Project where Jack did the work -- all on his own -- and got a 52/120. Right up until Jack's mom raised a bit of uproar about whether the IEP was being implemented.
To the IEP team's credit, they sent a messenger to summon this teacher to the room. He entered a small Tigger, an oh-boy-I-need-to-explain-myself-now Tigger. To my HUGE credit, I kept my lips sealed except to say kind platitudes. It turns out this recommendation to effectively demote Jack was due to some combination of the following:
1. Teacher's desire (as the presumed 7th grade seminar SS teacher) to not have Jack in his class next year. Perhaps, more accurately, teacher's disinclination to have interactions w/ Jack's mother?
2. Teacher's concern about Jack's "SELF ESTEEM" since he's "the lowest writer in the Seminar class" and wouldn't it be better for Jack to take an easier class? (To which, the Ombudsperson asked, "What kind of impact would kicking Jack out of the Seminar SS program have on his self-esteem?")
3. Teacher's determination that Jack shouldn't have a -- this is a quote -- "team of people doing his work for him". HUH?! This is from the gentleman who graded him harshly for drawing his own pictures upon and having an "unprofessional"-looking CD project.
4. Teacher's assertion that eventually Jack won't have the benefit of an IEP with accommodations built in...eventually, he has to face real life. (The ombudsperson went a bit APE on him at this point, remarking that accommodations under the Vocational Rehab Act continue into post-secondary education as well as many employment situations).
5. Teacher's belief that if we just made it easier for Jack, then he could be independent and not need special education. At this point, I had to cover my told-you-so smirk as I'd reported to the team that this teacher had a very real sense that special education service providers were effectively "the enemy" and that the only reason kids should get spec ed is if they were "stupid". (The ombudsperson had a FIELD DAY with this issue, too.)
Some goals were agreed to; a lot of present levels were crafted. All this without the "assistance" of the Legal Dept's so-called "Facilitator".
CR-V clean-out with Jamie
Points for Effort= 100.
Negative Points for Condition of Said Vehicle = negative 50.
Quote: "Mom, THIS (extending an unidentifiable artifact excavated from a crevice) is why Dad's CR-V already smells like moldy french fries!"
Negative Points awarded to Jamie for being able to identify said fast foodstuff by scent = negative 50.
In short, the effort only broke-even.
NEW HOUSE (well, really FRONT YARD) RULE:
By decree of She Who Must Be Obeyed (or at least Avoided), any and all persons under the age of emancipation may be evicted from premises of the Sand Castle if they are witnessed by any adult (but particularly by Mrs. Crab) to be delivering an ass-whupping of a member of the Family Crab. This By-Law applies whether or not said altercation was instigated by a third party (including but not limited to the aggressor's elder brother), whether or not there is inclement weather, whether or not the aggressor was provoked by a crablet, whether or not there was a football or other sporting equipment implicated, and whether or not Mrs. Sand Crab is of sound mind or expanding girth. There are no procedural safeguards afforded the accused. Disciplinary action may be expedited to exclude defensive explanation or witness testimony.
(Motion passed unanimously by the sole voting adult present).
Darrin's installation: Now THAT'S Home Improvement.
2 Air-Conditioning Units have been installed in my bedroom and the middle boys' room. Solidly. Involving multiple trips between the cul-de-sac and Darrin's Blom St. residence. With locks on the windows. And the units even work. And they filter dust, allergens, etc. The next 90-degree+ day will be declared the "Day of Darrin".
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Day 25: Doctors and Ding-dongs (mostly the latter)
Ding-Dong #1:
Let me start by saying that, if Charlie could speak more intelligibly and participate more attentively in social interactions, I'm not sure that folks would find him a more appealing fellow.
Today's proof of Charlie's innate potential to be a card-carrying member of the Rude Squad was that he, apparently plain as day, instructed a District-dispatched Behavior Support Assistant both today and yesterday, "Get OUT of MY house!" All instances occurred when he was frustrated and/or annoyed with her.
