lemon_says: (Balls)
1. While we were on the way back to Mary Ann's from Disney, P and I realized Big Ez was talking to his (ten-dollar) balloon. He said to it, "You are a big and shiny balloon now, but someday you will fade, and turn into a POP. That's okay. I still love you."

2. They are assembling a LEGO catapult. Every time Anya says where a piece goes, Ez says, "Inconceivable!" I imagine you can guess which movie is back in the "favored" rotation.

3. Ever the thoughtful one, Anya was listening while we were talking to [livejournal.com profile] travellight about Disney last night at dinner, and when I said, "I don't think we'll be going back for a very long time," she offered to let Susan take her some time instead. Generous, no?

4. I said something to P about going on an overnight field trip with [livejournal.com profile] mrs__smith and her family. Monster suggested that the grownups stay in one hotel room and the kids in another because she and Gabriel can babysit the younger boys. Yeeeeah, that'll happen.

5. While we were standing in line for something-or-other at MK, Monster started getting a little sassy about not wanting to share the water-fan-squirty-bottle-thing. I said, "If you don't cool it with the sassy mouth, I'm going to take you over to that place where they make you into a princess, and I won't let you out until you're covered in glitter and dressed like Tinkerbell." She covered her face and started saying, "No! Nooooo! It's fate worse than death! NEVERRRRRR!"

One day later she initiated negotiations on when she can get her ears pierced, because suddenly that is Very Important. WTF?
lemon_says: (Default)
Years ago, my sister had a friend who hated me. Yeah, someone who hates moi? Shocking, right? ;D But she thought I had everything, everything she wanted, and there was nothing I could have done to make her not hate me. The funny thing was that I didn't have what she thought I had, and I had never said I did.

But I did have fun, and I had a lot of great friends, and I dated a lot of cute boys and was in graduate school, so evidently that was having everything in her mind. The fact that I never had much money and held three jobs didn't make her radar since she was so sure I had this charmed life. Charmed, no, but it was a good one and I made the most of it.

I think most of us, at some point, harbor a suspicion that things are just easier for some people. Everyone has the friend who can always afford the things that are necessary--and the things that aren't--whose children are Gifted and Talented, who travels far and wide and whose house is neat and tidy and just generally has everything work out smoothly. I wonder how often they only share the good parts, or if there really are that many people whose lives are seamless.

I have often joked that in my next life, I want to be one of those people, who doesn't fall out of attics and get maimed or have crippling anxiety. But you know, I wouldn't really trade what I have for all the things.

It's funny, how perspective works. I have some friends who are elated for me about the baby (which Jason has dubbed Z3-PO, which I rather like better than Tres), and others who give the impression of pity that I have to do the whole infant-in-diapers thing again, depending on where they are in their own child-rearing. "Better you than me," I've heard, while in the other ear someone says, "I wish we had another." (For the record: you don't have to pity me, even if you wouldn't have another child for all the tea in China. I'm good.)

Do the people who inspire jealousy in others know, for the most part? Do they only share the best things, the I-always-get-the-good stories to present that image of perfection, or because they don't like to air dirty laundry or insecurities? I'm curious. I'm pretty sure these days I'm mostly in the middle, inspiring neither jealousy nor pity most of the time. We just go along and do what we do, after all, and hope that by this time next year we'll know how it all worked out. I don't feel much jealousy, either, honestly. I hope that most people are happy and get to work out the things they want and need, but I admit that there are some people whose nonstop good news does occasionally provoke a good-natured eyeroll, pretty much because how GREAT can EVERYTHING be ALL THE TIME? But I don't begrudge that; it's just more amusement.

What do you think you inspire in others? And do you usually feel like one of the lucky ones?
lemon_says: (Default)
I already apparently started a little thing on FB for saying so, but people, Disney's Magic Kingdom is for kids. If you look around and you're standing in the Dumbo line and there is no child with you, you need to step out, grow up, and hop the bus over to Universal. Yes, it still counts if you are wearing bridal mouse ears. Being a bride means you are an adult, not a child, and the small children who are standing in a 45-minute line to ride a flying elephant actually have a good reason to be there. You don't. Wanna ride Space Mountain? Okay, sure. But making toddlers wait two hours for Peter Pan because you wanted to ride for two minutes in a flying boat? Dude, seriously.

