Why moms are all a little crazy

Today I took the Sons to see a movie. We got out of the theater at 6:30. They immediately started talking, about nothing. They continued talking about nothing, without a break, until 8:20. I then had 5 minutes of blessed peace.

And then they turned on the TV.

I think my brain is going to explode.

Jimmy Carter has an opinion!

I say, shut UP, hostage boy!

Kudos to the White House for not just firing back "It takes one to know one."

Score a point for martial law

Last night, I took the oldest three Sons to the mall. This is a bigger deal than you might realize, as our mall is an hour away. We go maybe twice a year, when Son #1 needs to see the kindred spirits at Hot Topic.

Our mall has had some problems, in recent years, with assaults and roaming wads of rambunctious teenagers. So I told the Sons, in the car, that I would gladly take them to any store they wanted to visit, but they had to be with me. Because unaccompanied youths are banned, in our mall, on a Saturday night. The boys thought this was blatant age discrimination. (and plenty of people think it is racist, too, but I didn't go into that)

I had no idea, though, that since our last visit the mall had totally beefed up security. There were not just mall security guard types, but actual law enforcement officers, everywhere. Which was a little disconcerting, at first, but after a while you realized that the increased police presence had pretty much eliminated the marauding teen thing. It was just families, shopping, and eating in the food court. No bad language. No shoving. No groups of kids staring you down if you ask to be let past them to the sale at Lane Bryant.

We had a good time.

What are Parent Teacher Conferences for, again?

The way I see it, there are two kinds of parents: Parents who give a crap, and therefore do whatever they can to make sure their kids are doing what they should, and parents who don't.

Parents who don't give a crap aren't going to suddenly change, because they spent half an hour in a school desk. Parents who do, are ALREADY telling their kids to work hard, have a good breakfast, get plenty of sleep, and do their homework on time. They are, if need be, ALREADY tearing their hair out and threatening the child in question with a lifetime of bitter regret, if they do not push themselves in every class, every day, even if it is not fun.

So, what's the point? Have teachers ever actually met with a parent, to have the parent say, "I had no idea I was supposed to encourage my child to attend class. What a great idea!" and then had the student's grades improve? Or is this just a system that we are all stuck with, that everyone knows doesn't actually make a difference?

Fortunately, I have found a teacher who is willing to conference by email. I can get the information I need, she can get the information she needs, and neither one of us has to move mountains to make time for it. Plus, I have a written record of it all. Which, as I have said more than once, is absolutely crucial in dealing with any large organization that has your kids by the scruff of the neck.

I want a rejection notice

Other writers complain about the stacks of rejections on their desks. I would LOVE one. Not that I crave rejection, per se. I just am way too used to sending out queries, or spec pieces, and never...hearing...anything...at all.

Rather than be one of those crazy writers the editors all complain about in writers' forums, I don't repeatedly email them, asking if they've considered my latest pearls of genius. I just...wait.

Blah.

The few times I've been officially rejected have actually been kinda nice. At least I know that they read my stuff, and liked it enough to respond to it.

Beware the Finger

This is my poking finger. I have been exercising it quite a bit, lately, in dealing with the administration of Son #1's school.

Persistent errors on a report card that the teacher says only the guidance office can fix, but the guidance office says only the teacher can fix? Poke.

Referrals that refuse to use the words "self defense", perhaps because the school doesn't want to admit that they put my son in a position where he was obligated to defend himself? Poke.

Administrators that keep shuttling my son back and forth, because he wants to start an after school organization that maybe doesn't appeal to them? Poke.

Secret hoops for Son #2 to jump through, before he starts there next year? Poke.

I will be poking with this finger for the next eight years. I plan to develop a mighty poking callus, a strong wrist, and an easily tracked email-paper trail.

Ask not for whom the finger pokes. It pokes for the Sons.

Join me on The Artist's Way?

I am finishing reading The Artist's Way, A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. It has been an interesting and illuminating 12-week course.

I picked it up at the library sale, for a quarter. It has a lot of notes and underlinings and highlightings from the last reader, whose name was Susannah--her name tag was stuck to the cover, when I bought the book.

