Plaids and Stripes

You know, they say the first step to overcoming a problem is admitting that you have a problem, so here goes.

I'm a control freak.

Yes. Me. I mean, I've always kind of known that I'm a control freak -- whenever it came to group projects in high school and college I was always the one that did all the work because I couldn't trust that the others in my group would do it right.

And I have a hard time delegating tasks because if they're not done right it just peeves me to no end. Also, I'd rather just do it myself than take the time to explain it to someone else.

But I've recently realized that there are lots of other things that stress me out, things that would probably surprise you.

My children's clothes, for example. They cannot be wrinkled. I don't mean that we have to take our clothes off every hour and iron them throughout the day or anything like that, but they DO have to be ironed before they leave the house for the day.

And their clothes can't have any holes or stains, which, come ON, they're kids. Nearly every single pair of Bubba's jeans ended up with holes last year and Punkin is not a neat child. I patched most of Bubba's jeans but could rarely stand to see him leave the house with them on.

And they have to match. I don't mean that my kids have to match each other (God forbid!) but their own clothes need to coordinate. My right eyelid starts to twitch and my hands feel clenchy if Punkin grabs a shirt and some pants that don't match.

And I don't know why this is. It's not like I wore terrible clothes as a child and now I have a complex and want something different for my children. I had great clothes as a child! But I have this weird fear that if my children are wrinkled or stained or torn that I will be judged as a mother. What is up with that?

It's doubly perplexing because I don't judge other children or their parents. I actually think it's really cute when girls mix stripes or patterns. If I see a little boy with well patched jeans, I don't look down on him or his parents. So why do I have such a tough time with my own kids?

I don't know. The answer is probably buried deep in my psyche and I don't feel like digging today. But what I do know is that I'm trying to change, I'm trying to let go. Every morning I let the kids pick their own clothes. This started really as an opportunity to give Punkin more control over her life in an effort to minimize some of her tantrums. And it has helped with that. But Bubba caught the wind of change and my formerly passive little guy has started expressing his opinions too.

Some mornings, when Punkin has pulled out the floral print leggings and the floral print shirt (two different prints!!) I have to take a deep breath and realize that it.doesn't.matter. It really doesn't. I don't care. I really don't. I swear.

Goofball Macgillicuddy

My daughter? Is a total goofball. Need some proof? Here you go:




She recently "discovered" these goggles and since then she's been wearing them constantly. Every time I look at these pictures it makes me laugh. That girl is a card.

Enjoy the Silence

So....um...

*cough*

I got nothing.

Well, actually I do have something but it requires picture downloads and we've had keyboard issues over the past couple of days.

I'll be back this evening with some photos guaranteed to crack you up.

Anybody Speak Japanese?

Yesterday when I started checking my comments from my blog, I noticed that I had TWO comments in Japanese. And both for the same post. Now one would be odd, but two was really weird. But, I deleted them and went about my merry way.

And then this morning I had another one. On the same post. Is there something about this particular post that just speaks to Japanese people? Or am I attracting some kind of weird spam? Here's today's comment. If you speak Japanese I'd love for you to take a crack at this:

オ○ニーライフのお手伝い、

救援部でHな見せたがり女性からエロ写メ、ムービーをゲットしよう！近所の女の子なら実際に合ってHな事ができちゃうかも！？夏で開放的になっている女の子と遊んじゃおう

This made me think of those things that other bloggers have done about the Google searches that bring people to their site. I've never done this but have always wanted to because I thought they were kind of fun. I used to have a list, but that got lost somewhere along the way. I do remember one though, and honestly I have no idea why this particular search would bring people to my site -- "when I squeeze my head I can hear a hum." Um. Okay. Sounds like a personal problem to me.

Another fave: "how to pronounce Henri Bendel" -- so glad I can be of service to all those people out there who are afraid of making fools of themselves! Like I almost did! (seriously, I get this one A LOT. Like two or three a day.)

"and flights of angels" -- I know where this one came from. I assume people are looking for the correct wording or where this quote comes from. Hamlet, for those of you who don't know.

Yesterday's queries include:

without a pullup -- I hope you're asking for your child. I'd say chances are 50-50.

ants getting into our camper, what to do -- Sell it. That's just about your only option. But, you could try peppermint oil and borax first. Just hope they don't get into your air condition vents in your car because that can be traumatic.

soccer shorts, spanking -- dude. I don't even want to know. Now, move along.

