Work for it

We were lounging around in our room last night, watching tv, when Mr W announced that he was "getting kinda hungry."

"I'm not making anything until you put out.  You gotta work for your dinner, baby!"

Of course, I was only half-kidding, and he knew it.

I was quick enough to dodge the pillow he threw at my head.

Better move on to the Six, before I get into trouble. 

Saturday Six - Episode 94

1. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital?

My Nana.  She's recovering from a broken hip...

2. How many jobs have you held in your life? How many of those were part of your chosen career field?

I've had four jobs, give or take the odd babysitting gig in high school.   The last one has been in my chosen career field, even though I've switched labs due to downsizing, being bought by other companies, etc.

3. Of those, how many did you leave voluntarily?  Two...one of the labs laid us all off, so that one is not technically fired, but not leaving voluntarily, either.

4. Take this quiz (if you haven't already!): What animal were you in a past life? (Thanks to RedSneakz!)

 You were a Parrot: You are a master of language, and you use your wit to mock and tease others.
But you are also wise, and you often think carefully before you speak.

LOL

5. What animal were you expecting you'd be?  

I hadn't thought about it.  

6. Time to pull this tactic again: Your turn to come up with a Reader's Choice Question. What question would you like to see asked in a future edition of "The Saturday Six?" (Don't answer it...just provide the question.)

Well, I guess I better think about this one.

And that means I'm gonna sleep on it ::yawn:

Good night!

 

 

 

They listen to every word I say

The Science Fair was tonight.

I didn't want to go.   I'm not a bad Mom,  I'm just a little tired of being at the school.  I was sporting a mild headache.  Bring on the Advil.

Besides, the terror had not slept, and even I know that the answer to this equation is not a neat one:

Tired toddler + lots of people  = _______

Even as I told Ben, "We're not going,"  I could feel myself start watching the clock as the time approached.

All because he'd given me the puppy dog eyes, the ones that said, "Come on, Mom, PLLEEEEEAAAAAAASE? "

Oh, alright. 

Mom's putty in their hands, and they know it.

I'm semi-glaring at him in the kitchen, as Ryan is pilfering through the pantry to get a snack, and saying, "Look, I'm only looking at yours, Nolan's, and Ryan's stuff, and we are leaving.  No socializing or goofing off.  When it's time to go, it's time to go, and I don't want to hear you bitch..."  I pause, and before I can go on, I hear a little voice from the pantry say:

"and moan." 

I bowed my head.  Thanks, Ryan.

Thanks for providing me yet another reason for watching my language.

Damn it.

Then this happens and I feel like an idiot

I spoke with Ryan's teacher yesterday morning.  She said she realized "..it looked funny to be writing 'pencil sharpener' on the sheet, but he seriously has been at it for a week no matter how much I've told him not to..." and that "he doesn't bother other kids, other than the pencil sharpening."  Apparently, he contemplates his own pencils, or picks at his own fingers, when he doesn't want to focus on his work.

I am happy for the small victory, that it's not his nose he's picking.  And that he is not using said fingers to poke at the other kids.

What can I say?  I listened to her, I said a few words, and that was that. 

Why?  Because he is the one who is out of line.  Sure, she could put the sharpener away, I know that I would, if it is such an issue.  But he has to be responsible, too, and resist the Draw of the Electrical Pencil Sharpener.  Even if it is a bit odd that this should be an issue to begin with.

Anyway.

Today Ryan is home with a funky, itchy rash. 

I left a message telling his teacher that he was not coming in because of it, and she called me. 

Partially to tell me that she didn't notice him scratching yesterday.  (I'd mentioned it during our conversation re the pencils.)  She was concerned, and totally appropriate in her attitude.

Partially to remind me that on the sheet the school sent home (a list of guidelines for "should I keep this maybe-sick kid home or not?") that "Rash" is on it.  I'd consider this an amicable gesture, too, if I didn't know she's a little germophobic.

She is so nice about it, though, that I feel a little idiotic getting so worked up about her to begin with.

And I hate that.

 

Here we go again

I have mentioned before that I experience some dread when Ryan gets into the car and the first words out of his mouth are:  "Mom, I have some good news and some bad news."

Usually he comes up with some good news, but today it was Ben who spewed the bad news for him, and after that, there was no good news for me to hear:  "He got a 'Think Sheet'!  For just ____!"  (I left it out to build the suspense for this next part...written in red ink on a hot pink page, you know, easy to read...)

"Ryan continues to go to the electric pencil sharpener very frequently each day during work time.  He has been asked not to do this and told that there are sharpened pencils in a can on my desk that he can get anytime.  And today, he didn't even check at his table where there were 3 extra sharpened pencils.  The loud sound is very distracting to the other kids.  Ryan is also working on staying in his seat and staying on task, so this doesn't help.  And mainly, I've asked him countless times not to get up and use the pencil sharpener during work time."

So now, he has to write a few sentences to answer the question, "What can you do differently next time that will work better for you?"

Hmm.  Let's just look at that again:

"Ryan continues to go to the electric pencil sharpener very frequently each day during work time.  He has been asked not to do this and told that there are sharpened pencils in a can on my desk that he can get anytime.  And today, he didn't even check at his table where there were 3 extra sharpened pencils.."

"I will try to use the pencil I already have.   If I can't find a pencil that I deem usable, I will use crayon.  If that doesn't work, I will prick my own finger and write in my blood, as I don't want to risk leaving my seat and getting a pencil from the can on your desk."