It's insanity, y'all. I couldn't get over the number of adults who were bumping kids (not just my kids--you know how long I'd put up with that) out of the way to get to rides first, or in character lines. More than once I spoke to adults--P started laughing when I told one couple, "If it's important enough to you that you need to trample my four-year-old to get there first, you go right on ahead"--about pushing and general craziness.

Oh, and don't EVEN get me started on strollers. Everyone knows I hate strollers. Haaaate. Hate so much that I think they should be banned from public places like festivals and malls hate. Don't whine to me about why you need yours; I don't care. But you know what's even worse?

Eight-year-olds in strollers.

Seriously, the place was awash in kids bigger than Anya (by a long shot) in strollers. If the kid's knees are up by his ears, tell him to get his ass out and walk, or head back to the hotel for a break. And no, I'm not going to believe that all those kids are asthmatic or had sprained ankles or whatever other justification people will likely have for it, because most of them were just lazy. A lot of them were significantly overweight, and several had DS handhelds pressed to their noses as they were pushed through the Magic Kingdom. Forgive me, but if I can be both pregnant and handicapped and walk all over the damn place from 9 am until 8 that night, anyone can. There's just no excuse, and most of those kids in strollers could seriously have used the exercise. There aren't even any hills, y'all.

I think people put such huge pressure on themselves to have the Best Time Ever at the Happiest Place on Earth that they lose it; either that or these families don't like each other all that much anyway. We saw kids hitting their parents, screeching parents demanding that the kids "have fun or else," the meanest-faced little girls in princess dresses, all of it. Granted it was hotter than death, but still.

It compromises people's judgment, in many ways. They lose basic parenting skills, along with common sense. Too tired to walk? We paid hundreds for these tickets! Rent a stroller instead of telling the kid his choices are to walk or go back to the hotel! Oh, did your kid (or you) get a dark red sunburn yesterday? It's fine! Those tickets were expensive! Just go out again!

Personally, I find that sunburn hurts like a mofo, and therefore I avoid it for myself and my kids. I sprayed those kids down with sunscreen every hour. I was shocked at how many people were out there with obvious second-day burns. It's not just horribly painful, but no amount of sunscreen matters that second day, and if you aren't careful your dumb ass is going to wind up in the hospital with sun poisoning. But no! You MUST GO INTO THE LIGHT and follow the Mouse, because you're from Ontario and mortgaged the house to get here! Evidently it is something of a news flash that the sun shines in Florida.

It's craziness. P and I did spend a lot of time chuckling at some of the madness, and even Ez pointed out that "there are some baaaad kids here at Disney." We made it through without any fits or major incidents--although Miss Sassymouth did get her visor confiscated for two days--and actually enjoyed each other. We did the Magic Kingdom, Cocoa Beach (sans jellyfish, fortunately), and the Kennedy Space Center, which of course made me cry (NASA is not subtle with the funeral imagery for the Shuttle Program). I'd be lying if I said it didn't delight both P and me that the kids agreed that they liked the Space Center even better than Disney. If we ever go back it'll be in the spring again, but I think we can kind of do a been-there-done-that on the big MK and at least hit EPCOT or something instead. I don't hate Disney; I hate the other people there. :)

Anyway, we're home. Nobody is sunburned. Anya located her foot necklace (remember that Terrible Tragedy?) at the country house, and the outlaws ensured that I am now justified in Never Speaking To Them Again, so all is well in my world, although it is a little tiresome to return to a $432 veterinary bill for the furry ones, who got their shots during their stay. The children ate so few vegetables this week that I'm concerned for the welfare of their intestines. I held up pretty well physically, although I don't think I'm going to walk at all for the next day or two. (At least not until Tuesday, when we hike out to go blueberry picking, because I am a glutton for punishment.)

Pictures later, after I sort through all gazillion and decide to which I'll subject you.

Miss me? What'd I miss? Besides that escaped monkey thing, and yes, I figure the CDC ain't telling us the whole truth about that either.