Henri Bendel eyebrows -- I don't know anything about Henri Bendel eyebrows, but I can tell you from experience that Henri Bendel lips are a nightmare!

So, there's a brief look at how I get most of the visitors to my site. Fortunately none of them are too pervy, so that's a relief (though you with with the soccer fetish, you need a new hobby).

What's the weirdest search phrase that's ever brought somebody to your site?

Dude, Do You Have to Be Such A Downer

Last night, before bed, as we were winding the children down, we somehow came across the Arctic/Antarctic episode of Planet Earth. And wow. The photography was amazing and the stories fascinating.

But duuuuude. Depressing much?

In her sonorous voice of doom, the narrator intones "Somehow, in the confusion, the calf was separated from the herd" as the camera focuses in on the wobbly calf in the freezing snow with the wolf lurking nearby.

Or "Injured by the tusks of the walrus, this polar bear can hardly walk. If he doesn't find food soon, this polar bear will die" as the camera zooms in as the polar bear collapses in the mud.

When we then had to sit and watch a cluster of baby penguins shivering to death, well, that was it for me. I mean, it was fascinating and all, but if I want to be that depressed I'll just watch the news. I know nature is red in tooth and claw but next time I'm watching something a little more cheerful!

That Was (Not) Completely Unexpected

Punkin had her 4 year well check up yesterday and to see it did not go well would be an understatement.

In the whole Punkin saga I detailed a week or so ago, there were a lot of things I left out. There was just too much to tell. One of the reasons we initially sought the help of a child psychiatrist was because of some of Punkin's behaviors that made me concerned that she was suffering from some form of anxiety. Punkin does not transition well. You have to prepare Punkin wayyyyy in advance for everything. And sometimes even if you do prepare her, it doesn't do any good. She's still going to have some kind of melt down.

Also, she wasn't really forming friendships and social relationships in a way that I had hoped. At her old school her teachers told me that she would occasionally yell at her friends when they tried to get her to play. I have seen her wander away from a group of kids her own age to play by herself. And at a birthday party one of her friends ran up to her joyfully and Punkin just cowered behind my leg.

She didn't (and sometimes still doesn't) enjoy participating in group activities at school. At her new school she once crawled, crying, under a table to avoid having to play a simple game.

These things concerned me. But, after meeting with the therapist a couple of times and after seeing the success that we had with the school's reward program, my worry lessened. And she began to make friends, so that eased by concern, too.

But yesterday at the doctor's office, of her neuroses were on display. When I told her that I was going to have to get a urine sample she freaked out. If she were an adult I would have said she was having a panic attack.

Then she didn't want to put on her examination gown. Then she absolutely freaked out when it came time for the hearing test. And then it was the vision test during which all she had to do was hold a little black circle over her eye and identify some shapes. And then it was time for the shots. I'm sure you can imagine what that was like.

When I say she freaks out, that really doesn't tell you much. When Punkin "freaks out" or melts down, or whatever you want to call it, she becomes uncontrollable. She's crying and screaming and panicking and struggling. It is almost impossible to get her to calm down and trying to get her to actually do whatever it is you're trying to do. Our pediatrician said he was really impressed that I got her to do the hearing test because after watching her he didn't think we would get to do it at all.

And so, based on her behavior in his office and my description of her behavior over the past several months, he wants us to see a specialist. He thinks that she may be on the very high functioning end of Aspergers. And that perhaps she has some sensory issues as well.

So.

So.

To say that I have had mixed emotions about this would, again, be quite an understatement. To be honest, my initial reaction was "Yes! Thank you!" because I had wondered several times if Asperger's might be part of her problem. But frankly, I had thought of so many different things to account for her behavior -- in part to help me feel like it wasn't my "fault" -- that I didn't trust my instincts anymore.

And then, in the space of a few seconds, I felt overwhelming sadness. Something is "wrong" with my child. She's having a hard time and I don't want her to hurt. I don't want her to be viewed as different.

And then, just as quickly, I thought "she's the same child she was before we walked in the door 30 minutes ago." She's still my same sweet Punkin who likes to make funny faces, who likes to read books, and who can melt my heart with her sweet declarations of love.

Twenty years ago she wouldn't have been diagnosed with Asperger's. She would have simply been a "difficult child." And so, if the therapist can give us some ideas on ways to help her transition and ways to moderate her emotions, then I'm all for it.

Because I, like all mothers, want only what's best for my child. And I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen.