"The loud sound is very distracting to the other kids."  

(I think she left out the part where she says that this loud sound, multiplied by the 20 other kids in the classroom being kids, reverberates in her head like the noise from a thousand jackhammers, don't you think?)

"I will be more considerate.  I will hand you a bottle of Tylenol as I walk in the door on Monday." 

"Ryan is also working on staying in his seat and staying on task, so this doesn't help."

"I will try to stay in my seat better, and the flexicuffs oughta do it, while helping me stay "on task," too."

"And mainly, I've asked him countless times not to get up and use the pencil sharpener during work time."

(Again, this may be missing: "Obviously, you've not taught that child to listen the first time, causing me to waste precious breath repeating myself.")

"I will try to pay attention and only cause you to repeat yourself once."

To be honest, after I showed it to Mr W, I jumped in my van and sped off to the school to look for her.  Very heat of the moment.   Fire in my maternal belly.

When I got home, as I came in the door, Nolan asked me, "What happened?"

I replied, "She wasn't there."  Then, under my breath, I muttered, "So she still lives."

Mr W heard me, and he was chuckling before I entered our bedroom.  (I don't think Nolan did.)

I'm going to have a chat with her tomorrow.  I never said Ryan was an angel, and I need to determine just how disruptive and ants-in-his-pants he really is before I come undone, if at all.

"Think Sheets" for talking in the halls, burping, and sharpening pencils...I never knew you could get in trouble just for being a kid.  

It's a shame I haven't copied these, and laminated them or something, for posterity.

You know, to have something to laugh and send to him when he calls to say "Mom, I have some good news and some bad news.....about little Ryan."

After

My husband rocks.  Here it is, nearly the middle of the cold night (11:30 pm). 

He went out, in shorts (its 45 degrees, brrr), filled up my car, and washed it...and all I had to do was....make him a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

It's not like I can't fill up my own car with gas, but we've not used it in a couple of weeks and I expressed worry about it not starting tomorrow (it's old and temperamental.)   I leave here at around 6 am, so I'm sure he was hedging his "Hooon--nneey?  Are you awake?  My car is acting up..." bets.  

I'm glad, I'm grateful, that he did it, and whether he did it because he is trying to get lucky, or just out of the goodness of his heart, or just to sleep a little longer, well, it doesn't matter.

It's proof that he does listen to me, on occasion, as last week I was telling him that I hate stopping for gas when I have the words "stop-n-rob" (hmm, where might I have read that particular term?) etched in my brain.   I hate feeling like a girl, standing there looking over my shoulder the whole time while the stray landscapers/construction workers are there doing the same thing.  (I'm very dangerous, you know.) 

It's so disconcerting to feel like you have to be so alert, when you'd rather be back in bed.

But not as disconcerting as something that happened to me earlier this week.

I had to go to the dentist.  I'm good about it, going for the cleaning, but this time, I was a little late.  I'd had to reschedule twice due to life.  I've been a little lax on the flossing. 

I was dreading it.

(Don't get me wrong, though.  I love the staff and my dentist.  They are really, really good, and I recommend them to other people all the time.)

So there I sat, waiting for Brooke.   I told her I'd been a bad, bad, girl and she moved over to me; shiny, sharp payback in her hand.

After a few minutes of her ministrations, I began to feel like a documentary on the Discovery Channel, "When Brushing Is Not Enough."

"Owuchth."

"Sorry."

"Itsth nowt your faulth.  Itsth miyne." 

"Hang in there."

"I promithse, I wilth floth eggvery day."

About oh, I don't know, thirty semi-tortuous minutes later, and she was done.  I even got the orange-creme flavored polish at the end, just to change things up a little (usually, I'm a sucker for the chocolate mint). 

I got a clean thumbs-up from my dentist.  He asked me how my (new) teeth were holding up, and I said to him that I love them so much, that now when people compliment me or ask me about them, I fake it and say that "they're real." 

I think he was amused but would rather I continue to sing his praises and refer others to the Altar of the Porcelain Veneer.

On my way out, I looked down at the coffee table, at the issue of People I'd been reading while I was waiting.  Next to it were a couple of leather notebooks...and eureka!  (forehead slap) it hit me.

I'm in one of those books!  And I forgot to look for myself in them!  Surely vanity should've overridden dread and reminded me to check out the books...

Flip, flip, flip....no me.

Flip, flip....okay, wth?  Aaaah,  here I am.

There is nothing more disconcerting than being a "before" shot and an "after" shot than realizing lots of people have probably seen these very photos, and one of them is decidedly not pretty.

Oy.  <stomach lurch>  That before picture....omg.  OMG.  Please, let that just be due to a bad day...did I really go out like that??  In public???

<snap book shut>

<curious, curious...crack it open again>

Oy.  <stomach lurch>  Hey, is that really me?  That photographer was an airbrushing genius,  who cares that he said I was zaftig;  I'm finding some way to light myself that way forever....me likey!

I looked at the two pictures for a minute or two, and then I had to stop.  There's really only so much of that anyone can take, and while I'm as vain as the next person, I have my limits.

The cool part is I'm reminded how happy I am with the way things turned out. 

And now that my mouth has returned to it's normal pre-visit non-soreness, I know what I have to do.

Buy more lippy?  Nah.

Floss on, floss off.

Or risk the wrath of Brooke the tormentor.