Meds.

Jun. 16th, 2011 08:57 pm
lemon_says: (EvilLynn)
It occurs to me, as I collect half-empty bottles of pills in my Adventures In Detox, that if I were the kind of person who would do so--and I'm not--I could make some serious bank offloading all these painkillers. I need a trench coat with little holders for pill bottles in the lining, and I could just go up to L5P and start whispering, "I got morphine! I got Oxy! Vicodin? Anyone?"

Going ok, by the by. Still get a little twitchy at times, and have to just suck it up or I'll never get off. I'm ahead of schedule, completely off the morphine (which I didn't HAVE to do until week 34) for a month now, and cutting the doses of everything else. I don't take anything if it's remotely possible for me to muddle through; I can handle pain if I have to, but when it gets to where I literally can't move my leg properly I give in and take a small pill. It still surprises me that the OBs and pain specialist don't think that my being on them is as bad as I do. You and I know that no matter what ever happens with this child, I'm going to suspect that it's because I was on pain maintenance. Slow to walk? My fault. No talking? Obviously the meds. Wants to grow up to be a cheerleader? Clearly, Mommy was a junkie.

Yeah, it hurts. I'm getting some twinges of the SPD I had with Ez, which the OB and perinatal guy anticipated, both because I had it before and because, well, you know, the pelvis, it is broke.

Yeah, I get tired of talking about it too. Probably not as tired as y'all get of listening to it, but there it is. I am going to maintain optimism and choose to believe that this is a good thing because it means the pelvis is still working like it's supposed to with this whole birth thing. Right? Right. Okay, then.

You know what still strikes me as funny sometimes about all of this? I rarely even took aspirin or ibuprofen for a headache. When I broke my arm in college, I took two of the pills for the pain, and left the rest in the cabinet for ages--I think I assumed that someday I might run into something that hurt worse and would need them? Sleep aids? I don't know.

You know what else? It's a little embarrassing being both handicapped and pregnant. I don't think I can possibly explain without sounding utterly ridiculous, but it's like being really conspicuous, times two. Like I should explain that I get the parking spot because I'm really crippled, not because I can't hack being pregnant. See? Ridiculous. I know. But I have enough total strangers commenting when I use my cane, and an equal number just on the baby, so when I have both it's like being part of a sideshow.
lemon_says: (Default)
If P had to identify my most annoying habit, he'd be likely to list first that I tend to answer the question asked.

That doesn't sound so annoying, does it? But the funny thing is that my father is notorious for this, and it used to drive me bonkers. Our friends learned early that when they called the house, they needed to be specific: "Is Lynn home, and if so can she come to the phone?" See, because a simple, "Can I talk to Lynn" often was met with a simple, "Nope."

He didn't specify that it was because I was not home at the time, or that I was in the shower. He merely answered the question that had been asked. The caller was sometimes left bewildered, wondering if he should just hang up or leave a message or never call again. Our good friends got used to it quickly, and would respond, "Will you let her know I called when she gets home?" He always said yes. He's not being rude, exactly, although he knows damn well what he is doing.

I don't know why I do it to P, because I know it can be really irritating. He'll ask a question, and I'll answer exactly that query, without elaborating. He inevitably waves his hands around and says, "You know what I mean," and I do, but somehow I can't stop myself.

So when he came home and said, "What's this wrapped in paper in the giant bag on the table?" I answered truthfully, saying, "Garden gnomes."

"Garden gnomes?"
"Garden gnomes."
"Gnomes?"

Ez barely looked up from his project long enough to give P a slightly withering look, and he said slowly, "Gaaaarden gnoooomes," and went back to work, offering no explanation.

I have created a monster.
lemon_says: (Default)
After P has been out of town for several days, as soon as he gets home it's like I have narcolepsy. I don't sleep as well when he's gone, and the moment I know he's here, I could just keel over. I am going to bed in a few minutes just because I can.