I feel I've gotten a lot out of it, and want to pass it on. Anyone want it? Let me know and I'll send it to you. Great book, gently used, almost magical...free for the taking.

Son #3: Speaking truth since 1995

"They're paying all these grown-ups millions of dollars to prove they're smarter than a fifth grader. Why don't they pay kids a million dollars, for going through fifth grade?"

There oughtta be a law...

If you have several children. Male children, who do not think ahead or participate in the womanly arts.

If the grandparents of those children insist that they come over, on a Wednesday, and stay from before your oldest child arrives home until the second you need to drive another child to the library.

If you have deadlines out the wazoo.

If your spouse is busy (and legitimately so).

If your doctor has made it clear that regular exercise, rest, and time away from the daily grind are no longer optional for you, but rather crucial to recovering anything like normal health.

If one of your children has braces, and those braces broke this week, requiring an emergency visit to the orthodontist.

If you have a dog whose favorite pastime is peeing under your desk, followed closely by pooping on the rug beneath your bed.

If you regularly wake up at 2am, and find it difficult, if not impossible, to get back to sleep, meaning that you go through your days in a mental fog.

If all these conditions are met, then, and only then, are you allowed, as a teacher, to assign my son the following, on a Wednesday:

Bring in a cake, decorated to represent the 8 places Odysseus visited in his wanderings. Extra credit if you also bring in other food items that fit with the Odyssey theme. Due Friday.

UPDATE:

Our cake won the Edible Map competition. By a landslide. Not only was it cool, with a map of ancient Europe made of cocoa and colored sugar as a backdrop for our fondant Olympus, pig, flaming goat, Siren, whirlpool, diamond ring, Trojan horse, and eye, and with lines tracing Odysseus' wanderings...Son #1 was able to tell everyone every little detail about the story, in order, with detail, and special emphasis on the fact that we placed our little figures accurately, based on historic research.

Yay, us! We totally kick butt.

Grab Your Tiger

My latest anthology has arrived...ok, the whole anthology is not mine, but at least one story in it is. Yay, me! At some point, I will read the rest of the stories. Today, though, I only peeked long enough to see what the editor did with it, and to note that I am on page 31.

Not that that means anything.

So, ignore the cheesy cover art and visit www.grabyourtiger.com.

Hiding in Plain Sight

or...

Necessity is the Mother****er of Invention.

I swore to my husband that I would save him enough leftover khao soy to enjoy when he got home from work today. But Son #1, otherwise known as the Insatiable Food Consuming Teen, loves khao soy, too.

Guess where it is? Yes, Hubby, you will find your fine snackables in 3 containers tucked into a giant salad bowl.

Ooh, I'm an underground force of nature

I found out today that someone read one of my recent blog posts aloud to a group of parents working to form a charter school. I feel...special!

Would you believe....I'm working?

I have spent the past week looking at my computer and barely chipping at my big writing project for the month. It is starting to make me want to panic. The thing is, every time I sit down, I either am consumed with thoughts of the laundry that needs folding (or whatever else needs to be done around here) or the thoughts in my head are drowned out by boys talking at/to/around/over me.

I need the damned Cones of Silence.

Mixed Feelings

Today while sitting in the lobby of the local high school, I saw:

A trophy for the school's "Academic Top Dawg" Champion.

A girl (14? 15?) coming to school with a Dora the Explorer backpack...and an infant.

I just, um, well, I...

Like I said, my feelings are decidedly mixed.

I'm just here for the comic relief, folks!

I made my son's principal laugh, tonight.

The school was scheduled to have a "lockdown drill" this week. It had been on the schedule for quite some time. And then the Tech shootings happened, and it seemed, on the one hand, especially important that they practice the procedures for responding to a violent attack. On the other hand, it was, well, perhaps a bit too timely, for some parents.

The basics of the drill are: Lock your classroom door, and have all students huddle in the corner out of the line of sight of the one window that faces the hallway.

It occurred to me that this is exactly the sort of behavior that got people shot, at Tech, when they couldn't keep the doors closed. And also that it is better, and somehow more American, to jump the attacker and pummel him, instead of cowering in fear.