Of course, I tried to blame it on Dr. Seuss' fish-in-a-pot (who tried in vain to get rid of that pesky Cat in the Hat, a la "He should not be here/He should not be about/He should not be here/When your mother is not"). The District BSA looked unconvinced. I tried to cover my pleasure at his judgment...with my hand over an involuntary beaming grin.
Doctor Visit @ 1115:
Took Charlie, after OT, to the hospital to play Let's Meet the New Geneticist. He willingly entered the sub-specialty peds clinic, took a good, hard look at his surroundings and nonchalantly (although somewhat less meanderingly than his normal gait/pace) did an about-face to exit the automatic door. Not so fast, Charlie.
A bit of grumbling and struggling during check-in. Quick diversionary trip to the potty. Called for vitals. Okay with getting weighed, but absolutely-positively opposed in every way, shape and form to the notion of getting his height. Back out to make an appointment for the Peds Neurologist. Then, DRAMA!
A nurse called his name, we began to walk down a very benign hall which would naturally cause Charlie to FREAK-OUT! Dropped my purse and a diaper/book tote and retraced my steps. Charlie, never one to run away from me, chose today and my So Cute Floral 9-west 3" Slides to bolt. Full-on struggle (with Ma Crab winning, natch) and shrieking all the way back to the exam room. "NO BLOOD DRAW! NO SHOTS! OWIE! NO BLOOD DRAW! NO DOCTOR!" And they say the kid is "minimally verbal".
Fortunately, Dr. W had both a stethoscope for loan AND the most-cool, retractable tape measure. Soon enough we were able to hold intelligent discourse. She discounted the likelihood that our 4-for-4 developmental disorders batting average is an X-linked issue. Some interesting tidbits:
* Charlie pronounced free of any physical clues that would suggest some other cause (than autism).
* A study of 3 kids, all with arachnoid cysts affecting their respective temporal lobes, all of whom evidenced significant ADHD issues later in life.
* Studies of late that suggest ADHD, bipolar disorder, depression, and autism are some combination of damaged genes. Her gut feeling was that both ma and pa are contributing a problem and that the middle two got 1 problem from 1 of us and that the other 2 hit the jackpot of at least 1 bummer from each.
* A study of kids with autism and epilepsy who all had a creatine deficiency. The reason to test would be that there's a corrective action.
* Going to do more research, compile a list of tests, and probably start with our easiest stick, Tim.
* Reiterated willingness to come see LLGA on the Maternity ward.
On our way out, stopped to make appointment with Developmental Pediatrician. Charlie announced "Treasure Chest" to the receptionist, having spied a nondescript, wood chest way up on top of a cabinet (near the ceiling). Sure enough, the 4-y-o Imperious Ruler of All He Surveys was correct: there were treats and toys for good little boys. The receptionist mistook him for one of those good little boys. With all right again on his planet, he toddled off to the CR-V most happily.
Ding-Dong #2: Whoever owned the Burger King near Balboa, around 6th and B. It is CLOSED. No notice to a regular drive-thru customer. Tragic!
Ding-Dong #3: The special ed administrator who is cursed by and curses me sent me a letter about Charlie's on-going cluster of an assessment via e-mail. Problem: She saved it as a video. Sadly for her, I had to notify her that the "video sent was not able to be viewed by my computer". NICE. Sadly for me, she resent the nastygram in a more readable format. Frankly, an extended middle digit JPG would've been more clear and more accurate.
Doctor Visit @1430: Jack seen by our beloved Dr. Lesion (not his real name, but pretty darn close) for Boy Scout Camp Physical. Jack, of course, litanizes 3 (three!) skin anomalies, pronouncing one in particular an "excrescence". For those of you that do not memorize the OED word of the day, that is a noun defined as
"something that protrudes, esp. an outgrowth from a part of the body [Latin excrescrere to grow out]. He's solidly a 25th %ile height/weight kid.
