I’ve been hearing things that piss me off lately. Maybe I’m just sensitive.
The format is, If I hear (this thing said) one more time, I’ll scream. And I really, really will.
If I hear “Girl Scout leaders’ kids always get the shaft” one more time, I’ll scream. Partly because it’s true. But I volunteered to lead my daughter in scouting because I wanted a part in helping her become a fearless young woman with great leadership qualities and skills. The day I am spending less time with my daughter and more time in administration is the day I will quit.
If I hear “you know, grades are so important” one more time, I’ll scream. Because they’re not important. Yes, they are a vehicle. But I got good grades as a kid, and then I got bad grades. I got into college, goofed off a lot, got so-so grades, still got a job with health insurance and everything. I appreciate that people want kids to build positive habits and be disciplined, because it’s much easier to start that when you’re young than pick back up on it when you, say, have three kids and a mortgage. But the truth is, your grades are a tiny part of who you will become. In the end, your grades don’t mean crap to anyone but you and whoever pestered you to spend more time doing homework than playing outside when you were in the third grade.
If I hear “I don’t have time to come on field trips / eat lunch with my kid sometimes / come to the book fair / even attempt to meet the teacher face-to-face more than once a year” one more time, I’ll scream. I can show you a couple of parents who really can’t do these things. They are divorced through no fault of their own, and are working two jobs to make ends meet for their kids. But if you are living in River Woods or Cahaba Falls or pay more than $1500 a month for your house and are complaining about “having to work so much” then take a look in the mirror. You do not need a $300k house. Your children need you in their lives. When I come to school to help the class or the teacher, or to the stupid Boosterthon Fun Run, your kids cry because you’re not there doing something, not even once during the year. Again, you do not need a $600 a month car payment and a $2000 a month house payment (I’m speaking relative to my area, for my outside readers). You are being greedy and have your priorities screwed up. Your children want you in their lives, they do not want to be one more stop in a fast-paced day.
If I hear “I’m a single-issue voter” one more time, I’ll scream.
Wait, no, I won’t. Because I’m a single issue voter. My issue is liberty. Screw the Patriot Act. Screw No Child Left Behind. Don’t make me explain to the government why my child is absent from school for a few days while we visit relatives out of town, and then make me beg for it to be excused. Don’t stress my kids out by forcing standardized testing on them every year between 3rd and 8th grades.
Don’t expect me to kiss your butt to be your friend. I am a compassionate, kind, friendly, outgoing person, but I will not tell you what you want to hear just to validate your feelings.
(This is coming about partly because I am convinced that next Tuesday, under general anesthesia, I will go under and never wake up. I need to get my assistant Girl Scout troop leader to attend training with me so she can be prepared at the end of October when I can’t take them camping because I am in a coma.)
I can’t complain about the noise of the evening (all three kids have a sleepover friend tonight) because I had a relaxing morning. Rachel, who’s become a good and trusted friend over the last five years, came over with coffee. We bundled up in blankets and chatted on my deck for a couple of hours, covering every possible topic–the takeover of WaMu by JPMorgan Chase, menstruation, cramps, Fort Lauderdale, Lamborghinis, people with multiple sex partners. It was a great time. The companionship combined with the brisk air set me up for feeling okay most of the day. Also, my sweet old smelly doggie was on the deck with us, lounging on her fluffy bolstered dog bed in a sunny spot.
To further my reputation as a spoiled princess, I got a pedicure and a manicure. I just want the people at Nail Star by Publix to know that I think they do a great job on my hands and feet, but I have figured out over the months when they are saying things like “fat lady” and “boobs” in their language and it’s just rude.
Now on to what you came here for: talking about my uterus.