It's funny, because I'm not usually even feeling particularly tense when he's not here; we still do our routine things, and I just manage more of it than usual. I guess that I must be, though, since his getting home always makes me feel downright sluggish. It's also been a challenging couple of weeks, though, and that doesn't help.
lemon_says: (lemonbaby)
I had to have a follow-up sonogram this morning because of a moderate previa that was evident on the last one. The good news is that the placenta has moved.

But of course that's not all, is it? It never is.

The technician told me that the baby is "measuring small." Okay, Anya measured small the whole time, and without the benefit of more than one sonogram, and was only 6.3 and 18.5 inches at birth. So I wasn't that freaked out.

But she wouldn't just shut the hell up about it. Everything was, "Well, the GOOD part is that you don't have to have a c-section from the previa...but she's small. Oops! That measurement is smaller! Let's delete that one." She went out and asked the doctor, who told her to just do one more measurement and then schedule another u/s in a month to check. It looked like the final percentile--and we all know how much I love percentiles, with my two skinny kids--is about 16th. A month ago the tech measured her at about the 30th. She actually asked me if I was "losing weight or trying not to gain weight." (Many of you might remember I had this same weight accusation thing going on with my first two, for which I gained 25 and 30 pounds respectively, perfectly within the range of normal, and anyone around me now can attest to the fact that I AM EATING.)

Do I know what all this means? I think it means that we have just enough technology to tell us nothing, just enough to make us panic over things we can't control. I think it means that you never get a chance to just relax, because there's always another shoe dropping somewhere. I think it means that even when you do everything you're supposed to do, there is something that tells you that it is inadequate on your part, that science can tell that you aren't doing it right, but can't tell you how or why.

We have all of these charts and graphs and diagrams that show you exactly where every baby and child ought to be from the second his heart starts beating until he grows up, down to the ounces and millimeters, and if you don't match those, if you don't have a magical 50% and above baby, then you're treated to weeks of panic, worry, and helplessness, because there's not a damn thing you can do about any of it.

I spent all of last week sick over something that was going on that I couldn't control, and just as things are improving on that front, this comes up. I suppose I shouldn't let it bother me that much; I know that sonogram measurements are entirely dependent on the tech, the position of the baby, whatever, and are notoriously inaccurate. I know that someone has to be on the lower half of the percentile chart or there are no percentiles. I know Anya didn't crack 20 pounds until she was almost 18 months old. I know Ez was in the less-than-third percentile until he was 7 months old.

But none of that matters much today, right now, when I have been given something else to worry about, some other way that I am doing something wrong. I wonder if we don't have too much technology, like we have too many interventions with birth now, all this technology that just doesn't mean shit.
lemon_says: (Default)
Okay, yes, I realize this falls into the category of a white whine, but seriously, what is the deal with the maternity clothes sucking right now?

Previously I could always find what I needed at Target or Old Navy, but this time? No. Target has one rack of belly bands and a rack of garish print dresses, and six swimsuits that look like you stole them from an elder cruise. Old Navy has two racks in the clearance section devoted to over-belly khakis and XXL t-shirts.

WTF.

I just want a couple of pairs of shorts that are just like the ones I have when I'm not toting a soccer-ball-sized stomach, only more accommodating. I've been mostly wearing non-maternity empire-waist dresses and some skirts, but I just want some cutoffs! All of the cool maternity clothes are so freaking expensive. Where did all that cute stuff that was on the racks when I wasn't pregnant go?

I'm going to have to go to the mall, aren't I? And there's nothing more fun than the mall in the summer, when all the bored teenagers are there too.

On second thought, maybe the mall is a good idea, because in the three minutes it took me to type this, Ez came in and said, "Anya's looking for some styrofoam that we can melt." Apparently they think they can get the water hot enough to melt it. When I said no, she said, "Then can I have some nail polish remover?"

So, I'm thinking we'll go to the mall...
lemon_says: (Default)
The year 2004 was the Year of the Monkey.

Seven years! )
lemon_says: (foot)
And these people bitch about not being included, and every time I try to include them--despite swearing I'd never do it again as long as I live--they refuse to let me do so.

We do nice things because of who we are, not because of who they are. It ain't nothin' to me.
lemon_says: (Craft ninja)
Sometimes when I am in a period of high stress, I find it helps to knit.