Ding-Dong #4: During his doctor's visit, Jack tried to out-trivia our long-time pediatrician who had just noted that Herbert Hoover was the only president who was a civil engineer AND was the last (maybe only) president to be fluent in Chinese. Jack raised the issue of Richard Nixon, who may not have spoken Chinese, but met with Mao Tse-DONG .
Ding-Dong #5: Forgot to bring Jack's immunization record so couldn't get him poked 4times on the same trip with $4/gal. gas.
Ding-Dong #6: Drove all the way home (a 2nd time from the hospital) before remembering to check with the pharmacy about Tim's med Rx.
Ding-Dong #7: Charlie, in an effort to cause me physical and psychological distress, climbed up the pantry shelves in order to obtain the Pam (TM) spray and then began coating the kitchen linoleum. Yes, Virginia, there was a respite worker present. (Yesterday's version involved Spray n' Wash (TM) spray). He sprays it and then yells, "Swipper-ee!"
Ding-Dong #8: I learned that tomorrow's IEP will be short one person, the Facilitator (and a credentialed resource teacher) from the Legal Office. Shall we play "Find the Grammatical Error" in the following sentence?
I have been directed by my supervisor to participate in a meeting that conflict's with the time of Jack's meeting.
Sure that more Ding-Dongs await me, I'm off to watch Jack vs. Jamie, the Little League version.
Let me start by saying that, if Charlie could speak more intelligibly and participate more attentively in social interactions, I'm not sure that folks would find him a more appealing fellow.
Today's proof of Charlie's innate potential to be a card-carrying member of the Rude Squad was that he, apparently plain as day, instructed a District-dispatched Behavior Support Assistant both today and yesterday, "Get OUT of MY house!" All instances occurred when he was frustrated and/or annoyed with her.
Of course, I tried to blame it on Dr. Seuss' fish-in-a-pot (who tried in vain to get rid of that pesky Cat in the Hat, a la "He should not be here/He should not be about/He should not be here/When your mother is not"). The District BSA looked unconvinced. I tried to cover my pleasure at his judgment...with my hand over an involuntary beaming grin.
Doctor Visit @ 1115:
Took Charlie, after OT, to the hospital to play Let's Meet the New Geneticist. He willingly entered the sub-specialty peds clinic, took a good, hard look at his surroundings and nonchalantly (although somewhat less meanderingly than his normal gait/pace) did an about-face to exit the automatic door. Not so fast, Charlie.
A bit of grumbling and struggling during check-in. Quick diversionary trip to the potty. Called for vitals. Okay with getting weighed, but absolutely-positively opposed in every way, shape and form to the notion of getting his height. Back out to make an appointment for the Peds Neurologist. Then, DRAMA!
A nurse called his name, we began to walk down a very benign hall which would naturally cause Charlie to FREAK-OUT! Dropped my purse and a diaper/book tote and retraced my steps. Charlie, never one to run away from me, chose today and my So Cute Floral 9-west 3" Slides to bolt. Full-on struggle (with Ma Crab winning, natch) and shrieking all the way back to the exam room. "NO BLOOD DRAW! NO SHOTS! OWIE! NO BLOOD DRAW! NO DOCTOR!" And they say the kid is "minimally verbal".
Fortunately, Dr. W had both a stethoscope for loan AND the most-cool, retractable tape measure. Soon enough we were able to hold intelligent discourse. She discounted the likelihood that our 4-for-4 developmental disorders batting average is an X-linked issue. Some interesting tidbits:
* Charlie pronounced free of any physical clues that would suggest some other cause (than autism).
* A study of 3 kids, all with arachnoid cysts affecting their respective temporal lobes, all of whom evidenced significant ADHD issues later in life.
* Studies of late that suggest ADHD, bipolar disorder, depression, and autism are some combination of damaged genes. Her gut feeling was that both ma and pa are contributing a problem and that the middle two got 1 problem from 1 of us and that the other 2 hit the jackpot of at least 1 bummer from each.