After the drill, Son #1 said that it went pretty well, although his classroom cowered too slowly. They were informed that they'd all be dead, in the case of an actual emergency.

Tonight was a "principal's forum"--a chance for parents to talk to the principal about what's going on at school. I went, and there were less than 20 of us, including staff. So she sees me coming a mile away. Which is OK, mostly. The forum was informative and helpful. But then the subject of the lockdown drill came up.

The principal apologized for holding the lockdown drill. Some parents, it seems, felt it was too soon after the Tech shootings. I guess there are two ways to look at it.

The other night, I was discussing the Tech shootings with Fiddlin' Writer. My thoughts are, generally, that what we need are people with a strong sense of self-preservation. People who, also, are equipped. With a handgun. Having a licensed, competent shooter in those classrooms would have stopped Cho after just one or two killings.

I'm not saying that everyone needs a gun. Just that, there are some people who, if they had a gun, would be able to save the rest of us. And those people should be free to carry their weapons. Big, burly guys who love to hunt and target shoot. Men (and women) who are confident in their ability to act swiftly and surely. People like that. Every group has them, and there are about 1800 people in that school, every day. Gotta be a few teachers (and maybe the occasional 18 year old senior) who would qualify, and who would get together regularly for target practice, right?

So, I asked, at the forum tonight: Has there been any discussion of arming some teachers?

She just laughed, at first.

And then, when I told her I was serious, she laughed again.

"No. None."

OK, then. Hope all goes well.

Easy Care, or Dry Clean Only: The Test

Not sure if your clothing item is "dry clean only"? The Total Waste of Time Gang has found a foolproof way to decide.

Place all or part of the item on the floor.

Wait.

If it stays clean and dry, it is machine washable.

If the dog pees on it, you've got to go to the dry cleaner's. Like, today.

Ya know what I blame this on the breakdown of? Society.

Dad always used to say that "women civilize men". I thought this was bullshit. Pure, unadulterated bullshit. And then, I saw women stop trying.

Women today don't want to make men play our game. We want to play THEIR game. So we have stopped insisting they treat us like ladies. We have stopped insisting they behave like gentlemen. We dress like skanks. We dress our DAUGHTERS like skanks. We curse. We drink until we puke. We flash strangers--and coworkers--for cheap, plastic beads. We declare ourselves bisexual, at 14, even though we're not interested in kissing our supposed "girlfriend", because being bisexual is cool. We go on Girls Gone Wild. We work the pole.

And then we wonder why men don't treat us like ladies. Like people, even. God, we are stupid, if we can't see what we've done. We thought we were fighting for equality. What we got was just degradation. And the cads still get the last laugh.

Our big "wins" all seem to be wins for the men. And not even decent men. We've worked hard, as women, to make being a woman harder and being a crass bastard completely acceptable. The pornification of society just keeps rolling, and it bugs me.

Women may not civilize men, anymore. But that just means that we are de-civilizing, ourselves. Sorry, Dad, you were right, again. Must suck, being right all the time.

Lessons Learned From My Kids: Don't keep checking the rules!

The Sons are downstairs, playing with a neighbor. This neighbor is particularly legalistic. The Sons are, well, generally not. It is a clash of cultures, every time this kid visits. I am never sure how it's going to turn out, but my rule for the Sons is: You don't have to invite him over, but if you DO invite him over, you have to be nice.

Today being a rainy, cold one, they have opted for a game of Monopoly.

With every move--his own, or one of the Sons, Neighbor Boy says, "Let's check the rules." It is driving the Sons completely insane.

Moral of the story: rules are great. But it's also important to be able to cut loose and play the darn game.

my visual DNA

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Anna! Anna! Anna!

So, they have determined that Larry Birkhead, the photographer, is the father.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this but, I told you so," Birkhead, a Los Angeles photographer, said outside the court in Nassau. "Nothing's really determined except parentage and I'm the father."

"I'm going to the toy store," he said.

What do you want to bet "toy store" is a euphemism for "Porsche dealership"?