What's Next?

Y'all know what all's been going on with Punkin, but I haven't updated y'all about Bubba in a while.

Bubba has been doing great. As usual. Bubba, for the most part, seems to be one of those kids on whom the sun is always shining. Bubba has never met a stranger. He's very outgoing and he has a great smile and people are just drawn to him. I'm sure it has nothing to do with his dimples or his three inch black eyelashes. Bubba is also great at making friends with older kids. Older boys just seem to think he's cool and he just eats up their attention.

Bubba had a wonderful kindergarten year and was accepted into the school's gifted program for first grade. And unlike most children, he wasn't really looking forward to the summer because he didn't want to go to (the horror!) camp. Not even overnight camp. Just daycamp at the local YMCA. I don't know what he thought was going to happen at camp, but he was sure it wasn't good.

Until he went.

At the end of the first day he climbed into my car and said "Mommy, this was the BEST.DAY.EVER." And he totally bought into everything the camp was "selling." You couldn't have asked for a more loyal and enthusiastic camper. He could rattle off the camp credo at the drop of a hat -- respect, responsibility, honesty....um...I'm sure there are two more but I can't remember what they are. He could tell you, I'm certain. He also learned all the camp songs and sang them with gusto. Repeatedly.

And for his enthusiasm he was rewarded in week 4 by being named Camper of the Week. The weekly winner of this award received a YMCA Staff shirt signed by all the coaches, a prize worth more than gold. At the end of week two, as we were walking to the car, Bubba was telling me who had won for the week and I, a little worried that he would be disappointed if he never won, asked him how he would feel if he never got that award.

"It would be okay," he stated with equanimity. "There's lots of fun stuff about the Y besides Camper of the Week." And I could have just burst with pride right then and there at his great attitude. But apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed because just two weeks later Coach Lauren called me to tell me that Bubba had won Camper of the Week and could I come for the ceremony that afternoon. I would give anything to have been able to capture for posterity the look on Bubba's face when his name was called, but even though I didn't have my camera my heart will never forget that smile.

And now first grade has started. And I don't know who told him he could do this, but all of a sudden Bubba has started having ideas. Opinions. About how he wants to dress. About how he wants to wear his hair. About the types of activities he wants to be involved in. Until now, Bubba has always been my passive child. I've joked that if I didn't make him physically dress himself, he would be content to stand there like a little king while I dressed him. Frankly, I'm still not sure I won't have to go with him to college to wash his hair.

But now, now things are different. And today Bubba wanted to wear a mohawk to school. A mohawk. In the past whenever I was fixing his hair I'd put it in a mohawk and he would freak out. He like his hair flat to his head, thank you very much. I don't know what changed, if it was the skaters he saw over the weekend or the influence of friends at school, but all of a sudden he wanted one. He'd asked earlier in the week and I said no because I was afraid it would be a distraction in school, but he pointed out and I remembered seeing several children in the halls with mohawks. So, this morning I said yes. And while his hair was really more of a fauxhawk and didn't last the day, today was a big milestone for both of us. I've always said I was going to pick my battles. This one just didn't seem worth fighting.

A slightly bigger problem is that all of a sudden he's testing our boundaries a little bit. Getting a little sassy. Seeing how far he can push before we push back. It's a delicate dance we're all doing around here these days, trying to give him some autonomy but trying to maintain the level of respect that Mr. Daddy and I require. We don't want to squash him completely, but we all know that if you give a kid an inch they'll take ten miles.

I don't know who told Bubba he could grow up on me, but I guess I'm going to have to get used to it.

Take the Plunge

On Saturday, Punkin and I attended the birthday party of one of her classmates. A pool party to be exact.

When we got the invitation I immediately went into panic mode -- I was going to have to wear a bathing suit. In front of people! Never mind the fact that I went to the beach twice this summer and wore a bathing suit -- in front of people! That was easy! Those people were strangers.

Honestly, though, I don't mind wearing a swimsuit even in front of people I know. Those people, for the most part, love me for who I am. Cellulite and all.

Well, don't you know these people, you ask? No. Not really. I see these people occasionally. Add to that the fact that Punkin's school is in the heart of a very wealthy county full of stay at home moms who spend a lot of time at the gym. Or at least they look like they do. These are the types of moms who intimidate the heck out of me. The ones whose jeans are pressed, whose clothes never have a stain on them. The moms whose nails and toenails are always painted, whose purse doesn't look like it just traveled with a St. Bernard up a snowy slope. These are the moms whose hair is always just so, or if it's not, it's so artfully tousled as to still be perfect.