* A study of kids with autism and epilepsy who all had a creatine deficiency. The reason to test would be that there's a corrective action.
* Going to do more research, compile a list of tests, and probably start with our easiest stick, Tim.
* Reiterated willingness to come see LLGA on the Maternity ward.
On our way out, stopped to make appointment with Developmental Pediatrician. Charlie announced "Treasure Chest" to the receptionist, having spied a nondescript, wood chest way up on top of a cabinet (near the ceiling). Sure enough, the 4-y-o Imperious Ruler of All He Surveys was correct: there were treats and toys for good little boys. The receptionist mistook him for one of those good little boys. With all right again on his planet, he toddled off to the CR-V most happily.
Ding-Dong #2: Whoever owned the Burger King near Balboa, around 6th and B. It is CLOSED. No notice to a regular drive-thru customer. Tragic!
Ding-Dong #3: The special ed administrator who is cursed by and curses me sent me a letter about Charlie's on-going cluster of an assessment via e-mail. Problem: She saved it as a video. Sadly for her, I had to notify her that the "video sent was not able to be viewed by my computer". NICE. Sadly for me, she resent the nastygram in a more readable format. Frankly, an extended middle digit JPG would've been more clear and more accurate.
Doctor Visit @1430: Jack seen by our beloved Dr. Lesion (not his real name, but pretty darn close) for Boy Scout Camp Physical. Jack, of course, litanizes 3 (three!) skin anomalies, pronouncing one in particular an "excrescence". For those of you that do not memorize the OED word of the day, that is a noun defined as
"something that protrudes, esp. an outgrowth from a part of the body [Latin excrescrere to grow out]. He's solidly a 25th %ile height/weight kid.
Ding-Dong #4: During his doctor's visit, Jack tried to out-trivia our long-time pediatrician who had just noted that Herbert Hoover was the only president who was a civil engineer AND was the last (maybe only) president to be fluent in Chinese. Jack raised the issue of Richard Nixon, who may not have spoken Chinese, but met with Mao Tse-DONG .
Ding-Dong #5: Forgot to bring Jack's immunization record so couldn't get him poked 4times on the same trip with $4/gal. gas.
Ding-Dong #6: Drove all the way home (a 2nd time from the hospital) before remembering to check with the pharmacy about Tim's med Rx.
Ding-Dong #7: Charlie, in an effort to cause me physical and psychological distress, climbed up the pantry shelves in order to obtain the Pam (TM) spray and then began coating the kitchen linoleum. Yes, Virginia, there was a respite worker present. (Yesterday's version involved Spray n' Wash (TM) spray). He sprays it and then yells, "Swipper-ee!"
Ding-Dong #8: I learned that tomorrow's IEP will be short one person, the Facilitator (and a credentialed resource teacher) from the Legal Office. Shall we play "Find the Grammatical Error" in the following sentence?
I have been directed by my supervisor to participate in a meeting that conflict's with the time of Jack's meeting.
Sure that more Ding-Dongs await me, I'm off to watch Jack vs. Jamie, the Little League version.
The Sweet Irony of 6th-grade Science Class
Before I begin, let me share this morning's penultimate Honoring Thy Mother moment:
Setting: Livingroom.
Present: Jack, grab-fannying with & otherwise attempting to annoy Jamie; Jamie, supposed to be gathering his yogurt and the sprinkle medicine that goes into it (but sullen because he was SO BUSTED for GameBoy play); Tim, the wandering resident Socrates (sans the philosophical part...that would leave just the questioning part); and me.
Me: "Jamie, this is the 3rd personal invitation to bring your Prilosec and the Go-gurt (TM) to me."
Jamie: grumbling and griping and stomping and haranguing and slouching
Me, ripping the top off the Go-gurt(TM): "Here, Jamie... go throw this away and put the bottle back where it goes."