That's probably why in the last week, I have made myself a top, a come-home-from-the-hospital getup for Tres, and most of a gigantic Totoro, which I need to finish by Saturday.

Why yes, I have photos.

Here. )

Bad jokes

Jun. 6th, 2011 07:01 pm
lemon_says: (Point and laugh)
I'm keeping my friends' son for a few days this week, and while the child is an absolute delight, his contributions to the humor level aren't elevating it much.

Monster and Big Ez (and S, our visitor) are very funny, but when they try to make up jokes, they are just not funny.

I've tried to explain wordplay. I've given examples. I've googled jokes for more examples. I've not laughed when they're too random and said, "That doesn't make sense, dude."

So during lunch I was treated to a series of the worst jokes you ever heard. Why did the house fall down without a wrecker-ball? A ghost did it. Or How did the farmer count his houses? With a chicken finger!

I was just about to write them all off for good and dash their possible hopes of ever doing standup when the three of them worked together to come up with this gem:

Why could the cow pull off his tail?

He was moo-tilated.


Perhaps there is hope. Not a lot, but a glimmer.
lemon_says: (Default)
I think it's been well-established that I have some...quirks. Although I am not a squeamish person, everybody knows about my thing about the word "embedded" and anything that becomes such, particularly in a person. Same goes for the word "encrusted," and touching lunchmeat. *gag* But there are others that came up this weekend and usually make P chuckle at me. He thinks it's funny that I can watch the most graphic surgical procedures without flinching, but a horde of people with turkey legs makes me walk with my eyes on the ground.

1. I can't stand to watch people gnawing on a turkey leg. I'd rather see someone gnawing on an actual living turkey than wandering around in 100-degree heat, clutching a chewed turkey leg in a sweaty fist and grease smeared from ear to ear. Seriously, I can't look.

2. The brand name "Muscle Milk," which makes me want to hork every time I hear the commercial. It sounds like something that builds up in one's muscles and oozes out. *shudder*

3. Anything with lots of holes or pores. Lotus pods, those rings arty people make that look like a bunch of tubeworms clustered together...there's this statue at E's preschool that has cowrie shells stuck into clay, and those little openings just disturb me. The kids "feed" the statue by putting lentils and seeds into those holes, and it gives me the screaming willies.


Isn't it funny how our brains work, and what we interpret as gross? We went to lunch yesterday and Anya ate froglegs. (She knew they were froglegs.) This is the same child that ate half an octopus-that-looked-like-whole-octopus, but gags if I make her eat cauliflower.

So, what's the not-actually-gross thing that you think is gross?
lemon_says: (Default)
We went to the Methodist church where the kids went to VBS today. It's a nice church and it was a nice (if loooooong) service, but I think I'm still going to head back over to my old one soon. I just didn't get the same feeling I do at All Saints', and that kind of thing isn't really something you choose. There was nothing objectionable; it was perfectly pleasant and the kids enjoyed it. They sang with the VBS group and participated in the children's service, and you know Ez never met a microphone he didn't like.

They both got mad at me because I wouldn't let them go up and take Communion.

See, I was raised Baptist, and as a Baptist, you don't take Communion until you're baptized and know WHY you're taking Communion. Both kids were baptized into the Episcopal church so it's not like we'd break any canonical law if they did take it, but I just don't feel like they're as familiar with that aspect of church yet. There were heated whispers: "Mommy, EVAN is getting bread! Why can't we have bread? Cate got bread! All my friends get bread!" "NO FAIR!" "Is that juice? Do they get juice?"

I hissed at them to hush, so Anya slumped into the pew and snapped, "Fine, I'll just go home and have bread...and I'll put butter on it."

We've read the OT stories several times and the Jesus stories, but haven't really spent as much time on the events surrounding the Crucifixion. They know about it and everything, but I knew they didn't really remember the Last Supper. I said, "The fact that you both want to butter Communion and sulk about it shows that I made the right call. We will read this story again when we get home. Now, you are at God's house acting like a brat, so if I were you I'd knock it off."

