'Twas the Week Before Thanksgiving Eve

So the World's Most Awesome Toddler turned 2 on Friday, and as punishment to her parents all of her Georgia grandparents came to visit.  No, actually, it was fine.... just exhausting.  Hadn't seen my parents get along that well in, well, my life.  And Her Majesty certainly enjoyed being the EXACT center of attention.  She is also a recent convert to the Birthday Cake Fan Club.

   So now it's Thanksgiving Eve, and my mother has been here since The Squirt's birthday on the 18th.  She has made it her mission to completely decorate The Squirt's new Big Girl Room which includes painting a lot of furniture because we're too cheap to buy anything new and happily took hand me down furniture.  She also decided to repair the damage to the guest bathroom that my grandmother caused a good year ago and that she exacerbated.  All fine and dandy.  I think she intends to paint my upstairs hallway, too, which again, is fine.  She's good at these sorts of things and while I could do it myself, I'd prefer not to.

   However, today we took a trip out to a couple of shopping establishments because I had to buy The Squirt's new Big Girl bedding set (CUPCAKES!) and my mother needed to go to Home Depot for some things that she assures me are essential to the wellbeing of my family and the Earth and my lack of which she finds troubling (spray acrylic.  Who just keeps spray acrylic in their house at all times?).  These 2 hours of my life proved sufficient to render me more or less a hypertensive manic-depressive maniac hellbent on killing all those in my way.  Why, you ask?

   On the way to Homegoods, she tells me I have to buy new bathroom rugs because she threw out my existing rugs yesterday (and trash has since been picked up) because they weren't the correct rugs.  Then I am informed that she intends to hang a towel bar about 2 feet up from the floor in the bathroom so that my daughter can wipe her mouth on it after brushing her teeth.  Yes, because that's necessary.  Then we arrive at Homegoods, and she immediately takes off at Warp 9.9 with my toddler in hand, ignoring the fact that I'm nearly 8 months pregnant and physically unable to move that fast.  If you've never chased my mother around a home accessories or grocery store, let me tell you now that it's both aerobic and frustrating.  The key is to NEVER let her have control of the cart.  Otherwise, you spend the grocery trip filling your arms with all the things you INTENDED to put in the cart and then circling the store looking for the buggy and trying in vain to catch her long enough to put this armload of groceries into the cart so you can start that process again. The comedic properties of chasing your own grocery cart around the store as it's being driven by a maniac in sweatpants is unfortunately lost on me. It's kind of like Whack-a-Mole, only you don't get to hit her on purpose. 

   So being careful to keep from circling the sun while traveling at maximum warp to avoid unintentional time travel and having to be part of some bad Star Trek plot involving humpback whales, I managed to acquire the things I intended to buy and subsequently answer all her continuously unanswerable questions about what exact shade of purple was in the quilt set that I did not own yet.  I was also required to purchase an over-the-door hanging organizer thing because she cannot abide my purse hanging on a doorknob or a Target bag being placed on the floor until the contents are unpacked.  Oh, and a scented candle for the bathroom, which I guarantee my husband will throw away next week because scented candles give him migraines.  My total cost: $140.  She bought the kid a pink poodle purse for $4.99.

  So then we head to Home Depot, where again, she grabs the toddler and accelerates towards the exit.  Approaching the exit, she hands me the child and then despite me saying "This is the exit, the entrance is there," she zooms in through the out door, leaving us to chase behind her unable to get a cart or buggy for my 32lb ham of a child to ride in. So, this means I spent the next 30 minutes chasing her AND a toddler wearing new and exciting twinkling sneakers through Home Depot trying in vain to prevent injury to myself and/or damage to the Home Depot inventory that would require me to pay the store for the destruction.  I vetoed a $30 towel bar that I don't need or want, much to her chagrin. Suck it, lady.  After she amassed all the things that Home Depot sells that my home was teetering on the edge of self-destructing without, I was allowed to pay for the purchases while MotorMother takes my child and runs for the car like a woman currently shoplifting a turkey out of the store in her underwear.