Jamie: "It's not like you can't walk."
[more grumbling, griping, stomping, haranguing and slouching with an added twist: counting out loud a la "1...2...3...4...5...etc.]
Jamie, returning to take possession of now-medicated Go-gurt (TM): "15 steps. It's 15 steps between here and the garbage can. You can do it, Mom."
In a glistening moment for later nomination to the "San Diego's 50 Best Moms: 2009", I remain silent and stoic. Of course we all know I was thinking, "You're lucky you have a place to live!" while channeling my inner "Loving Sky of Peace in the Face of Complete Disrespect and Borderline Anarchy".
Letterhead bearing: San Diego City Schools, Intervention Services
HUH? "Intervention services?"
Date: June 2nd
Dear Parents or Guardian,
The purpose of this program is to give students information about puberty; the reproductive system; avoid of exploitation and abuse; sexual harassment; refusal skills and sexually transmitted diseases including HIV/AIDS. These lessons stress abstinence from sexual activity.
But could you give students and the Intervention Services folks information about proper use of colons and semi-colons, too?
The lessons cover the following topics:
1. Introduction to Family Life
Unless it covers autism, deployment, too many kids in too little square-footage, how to install air-conditioners, strategies to outwit the furniture manufacturers of Sweden, and lists the dire consequences of sassing one's mother, I cannot imagine that it applies.
2. Puberty
Will the Science teacher kindly address the issue of having a bone age of a 7-year-old with a chronological age of 11.9 and the vocabulary of a post-12-grader?
3. Reproductive Anatomy
* Video: What Kids Want to Know About Sex And Growing Up
Shouldn't the video be "What Educators Want Kids to Know About..."
4. Sexually Transmitted Disease
Anyone who knows Jack knows that this will unleash a giant can of anxiety...if the hand-washing isn't bad enough already.
5. HIV/AIDS
* Video: Kids Next Door
I'm sorry, isn't this redundant to item #4? And, gee, new neighbors moved in. Picture the fun of explaining that the 1-y-o and 5-y-o kids are probably NOT HIV+ .
6. Sexual Harassment
Quick trip down memory lane: Spring, 2007. Jack's elementary school has an assembly on this topic. 5th-grader Jack emerges, able to accuse nearly EVERY adult he knows of some version of sexual harassment AND willing to convene on-the-fly in-service-trainings for the neighborhood's 5-to-10 year-old population. Please, let's hit rewind to live this dream again.
7. Personal Safety
* Video: Yes, You Can Say No
Um, we have NO problem saying "No" in this house. Unless the video is then going to cover deflecting punches and karate kicks and/or give a thorough overview of how to run-run-run faster when fleeing an irate person, not seeing where Jack will be safer.
8. Refusal Skills
* Video: You Can Refuse
Goodie-gumdrops! We can spend more time on producing, at least in the short run, more backtalk!
9. Promoting Health
Now this sounds good...how about doing chores, saying yes to homework, taking medicine compliantly for starters?
Please sign and return the form below stating whether or not you wish your child to take part in these lessons. If the form is not returned, your child will not be able to participate in this informative program.
Signed,
The Principal
I'm d-y-i-n-g to reply:
Dear Principal,
Maybe you haven't noticed, but Jack's ETA for puberty is approximately 2015. His personal safety is most at-risk if he even thinks about sexual activity until the date of his graduation from High School.
If you would like to borrow him from the Media Center (where he'll be sitting with the other kids of loser-parents-who-didn't-return-the-opportunity-of-a-lifetime-sex-ed-form) for guest lectures on "Refusal Skills" and "Sexual Harassment", feel free.
Sincerely,
Jack's Mom
P.S. It was pure joy to speak with Jack's Science Teacher last night before the Concert. I understand that it is a great unit and that she believes Jack is ready to hear the information. To clarify, I reached this decision not because Jack is not ready to hear the information; I decline his participation on behalf of the dozens upon dozens of kids and adults who are not ready to hear Jack promulgate the information.