After the horrible “trans-vaginal ultrasound” on Wednesday, we saw that I have nothing strange growing inside or attached to my lady parts. But the problems have gotten worse over the years and will not get better as time goes on. So I am having an endometrial ablation in about a week and a half. Several friends have had this procedure and say it changed their lives. I will probably still have the hormonal cycles monthly, with cramping and fatigue, but it most likely won’t be as bad. The other stuff–the yucky stuff that has been causing an increasing amount of grief since my third child was born five years ago–will probably stop completely, or almost completely.
With the upcoming surgery, I feel a little more…enlivened. I’m hopeful that some of my problems with fatigue and lack of focus–for which I have been taking ADD medicine for some time–will improve. I feel the need to get the house all in order (and boy oh boy is it disorderly now) beforehand, just in case something goes wrong. The NovaSure method requires general anesthesia, at least with my doctor it does, and that scares me. Just in case I never wake up, I want to be sure Ben and the kids have a freezer full of meals and stuff while they are out hunting for a new mommy.
Allow me my morbid sense of humor, please. Thank you.
On Wednesday, I am having an ultrasound to see what's growing on my uterus. Stay tuned for graphic details of my gynecological train wreck.
Right now, I am enjoying an early morning alone on the new deck. I've got the newspaper, a Coke, and a blanket. All is right with my world.
The idea of meeting in a public place with hundreds of others, all hooked to our iPods, dancing to different music is at once amusing, intriguing, and tragic.
I got this from the Helena Boards general discussion section.
I talked with the Mayor last Wednesday and we have a public meeting on it coming up in October. It will be held following the City Council Meeting on October 6th. Please put this out on your blog so people will know about it. We are in the process of getting it out to the schools as I type. The company that will be doing the recycling will be the speaker on it.
– Judy Ellington
This morning, for the second time this school year, my five year-old had a total meltdown in the car line at school. Once again, the assistant principal had to physically remove her from the van. She was excited about going to school but got mad when I didn’t stop at the teacher she wanted me to (we have to drive all the way to the front).
My middle child is sick and we all overslept so we missed the bus. I dread driving because I have to go to two different schools. My son’s school starts at 7:45 but it is further away and the traffic is awful (this is why we do the bus). But the intermediate school office and traffic are so much easier to deal with than the elementary school office and traffic! So I prefer, if I have to check someone in, to check him in. Which is what we did this morning, after a long fight about how he always feels like he’s going to throw up and hates school.
These are not the children I know. We have excellent schools and teachers here. Socially my children are healthy. Academically they are above grade level. They all even have a good amount of common sense (how did that happen? they must have gotten it from their dad). So why does only one of them love school and the other two are asking me when I’m going to homeschool them?
Home-education would be my preference anyway, but my husband is not totally on board with it, mostly because of my “condition” (are there no other bipolar homeschooling parents? seriously.). I do enjoy the time during the day, for the most part, now that the kids are in school. But as soon as they get home, it’s a whirlwind of papers to sign and look at and dates to record and…just crazy.
I hate school. I love learning, but I hate school.
Wow. So in a rare moment of foresight I ordered my tickets to the Megan Clark and AOC show at WorkPlay ahead of time. Good thing, because they had to turn people away. Kelly and I showed up a little late but caught the last four of Megan’s songs.
I can’t tell you how good this girl is. Yes, the world is full of really good young singer-songwriter-type women. Megan Clark just seems so honest. She’s sixteen, but her lyrics are wise–but not too wise, not jaded.
Act of Congress put on a great show, and I can’t wait to give my dad his copy of the CD Declaration. This was a release party, so I got my first CD for five bucks, the second one for ten.
Is this the most boring concert review ever? Probably so. I loved it. Kelly at least liked it if not loved it. We are old and so we couldn’t stay for the whole AOC performance. We needed some Waffle House in us before heading home to bed. Waffle House accepts debit cards now, and it felt so wrong to pay like that.
Here’s some video I took of Megan. It’s also posted on al.com.
|Megan Clark at WorkPlay|
Shadowhelm pointed me to this piece on CNN.com, which I don’t normally visit. It’s worth reading.