But, Punkin won't swim with out me. I've come to learn that I can't force her to do things she doesn't want to do (a lesson that I've learned the hard way and another post for another day!). So, if we were going to go and have fun, then I was just going to have to get over myself.

So, we packed up our suits (and my courage) and we went. And you know what? There were all kinds of moms there. Skinny moms. Fat moms. In between moms. Blonde moms. Brunette moms. Harried moms. Calm moms. I saw several moms who didn't bring their suits, who preferred to sit on the side of the pool and watch. And I saw moms like myself who got in the pool and played with their kids.

As the party wore on, I realized that I'm pretty comfortable in who I am in a lot of ways. My body may not be perfect, but I like it. Well, maybe not like it, but I'm certainly not ashamed of it. I'm finally comfortable in my own skin. I also realized that I like the kind of mom I am, and after the past several months, let me tell you, that was a good feeling.

I also realized that I don't feel inferior to those women anymore. I'm not quite sure how that happened, but it's a good feeling. And just think, if I hadn't gone, if I had let fear hold me back, I might never have discovered this about myself.

What are you letting fear hold you back from?

My Heart

Last night as we were getting ready for bed, I let Punkin choose which sound she wanted to listen to on her sound machine: rainforest, ocean, rain, or summer night. There's a heartbeat option too and she always asks for that one, but I never let her choose that one to fall asleep to. It just doesn't seem restful to me. Too Tell Tale Heart-y.

But then Punkin said "Let me hear your heartbeat, Mommy."

So, I sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled my collar aside and let her press her ear to my chest. She was still and silent for a second. When she pulled away I said "What did my heart say?"

"I love you," she replied in a deeper voice than normal, imitating the low lub-dub sound a heart makes.

And how right she was.

Deconstructing Allison

I haven't addressed the passing of John Hughes on this here blog because it seemed like there were so many other more interesting and well written posts out there in the blogosphere. I mean, how can I compete with Alison who corresponded with Hughes for years.

But, I am a huge fan of John Hughes movies and I've been thinking a lot about them over the last several days. Several websites, including my new favorite, MamaPop, have questioned which was your favorite movie and what character did you most identify with.

Now I would be very hard pressed to say which was my favorite movie, but it would probably come down to a draw between Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club. But wait. Hmmm...Can't leave out Ferris Bueller. And what about Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (which is one of the most hilarious yet simultaneously heartbreaking movies ever made)? And Some Kind of Wonderful? Don't even get me started singing that So Lonely song because it will be stuck in my head ALL DAY. See what I'm dealing with here? I can't choose.

As for which character I most identify with, well, that's easier. On Twitter, FADKOG said that she was the love child of Brian and Allison (the characters played by Anthony Michael Hall and Ally Sheedy). But me, I was more like a cross between Claire (Molly Ringwald) and Brian. I had a measure of popularity in high school (though not the money) but nerd blood definitely ran in my veins.

What I saw most in my readings across the internet was how disappointed everyone was with Allison's transformation at the end. Everybody cried "SELLOUT" because she had to get a makeover to get the guy. But see, first of all, I think her makeover is metaphor. Maybe it's my English major roots showing here, but I see her transformation as her way of opening up, as a willingness to change. I think Andrew was already interested in her, it just took a change to really open his eyes. I don't think a little brown eyeliner was going to change Allison all that much. Also, she already had that white top on under all her black. Maybe she wanted someone to see the beauty in her. And what? Pretty girls can't be deep? Sure they can.

I think that Allison was the bravest of them all.

Breakfast of Champions

The eating issues continue apace in our house. By eating issues I mean that Bubba eats very little and Punkin eats everything. Of course I have discovered a few things that Bubba actually enjoys, but the list is quite small. Hamburger quiche (which I have to call Hamburger Pie or he gets confused), Chicken sandwiches, and tacos. That's about it.

The really frustrating thing is that there's another dish I make called Easy Cheesy Pie, which is basically just lots of cheese, noodles, and tomato sauce. It's just like the quiche minus the crust and add noodles. But Bubba won't touch it. Well, to clarify, he will eat it because he knows by now that if he doesn't eat what I put on his plate, then he doesn't eat. I refuse to be a short order cook because it's hard enough making one meal, much less two or three. But when he puts things in his mouth that he doesn't like, it's almost like you can see the food levitating in his mouth even though his mouth is closed. He holds his mouth in such a way that you can just tell that he's trying to keep as little of the food as possible from actually touching any taste buds. It's quite insulting, but I've grown quite a thick skin. I've had to. Once, when I served something he liked, he cheerfully piped up "Mommy, this is really good! It's almost like you didn't make it!" Yeah.