In the end, I'm sure I'll send the dratted form back, signed, and suffer ad infinitum.
Setting: Livingroom.
Present: Jack, grab-fannying with & otherwise attempting to annoy Jamie; Jamie, supposed to be gathering his yogurt and the sprinkle medicine that goes into it (but sullen because he was SO BUSTED for GameBoy play); Tim, the wandering resident Socrates (sans the philosophical part...that would leave just the questioning part); and me.
Me: "Jamie, this is the 3rd personal invitation to bring your Prilosec and the Go-gurt (TM) to me."
Jamie: grumbling and griping and stomping and haranguing and slouching
Me, ripping the top off the Go-gurt(TM): "Here, Jamie... go throw this away and put the bottle back where it goes."
Jamie: "It's not like you can't walk."
[more grumbling, griping, stomping, haranguing and slouching with an added twist: counting out loud a la "1...2...3...4...5...etc.]
Jamie, returning to take possession of now-medicated Go-gurt (TM): "15 steps. It's 15 steps between here and the garbage can. You can do it, Mom."
In a glistening moment for later nomination to the "San Diego's 50 Best Moms: 2009", I remain silent and stoic. Of course we all know I was thinking, "You're lucky you have a place to live!" while channeling my inner "Loving Sky of Peace in the Face of Complete Disrespect and Borderline Anarchy".
Letterhead bearing: San Diego City Schools, Intervention Services
HUH? "Intervention services?"
Date: June 2nd
Dear Parents or Guardian,
The purpose of this program is to give students information about puberty; the reproductive system; avoid of exploitation and abuse; sexual harassment; refusal skills and sexually transmitted diseases including HIV/AIDS. These lessons stress abstinence from sexual activity.
But could you give students and the Intervention Services folks information about proper use of colons and semi-colons, too?
The lessons cover the following topics:
1. Introduction to Family Life
Unless it covers autism, deployment, too many kids in too little square-footage, how to install air-conditioners, strategies to outwit the furniture manufacturers of Sweden, and lists the dire consequences of sassing one's mother, I cannot imagine that it applies.
2. Puberty
Will the Science teacher kindly address the issue of having a bone age of a 7-year-old with a chronological age of 11.9 and the vocabulary of a post-12-grader?
3. Reproductive Anatomy
* Video: What Kids Want to Know About Sex And Growing Up
Shouldn't the video be "What Educators Want Kids to Know About..."
4. Sexually Transmitted Disease
Anyone who knows Jack knows that this will unleash a giant can of anxiety...if the hand-washing isn't bad enough already.
5. HIV/AIDS
* Video: Kids Next Door
I'm sorry, isn't this redundant to item #4? And, gee, new neighbors moved in. Picture the fun of explaining that the 1-y-o and 5-y-o kids are probably NOT HIV+ .
6. Sexual Harassment
Quick trip down memory lane: Spring, 2007. Jack's elementary school has an assembly on this topic. 5th-grader Jack emerges, able to accuse nearly EVERY adult he knows of some version of sexual harassment AND willing to convene on-the-fly in-service-trainings for the neighborhood's 5-to-10 year-old population. Please, let's hit rewind to live this dream again.
7. Personal Safety
* Video: Yes, You Can Say No
Um, we have NO problem saying "No" in this house. Unless the video is then going to cover deflecting punches and karate kicks and/or give a thorough overview of how to run-run-run faster when fleeing an irate person, not seeing where Jack will be safer.
8. Refusal Skills
* Video: You Can Refuse
Goodie-gumdrops! We can spend more time on producing, at least in the short run, more backtalk!
9. Promoting Health
Now this sounds good...how about doing chores, saying yes to homework, taking medicine compliantly for starters?
Please sign and return the form below stating whether or not you wish your child to take part in these lessons. If the form is not returned, your child will not be able to participate in this informative program.