At this point, Ez remembered that God can always see you, so he started looking around, slightly paranoid, to see where God was. Pete and I got the giggles, made worse when some of the responses and prayers were ever-so-slightly different from the Episcopal ones and we wound up stuttering over them. The most notable one was the Confession, which is a bit more hairshirt-y than ours, but there were enough slight differences that we both moved to lip-syncing by the end of the service. At any rate, it is a nice church with a lovely community and we'd be happy to attend from time to time; I'm just not sure it gives me the sense of peace that I had at All Saints'.

Thus the bedtime story tonight was that of the Last Supper, so that they might have an understanding of why one takes Communion, and why one does not require a pat of butter.
lemon_says: (Default)
1. I keep seeing people mentioning "chipmonks." Every time I see that, I picture a bunch of peaceful little chipmunks with tonsures.

2. I'm noticing a mom trend around here that makes me curious. I've noticed that of the most cliquish moms in the 'hood, there seems to be a prevalence of sons. If they have daughters, they're younger, but most have none. I'm wondering if there is something to that, or if it is mere coincidence. It seems odd to be just coincidence, though. I wonder if it's a subconscious thing, to exclude or avoid girls and moms of girls, or if they are deliberately not cultivating friendships between kids of different sexes for their kids. Perhaps it's the subconscious desire to hold up sons as the prize, giving one elevated status to be the Mother Of Boys, that we pretend not to have here in the US, but that those of us with daughters know quite well. It is absolutely NOT all moms of boys--many of A's best friends are boys, and their moms are awesome--but this Alpha thing seems so much more common among moms of boys. So, put down your defensive arms and let us discuss rationally. Do you notice more Alpha Clique stuff among moms of girls or boys, or neither? I'm curious what it is like in other neighborhoods. Perhaps this is unique to mine.

3. I showed this photo to my mom, and she said, "I told you to knock their horns off at birth. Now look at them!"
Photobucket

Obviously we went to Ren Fest yesterday.

4. We're going to church this morning. I'm still debating which is more important: community church that isn't the right denomination, or the right denomination where we don't know anyone yet.
lemon_says: (Default)
Have you ever noticed that when you have children, even the slightest thing can turn into a whole bizarre discussion? You say one thing, and one of the little pitchers says, "What does X mean," or something like that, and then you have to explain at least something, and then you're embroiled in this whole THING.

So the ghetto bird is making tight circles over our house, and there are several cops driving up and down the street. This is not entirely uncommon, so I didn't pay much attention until one of them started walking up and down the street that runs along the side of my house--at which point I told Anya that no, she could not go outside to play. We need to go to the store, but I wanted to know if we need to be aware of a violent offender running around or something.

Obviously this is a big enough deal that there are a ton of cops looking for someone, so I figured it would be on the news. Of course it isn't, but we're all sitting here waiting and the kids are speculating that there is a bad bank robber wandering the neighborhood and just waiting to climb in our windows.

But while we're watching the news, they start talking about John Edwards' indictment. I said, "GOOD." Anya asked what, and I said, "That is a bad, bad man. He's a liar and a thief, and he could have done so much good if he didn't do bad things instead."

She asked, "So that's guy is the bad man?" I said yes, and then it wasn't until Big Ez said, "How long are they going to look for him?" that I realized that they now think that John Edwards has robbed a bank and is running loose in our neighborhood.

To hell with it; we're going to Target.

SYTYCD

Jun. 2nd, 2011 09:01 pm
lemon_says: (Muse)
I made the error of watching So You Think You Can Dance with the children. They are now begging for hip hop lessons. Even the girl who wore rubber boots and a hoodie to ballet class wants to go back to dance lessons "as long as there's no tutu."

Like I'm going to say no to dance lessons. How early should I start teaching them ballroom basics?
lemon_says: (dunce)
We were driving past the high school, which was very crowded this morning.