Now Punkin on the other hand is an eater. The child will eat most anything -- though I've discovered in the last few days that she won't even try a smoothie. I made the most delicious banana strawberry smoothie before dinner last night and she absolutely refused to let even the tiniest drop pass her lips. I swear, I felt like pinning her down and forcing her lips open because I know if she'll just try it, she'll love it! Strong will, she haz it.

Smoothies aside though, she'll eat anything. And once, in a fit of frustration with Bubba's pickiness, Mr. Daddy said "Bubba, Punkin's a better eater than you." He quickly came to regret that statement because it did nothing to inflame Bubba's sense of competition, but it did give Punkin a bit of a superiority complex. Now, whenever her plate is cleaner than Bubba's she'll point out to him how much she has eaten and declare herself the winner, which now DOES ignite Bubba's competitiveness. At which time we now have to remind them that it's not a competition.

This morning, as Punkin cleaned her plate she crowed "Look how much I ate, Bubba!"

"It's not a competition!" he growled. "It's breakfast! EVERYBODY wins at breakfast!"

If bacon's involved, I'd say Bubba was right.

I've Got A Feelin' Called the Bluuuues

Today I'm feeling kind of blickey. I have the blickey blues, as Mr. Daddy and I call it. Lately, I've been feeling really out of sorts and I don't like it. No, sir, I don't like it one little bit.

And the weird thing is that I can't really put my finger on what's the matter. I just don't feel good. I mean, I'm not sick or anything, I just feel blah. There are days when I feel like I literally don't have the energy to pick up my arms to do the most mundane tasks. I'm not motivated at work to do anything. I'm very short tempered with everybody, husband and kids alike.

There are times when I feel an approximation of happiness. There are times when the family and I are together and we're laughing and doing something that I know intellectually I know is "fun," but I feel very disassociated from the fun. As though I'm on the outside of a bubble watching everybody else have a good time. I might be laughing, but it doesn't feel real.

This might be more honesty than y'all are accustomed to from me. Frankly, it's a little more honesty than I have been comfortable sharing in the past. But I sort of feel like taking this blog in a new direction -- well, not a completely new direction -- but maybe I'll start sharing a little bit more about what's going on in this head of mine.

Don't worry. It won't be doom and gloom and serious posts all the time. But this "general malaise," as my friend Tara called it, is making me feel as though I don't want to write. It just feels like too much effort. So, I'm hoping by facing this head on, looking this whatever it is in the eye, will help me move past it.

My mom says (and I don't think this originated with her) that you're only as happy as you make up your mind to be. So, I'm trying to make up my mind to be happy. I hope you'll stick around while I'm doing it.

Speaking of Tara, she's started her own blog. It's only a few days old, but go check it out now before you have to spend weeks reading her archives! Tara is a Banshee, a divinity student, wife, mother of two precious girls, and a heck of a great friend. Go check out her blog and see Who's Driving the Bus today.

Some Days Are Better Than Others

We live out in the country -- wayyyyyy out in the country -- in a county that has no leash law. This means that there are dogs running loose everywhere, including ours. Now, this hasn't really been a problem for us other than the fact that it has put a big damper on our plans to get an outdoor cat, because the dogs that roam our "neighborhood" mostly leave us and our dog alone, most probably because she's female and spayed.

There are two dogs up the road who have formed sort of a pack, a pack of two, if you will. And seeing them running around together amuses me to no end because one of the dogs is a gigantic, beautiful chocolate lab and the other is a wee little Chihuahua. Seeing them trotting down the road reminds me of that old cartoon where the little dog is hopping around all over the bigger dog and generally annoying the crap out of him, getting smacked to the wall but coming back for more, clearly idolizing the bigger dog.

Except in this case, the Chihuahua is totally the boss. You can just tell. He's a punk and I don't like him. I imagine that if he could talk, he would sound like the French soldier at the top of the castle in Monty Python and the Holy Grail "I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries." His name is probably Pierre or Jean-Claude or something. I know Chihuahua's hail from Mexico but this little dog is definitely French. Aha! His name is probably Napoleon. That would explain a lot, actually.