Signed,
The Principal
I'm d-y-i-n-g to reply:
Dear Principal,
Maybe you haven't noticed, but Jack's ETA for puberty is approximately 2015. His personal safety is most at-risk if he even thinks about sexual activity until the date of his graduation from High School.
If you would like to borrow him from the Media Center (where he'll be sitting with the other kids of loser-parents-who-didn't-return-the-opportunity-of-a-lifetime-sex-ed-form) for guest lectures on "Refusal Skills" and "Sexual Harassment", feel free.
Sincerely,
Jack's Mom
P.S. It was pure joy to speak with Jack's Science Teacher last night before the Concert. I understand that it is a great unit and that she believes Jack is ready to hear the information. To clarify, I reached this decision not because Jack is not ready to hear the information; I decline his participation on behalf of the dozens upon dozens of kids and adults who are not ready to hear Jack promulgate the information.
In the end, I'm sure I'll send the dratted form back, signed, and suffer ad infinitum.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Day 24: Purposeful Home Improvements Resume! Alert the Media!!
It is merely 2:00 p.m. and already the Sand Castle is looking pretty swanky -- especially compared to this very morning.
This morning, in an effort to further spend down Major Crab's paltry accounts and seek assurances that I will not cook during the next heat wave, I hit Lowe's for A/C units. Called housing and learned that, no, contrary to popular rumors, there is no help in installing said units. Soooo, of course that means my next call is to Darrin (no blog name necessary). Well, Darrin asks the how-much-did-you-pay question and then directs me across the parking lot to Costco (which wasn't visited first because it wasn't open at 9:41 a.m.) where similar models with fancy allergy-filters retail at not-quite half the cost. Sooo, into Costco I stride, hefting 2 units into my cart and then going back to "toss" a 3rd in for Darrin, my Professional Installation Guy and Otherwise Handy Helper. *** For anyone that has read the Sweet Potato Queens' books, Darrin is the Guy who can Fix Things. As a special bonus option, he can transit the route between Admiral Hartman and China Inn without needing to leave auto-pilot. *** What this means is that by 10:41 a.m., I was schlepping 2 A/C units back into Lowe's for Returns. Where O Where was Aunt Patty Cake when her lifting expertise was really needed?
Next it was across the mammoth parking lot to IKEA for Round 2 of Mattress Improvements. I walked with a purpose, avoiding every tempting end-cap with uber-cheap lures, selected mattresses (with included zip-around, washable covers! new since the last time I was there a whole 48 hours prior!) and slats. Loaded those puppies up and realized that Charlie's glasses were still unfixed, which had been my Primary Purpose ($450 later) for coming to the Costco shopping area in the first place!
Back into Costco for the Optical Dept., demonstrating amazing commitment to the mission at hand...avoiding the books, the baby clothes, the food, etc. New nosepads and tightened temples for FREE and without bringing the Boy who chews said nosepads and flings said frames.
Drive with solidarity of purpose home; that is, determined to install new mattresses before going to fetch Charlie from preschool. Removed "bunkees", installed slats, and loaded in the mattresses. Jamie and Jack will be happy to no longer live like the Princess and the Pea, feeling every slat in the bunkee and nearly falling through some particularly thin sections.
NEW HOUSEHOLD RULE IN FORCE: No shoving candy wrappers into bunk bed crevices...that's NASTY, GROSS, and INAPPROPRIATE.
Off to get Charlie, home to wash off the preponderence of sand that adheres to his every appendage, and then Mr. Mattress Tester proceeded to give an enthusiastic thumbs-up! (See photos, wherein he was pretty focused on measuring the bed, too).
Now to go get presentable to attend a School District meeting of the "Executive Management Workgroup". Got jealousy?
Postscript: 7:35 p.m. and home from Jack's "Beginning Band" Concert at Standley M.S. No audible miscues from the solitary French horn. He did a particularly fine job playing the mouthpiece kazoo during "Creepy Crawlies" and earned a 3-Muskateers candy bar.