Anya: What's going on at the high school?
Me: Probably graduation.
Anya: Where you graduate to being an adult?
Me: Heh, no, it just means that you finished high school.
Anya: Then what?
Me: College.
Ezra: Then what?
Me: Depends. Most people get jobs. Some people go to graduate school. Daddy and I both did. It's more school where you specialize in something.
Anya: What did you and Daddy study?
Me: I did writing, and Daddy did architecture. Then when he finished that he did another graduate degree in architecture.
Anya: So Daddy graduated three times for architecture?
Me: Yes.
Ezra: Daddy had to go to school three times to learn same thing?
lemon_says: (Default)
I helped out at VBS today. I learned a new song, mostly because Ez keeps singing it at the top of his lungs, and I hope this doesn't indicate a penchant for contemporary Christian rock because that stuff is lame.

We'll-call-her-Sybil and I got on great today, and she raised herself in my esteem by being funny. There was also this one kid there who was eeeevil. I was working with them making quilt blocks with fabric markers, and this kid refused to participate in anything except kicking people and screaming. Sybil said she'd just make one for her and wondered aloud what to draw on it, so I suggested a little devil face. She laughed and drew a happy little scene, and then added tiny little horns to to the little girl's head. We decided to tell people they're ears if anyone notices.

I told the kids about six times that the quilt pieces would be put together and the whole thing hung in the church on Sunday, so to remember that and keep the drawings appropriate. My suggestion fell on deaf ears, and Sunday will bring an array of vampires, Pokemon, and unicorns. One of my favorite kids went deaf on me and drew a green vampire. I said, "Oh, that will be perfect for church on Sunday!" He said, "Oh, I forgot! What do I do?" I suggested a halo, so now Bob the vampire is sporting a halo for his Sunday best. If I were his mom (who is probably reading this) I'd frame that one.

In addition to Evil Child, there is also Troubled Child. Troubled Child had several parent complaints against him yesterday for bullying during aftercare. I recommended a group beatdown on him, but it was instead decided to contact his parents. I assume they'll give him a talking-to that he'll ignore. Perhaps then my suggestion of an elementary-age blanket party will be considered.

Troubled child, for his quilt block, provided this:Photobucket

Why yes, those are open graves and headstones. I have removed his name from the bottom, but Photobucket sometimes loads funny when you edit a photo, so if you see his name tell me and I'll redo it. My intention is not to rat out anyone, and clearly Troubled Child is troubled. He's what, 10? 11? He also does not talk to other children or smile. Ever. He seems like a very unhappy kid, which is sad, but being unhappy doesn't mean you get to kick around people who are littler than you. Basically this kid is wearing a neon sign that says "Disturbed." (No, this drawing wasn't the only indication of that, although there's something about it that is more distressing than the others' even if theirs did include a cyclops, a couple of skulls, and at least one dinosaur. I don't know him well personally, but he's well-known in the 'hood.)

I'm back again tomorrow, presumably doing some other craft that Evil Child will refuse and Troubled Child will bastardize while the remaining kids play along with pretending to travel to different islands and learn different lessons.
lemon_says: (playgroup)
The kids started a little neighborhood camp this morning, and one of the organizers is a woman of my acquaintance from elsewhere. It had been my experience that she was perfectly friendly, but always late, and I didn't have an opinion of her one way or the other.

I think she's Sybil.

Seriously, she's all bared-teeth smiles and sweet baby voice to adults one second, and then when the kids do something she doesn't like (no, not my kids) she's Joan Crawford, scary voice and bulging eyes and all that. I'm unaccustomed to seeing an adult screech at kids anyway, but particularly at other people's kids, and right in front of a bunch of people. She's not even going psycho just for the kids; it's right out there in the open, and no other adults even seemed to react.

Interestingly, neither do the kids. They all seemed totally unfazed, like they were just going to nod and smile and promise not to use wire hangers and then go right back to doing what they were doing. It would have bothered me more if the kids had seemed remotely cowed, but they don't. I even saw some rolled eyes among the fourth-grade set. I kind of wanted to give them a thumbs-up.

I'm supposed to work there tomorrow and Thursday--Sybil kind of tricked me into two days instead of one--and I'm curious if my impression of her will be improved at all.

But I can tell you that if she uses that voice on one of my kids or one of "my" kids (who don't belong to me, but I consider under my jurisdiction) and they're upset by it, she ain't going to be the only one who can spin her head around and spit pea soup.
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