   Did I mention that in the course of this day I had to stop at no less than 3 different gas stations until she could find the appropriate brand of cigarettes?  And I am so desperately allergic to and loathing of all things related to smoking that my soul dies a little with each stop.  If only I'd known the incantation to make a horcrux, it would have been smart on this trip.

   Finally, after we leave Home Depot I decided to acquire some lunch for everyone, and swung into McDonalds.  The Squirt got excited about "Chicken anna FRIES anna SAUCE, Mama?!?" So taking a deep breath, I barely survived the sojurn through the highly inefficient newly redesigned 2 lane drive thru system with my mother on a continuous loop about how HORRIBLE the drive thru line is and trying repeatedly to get my child to repeat the things she wanted her to say.

   When I got home, I more or less only wanted to sit on my sofa and try not to die.  But no, I was sent to Target because you see, she'd decided my bathroom curtain situation was inappropriate, so she took down ONE curtain rod from the 2 windows in my daughter's room and moved it to the bathroom window which faces a windowless side of our neighbor's house.  Since nobody except the 2.5 foot tall kid is ever naked in that room, I'd not really worried about covering the window which was apparently a sad, sad travesty in my life.   Instead of just buying another rod next time we happened to be there, it became imperative to get one with some haste because now only one window of my daughter's room was covered.  Logic defies.

   And the kicker is that SHE has a prescription for Xanax, not me. 

Reasons Why My Dogs Will Never Rule the World

This week I had the highly enjoyable experience of attending a 4 movie marathon and midnight premiere of the new Twilight movie with a wonderful group of girlfriends.  Now, to be plainly honest, I did read the Twilight books but they have not become any sort of focus in my life.... I'm not a "twihard" or anything of the sort.  I find Robert Pattinson to be fairly unattractive.... and I think Kristin Stewart is a truly terrible actress.  I used to just think the first movie was badly directed, but no, it turned out that while that movie WAS badly directed, KStew was just as wooden and unemotional in the subsequent movies as in the first.  But I digress.....

   Anyway, for the uninitiated, the Twilight series involves a pack of shapeshifting Quileute indians who turn into giant wolves in order to hunt down their only natural enemy, the vampire.  Most Twihards will tell you that they fall firmly into the "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob" category.  Those on "Team Jacob" are essentially declaring their preference for men who become literal dogs, instead of just the figurative dog that most men become somewhere between birth and death.  I have thought about it, and I believe that this move is a bad one because dogs are not intended to have any sort of power in society.  I believe Gus and Pickle demonstrate this succinctly.

   First and foremost, my dogs don't have thumbs.  If they did, there would be a lot less cheese and raw meat in my refrigerator.  Do you really want to be ruled by someone who cannot open jars? 

Second, my dogs both lick their own butts.  Now, I am sure there is a large contingency of men who would just love being able to lick their own manly areas; however, I don't think that's a selling point for a world leader.  Because we all know, ladies, that such an activity renders the average man unable to speak coherently.  And they're obsessed enough with it as it is.

Third, my dogs seem to believe there is some point to chasing squirrels.  Neither of them will ever catch a squirrel, and honestly neither would have any idea what to do with a squirrel were he or she to catch one, but they insist that the 1lb furry tailed intruders in their yard merit mad barking dashes to rescue us all from their nefarious plots to take over the world one acorn at a time.

   Fourth, despite their knowledge that the Magical Box in the kitchen where mommy keeps The Fud is stocked with unimaginable amounts of dog-approved goodies, they are willing to happily injest practically dehydrated pebbles of meat-ish dog food.  Settling for dog food when you know mommy has a pork loin seems defeatist to me.

   Fifth, they are un-pottytrainable.

Sixth, particularly Gus can be frightened awfully easily.  I saw him jump in horror when a falling leaf from a tree landed on him. I think one needs to have a little gumption to be in charge of the world, don't you.

   Anyway, so that's what I'm thinking about today.  Wouldn't you like to spend a little time in my brain? Tee hee hee

SHAMEFUL!