No pic with horn because it was already put away. No pic of concert itself because, although I was front & center, Jack was back & rear due to the volume of his instrument.
Kudos (and a 3-Muskateers bar) to Ma Crab for turning her cell phone all the way off during the 15-minute concert, so as to miss the SIX (6) phone calls from her sitter's cell phone (left with sitter's friend, not the sitter). Sitter's friend reached me once and was told that said friend was reaching sitter's employer's cell phone. Mysteriously, this information did not daunt said friend.
This morning, in an effort to further spend down Major Crab's paltry accounts and seek assurances that I will not cook during the next heat wave, I hit Lowe's for A/C units. Called housing and learned that, no, contrary to popular rumors, there is no help in installing said units. Soooo, of course that means my next call is to Darrin (no blog name necessary). Well, Darrin asks the how-much-did-you-pay question and then directs me across the parking lot to Costco (which wasn't visited first because it wasn't open at 9:41 a.m.) where similar models with fancy allergy-filters retail at not-quite half the cost. Sooo, into Costco I stride, hefting 2 units into my cart and then going back to "toss" a 3rd in for Darrin, my Professional Installation Guy and Otherwise Handy Helper. *** For anyone that has read the Sweet Potato Queens' books, Darrin is the Guy who can Fix Things. As a special bonus option, he can transit the route between Admiral Hartman and China Inn without needing to leave auto-pilot. *** What this means is that by 10:41 a.m., I was schlepping 2 A/C units back into Lowe's for Returns. Where O Where was Aunt Patty Cake when her lifting expertise was really needed?
Next it was across the mammoth parking lot to IKEA for Round 2 of Mattress Improvements. I walked with a purpose, avoiding every tempting end-cap with uber-cheap lures, selected mattresses (with included zip-around, washable covers! new since the last time I was there a whole 48 hours prior!) and slats. Loaded those puppies up and realized that Charlie's glasses were still unfixed, which had been my Primary Purpose ($450 later) for coming to the Costco shopping area in the first place!
Back into Costco for the Optical Dept., demonstrating amazing commitment to the mission at hand...avoiding the books, the baby clothes, the food, etc. New nosepads and tightened temples for FREE and without bringing the Boy who chews said nosepads and flings said frames.
Drive with solidarity of purpose home; that is, determined to install new mattresses before going to fetch Charlie from preschool. Removed "bunkees", installed slats, and loaded in the mattresses. Jamie and Jack will be happy to no longer live like the Princess and the Pea, feeling every slat in the bunkee and nearly falling through some particularly thin sections.
NEW HOUSEHOLD RULE IN FORCE: No shoving candy wrappers into bunk bed crevices...that's NASTY, GROSS, and INAPPROPRIATE.
Off to get Charlie, home to wash off the preponderence of sand that adheres to his every appendage, and then Mr. Mattress Tester proceeded to give an enthusiastic thumbs-up! (See photos, wherein he was pretty focused on measuring the bed, too).
Now to go get presentable to attend a School District meeting of the "Executive Management Workgroup". Got jealousy?
Postscript: 7:35 p.m. and home from Jack's "Beginning Band" Concert at Standley M.S. No audible miscues from the solitary French horn. He did a particularly fine job playing the mouthpiece kazoo during "Creepy Crawlies" and earned a 3-Muskateers candy bar.
No pic with horn because it was already put away. No pic of concert itself because, although I was front & center, Jack was back & rear due to the volume of his instrument.
Kudos (and a 3-Muskateers bar) to Ma Crab for turning her cell phone all the way off during the 15-minute concert, so as to miss the SIX (6) phone calls from her sitter's cell phone (left with sitter's friend, not the sitter). Sitter's friend reached me once and was told that said friend was reaching sitter's employer's cell phone. Mysteriously, this information did not daunt said friend.
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