See, I know this dog's a punk because I've had "dealings" with him. One day as I drove him, I noticed a cow was out. Being the granddaughter of a dairy farmer, I know this can be a big deal. I didn't want the cow to get hit by a car and I certainly didn't want anyone to get hurt if they were to hit the cow. So, I stopped at a neighbor's house to try to determine who actually owned the cow and I was met at the end of the driveway by Mutt & Napoleon. Mutt, of whom I was actually a little afraid due to his size, walked kindly up to me and placed his paw on my leg as though to say "Whoa. What are you doing, dude?" (I was totally hearing Keanu Reeves' voice in my head). But Napoleon acted as though it was his mission in life to destroy my ankles and my eardrums simultaneously.

But that's not what pisses me off the most about him. No, what gets me is that he chases my car. He runs pell mell towards my left front tire, teeth bared, as though he could actually catch me. And though there is very small part of me that would like to squish him like a bug, every time he chases me I slam on my brakes causing everything in my front seat to slide into the floorboard and my kids to slide forward in their car seats. Every time it happens I swear that next time I'm not going to slam on my brakes and just see what happens, but I can never do it.

But the weird thing is that he doesn't do it every day. Sometimes he just watches me pass, sitting on a little knoll, with what looks almost like contentment on his face. And then there are other days that he would like to drag my car carcass into the woods for his breakfast.

And I realized just this morning, as he serenely watched me pass, that I'm the same way. Some days I feel content to watch the world go by and some days I just want to take a swipe at everything that goes up the road.

So maybe, just maybe, I'll cut him some slack. Maybe he's just having a bad day. Maybe.

Your Technilogical Assistance Required. Or Just Your Opinion.

I didn't get a chance to get on the computer last night because Mr. Daddy and I have bought a new computer and it arrived yesterday. Unfortunately, we assumed that we would be able to find our copy of Windows XP -- we just knew it was around here somewhere -- and so we bought a computer (CHEAP!) without an operating system. And then we couldn't find our our copy of Windows. Of course.

So, last night Mr. Daddy started investigating our options, including Linux, which you can download for free, 'cause you can bet your bippy I'm not paying $200 for Vista. But frankly, Mr. Daddy and I are not technically savvy AT ALL and neither of us really knows what the hell we're doing. So. We still have our old computer up but it's getting slower and slower every day. And we have this great new super-fast computer that we can't use.

Does anybody out there have a suggestion? Can you run iTunes on Linux? I know Mozilla works on it and I can live without Outlook. We don't really need Windows. Do we?

Busy Days Ahead

Sorry for the light posting. We had a busy weekend followed by what promises to be a very busy week.

Last night I attended the mandatory pre-k meeting at Punkin's new school. This is the same pre-K that Bubba attended two years ago and last night's meeting, though boring because I'd heard it all before, went much smoother and nobody shushed me. So that's an improvement right there, right?

Tonight we go back to meet Punkin's teacher, see her classroom and the all-important finding of the cubby! Everybody pleasepleaseplease hold your breath/cross your fingers/say a prayer or whatever it is you do for good luck that Punkin gets the same teacher Bubba had. She is awesome and I think she would be a great fit for Punkin and her "issues." Of course I requested her, but was quickly informed that they don't take requests. Of course they don't. Because everyone wants Ms. Anita. So on three, let's everybody hold our breath, mkay?

Punkin actually starts pre-k tomorrow, which promises to be an interesting day. It will be interesting (and I use that word very loosely) to see how the transition to a new classroom and teacher will affect Punkin and the delicate balance we have constructed with her behavior. Again with the breath holding, if you please.

Tomorrow night we go to Bubba's school to meet his teacher. Actually, let me rephrase that -- tomorrow AFTERNOON, from 3-5 specifically, we go to meet Bubba's teacher. From 3 to 5. During the work day. Fortunately for me I have a very understanding boss and I can easily take off to take Bubba to the school, but what about the parents who can't? Their kids are just shit out of luck, I guess. I don't get our school system at all. Why not at least have had it from 4-6 so that working parents would at least have a shot at getting there? Perhaps I shall offer my two cents.

And then on Thursday, Bubba starts school. So, you see, BUSY.

UPDATED TO ADD: Everybody can breathe now. WE GOT THE TEACHER WE WANTED!! YAYYY!! Yipee!! Wahoo! What a relief.