Friends, I am disgusted and I am mobilizing.

   A very good friend of mine just had a terrible experience with the Junior Federated Women's Club of Chester, VA.  Her daughter was participating in their Cotillion program.  She made the grievous error of questioning their use of public humiliation and bullying while claiming to be teaching manners to preteens.  So the group disinvited her daugher, via cowardly letter left in their mailbox. 

    I think this is beyond the pale.  Please, I know I don't have MANY readers or followers, but let's spread the word that we find it reprehensible that a group claiming to teach deportment would believe that bullying is an appropriate way to interact with preteen children.

What I am Looking Forward To

A mere11 weeks from now I will be giving birth to another human being.  At that moment, my job as the host to a parasitic organism will cease and for that I am thankful because lawdy, lawdy I hate being pregnant.  So here's a list of things that I am already anticipating with glee:

1.  Ibuprofen
2.  Sleeping flat on my face on my stomach.
3.  Possibly the diminishing urge to kick people in the face
4.  The return of the ability to eat anything without crippling heartburn
5.  Going to the bathroom without throwing up simultaneously
6.  Ridiculous caffeine consumption
7.  The return of my hip bones into their assigned socket spaces
8.  Never being kicked in the bladder from the inside again
9.  The ability to regulate my body temperature to a reasonable degree
10.  The ability to swallow a pill with water without throwing it back up
11.  Having haircolor stick to my hair
12.  Patience and sympathy, as I have none right now
13.  Never having to answer the obvious question "Haven't you had that baby yet?!?" again.  Obviously, you moron, if I am still pregnant I have NOT had that baby yet.  You, however, owe me $10 for wasting the oxygen needed to speak those words of stupidity aloud.
14.  Being able to answer the question "So, when are you going to have another one?" with "Never. Asshole."
15.  Standing up without doing a remarkable impression of a drunken penguin
16.  Being physically able to stay awake past 8:30pm when necessary
17.  WINE.  and WINE.  Oh, and Wine.
18.  Red wine
19. White wine
20.  Margaritas and other delectable alcoholic goodies.

For the love of Pete.

I LOVE it when I get emails that make me want to karate chop people in the face.


Georgie wet his pants today. Again.  For the second time in 2 weeks.

And although I was 25 miles away at a meeting, somehow his mother still believes it's my fault.  I am going to just have him catheterized.  This is ridiculous.  I am a TEACHER, I am NOT a bathroom monitor.  If your kid doesn't bother to get in line to go until he's about to wet himself, what am I supposed to do about that?  Open the bathroom door and remove the other child who's using the toilet so he can go?

And I am Vindicated

Back in June/July I expressed quite a lot of frustration at my treatment at the hands of a certain endocrinologist.  He treated me as if diabetes and/or gestational diabetes was a foregone conclusion simply based on my weight.  Despite the fact that my blood sugar is in the clinically normal range and I didn't have gestational diabetes in my first pregnancy, he never seemed able to remember that and would open every appointment by saying "So when we treated your gestational diabetes before, I assume we......(fill in blank)," at which time I would say with dwindling patience "I didn't have gestational diabetes last time."   Then in June he decided I needed to start monitoring my blood sugar 4 times a day, and despite a normal (albeit on the edge of high) hb1ac test (3 month glucose average) was talking about putting me on an insulin pump. 

   I felt like he never listened to me or considered me as anything except a weight. And following my gut instinct and knowledge of my own health, I immediately sought out a new endocrinologist.  Based on my labwork and the indicators present in my current pregnancy, she recommended that I follow the low-carb diet prescribed for women diagnosed with gestational diabetes which was a very minimal impact on how I already ate (basically a change of breakfast, but no other big impact), but chose only to treat me for my obvious and rampant hypothyroidism.  Being a pregnant woman herself and understanding the energy sapping qualities of that parasitic infection, she said that she prefers to keep thyroid levels during pregnancy at the higher end of normal so she increased my dosage and I am positive that this has had a very positive impact on this pregnancy.

  So almost 29 weeks into this pregnancy, my weight gain is minimal.  I have no swelling in my hands or ankles at this point and other than heartburn and a gag reflex that turns me into Linda Blair, I feel good. I have more energy than I did before, I'm not as uncomfortable.  Niblet is swimming along quite happily and growing as she should.

  And what's more, I had my glucose screening test this week.  The way the diagnosis process for gestational diabetes works, you take a screening test first.  Most people pass it by having a 1 hour glucose reading <140 after 50mg of glucose and don't have gestational diabetes.  About 20% don't pass and have to return for a more complicated 3 hour test. About 3-7% of women will be diagnosed with GD. 

   With The Squirt, I passed the 1 hour. I found out today that with #2 I did, too. If I was diabetic or even had significantly impaired glucose tolerance, don't you think I'd have had to take the 3 hour test at least? I do.  And I think that I am vindicated in my choice to trust my gut instead of a doctor that was not treating me like a person, but like a number.


So to doctors making assumptions instead of practicing medicine, I say neener neener. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

How to Cripple a Child

So this week I've been the recipient of The Blame Game.  Perhaps earlier in my career I would have been willing to accept some of the blame that has been heaped upon me this week, but at this stage I know I'm right and that I've done nothing for which to be blamed.....Would you like to know what's my fault?

Well, it seems Georgie's mother has decided I'm a baaaaaaaaad teacher.  And here's the reasons:

1. Georgie made a puddle on the floor earlier this week.  And that was my fault because I wasn't tracking how often he was using the classroom bathroom and asking him if he needed to go pee pee in the potty at regular intervals.  Now, a few years ago I would have offered to create some sort of reward system or something to encourage him to "go" and would have shouldered that responsibility.  Now, no way.  I told her that since he was the youngest kindergartener in my class (didn't turn 5 until the middle of September) that developmentally he probably wasn't identifying the beginning of "the urge" and didn't realize he needed to go until it was a near emergency and that I couldn't make another student evacuate the bathroom to let him use it.  HE needs to be responsible for using his SIX (or more) bathroom breaks that I offer during our 6 hour school day.  Lordy, I'm 7 months pregnant and the idea of 6 breaks a day sounds heavenly to me.... I get one.  If I can make it on 1 a day, he can make it on 6.

2.  I refuse to search through Georgie's backpack to find things that she sends to school with him. This has been an ongoing issue for him.  For example, last week she sent treat bags to give the class on Monday for Halloween.  Well, when Georgie came in to class, he told me he had "toys in his backpack."  For those unaccustomed to elementary age kids, they OFTEN bring toys from home in their backpack, and are either naiive enough to tell their teacher that, or they think we're too stupid to notice that suddenly Justin Bieber has joined our class and is singing a tinny recorded song emanating from his abdomen. So when he announced he had toys, I said what I always say: "Toys stay in our backpack, and please don't bring them back to school."  So that was the first nasty note of the week. Fun!  I just flat out told Mom this time that he told me he had toys, and I told him toys weren't allowed.  He needs to learn to communicate what he really means.

3.  Then today, I'm in trouble with her because he hasn't brought a take-home reading book home all week.  Well, tough shit.  I spend the first MONTH of school chasing after the kids to make sure they are choosing a book and packing it away to take home.  I spend a second month chasing the third of them who still don't get it.  Now in the third month of school I do not chase, and will only remind.  If he still doesn't know what his job is, then it's HER problem, not mine.  SHE needs to help her child because MY job is to foist some independence on him.

    All of this took me back to a couple of years ago when I was miserably plodding through a year of 5th grade hell.... I had a mother tell me I couldn't hold her child responsible for a book report because I hadn't written it down for him in his assignment notebook and hadn't called her to tell her that it was assigned.  I told her that it was HIS assignment, not hers, and that I don't notify parents individually of assigned schoolwork. But come the hell on.  Really?

   These are the parents who are crippling our education system.  And lordy I wish they weren't mine to deal with.

The fairy was washed out

This is the face you get when your quest to get "CANNY INNA PUKKIN" is thwarted by weather.