'Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the house,
No one argued, or talked back, or jumped on the couch.
All three kids maintained only polite interactions--
An attempt to make up for a year of infractions.
The youngest approached with a glistening tear
And said mournfully, "Mom, I've been kinda bad this year..."
Her little eyes, filled with remorse and regret,
Revealed her concern: how many presents she'd get.
These presents, of course, still all needed wrapping,
And accordingly, my patience soon would be snapping.
I'd put too much off, and from the looks of my list,
A lot of "to-do"s were going to be missed.
The bedrooms would likely keep looking lamentable,
As long as the living room appeared presentable.
The floor could be swept; there was no time for mopping.
I had to prepare for some last-minute shopping.
But braving malls with kids was sure to be rough--
No amount of Red Bull could prepare me enough.
I opted instead for an afternoon of distraction:
TV and Facebook held quite an attraction.
Then, ready for hours of wrapping to begin,
I hid in a bedroom and locked myself in.
When a sudden realization left my mouth agape--
"Ack! I can't wrap the gifts without tape!
But Target is crowded, and grocery stores, too...
Would anyone notice if I just used some glue?
--Hey, Quiet out there! No shouting! Who's knocking?--
Good lord, how'd I forget to buy candy for stockings?"
The presents, all wrapped, I placed under the tree
While reminding the kids of the death penalty
Should any gift be found to have been opened early
Or any child's countenance be deemed too surly.
A quick dinner, then houses of stale gingerbread--
Not constructed, just opened and eaten instead.
I hurried along with the bedtime routine,
Baths and pajamas, and snacks gobbled unseen.
As the kids noisily climbed in bed for the night,
I called out, "Merry Christmas...now TURN OFF THAT LIGHT!"
Friday, December 24, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Lessons from Sunday School...from Brian
The boys must figure this blog is too Erin-centric, because they're coming up with some blog-worthy stuff again...
Cruel mother that I am, I forced the children to go to church today. The part of me that is still an 18-year-old rebel tries to avoid being my parents; which, when it comes to church, means avoiding forcing the kids to dress up and pile into the car every Sunday morning. Ripped jeans? Skull-patterned t-shirt? No problem. Oversleep? That's ok, we'll go next week. I try to make sure we're there more often than not--after all, I don't let them go hog-wild with the Halloween candy and avoid dinner just because that's what they'd rather do--but I'm not super pushy about it.
Still, it's important to me that we do go to church often, and the more overwhelming life gets for me, the more I really make it a point to be there...and the more I use my parental veto power to override the boys' complaints. Erin loves Sunday School, which makes me happy, since if we're going to go, we might as well enjoy it. But the boys have hit that stage, I guess, where they find sleeping in or watching cartoons to be a better use of their time. I lured them into the car this morning with the promise of donuts.
So tonight, hoping that they got something beneficial from their morning after all, I asked Brian what he learned about at Sunday School this week. "Oh, we didn't really learn anything," he replied. "We just sang songs and stuff." Now, I've helped out in his room before, and I know it's not just all singing. "No bible verses?" I persisted. "Nobody talked about anything?"
"Well...we read some verses. About Abraham. How God told him he was going to have a baby, and he didn't believe God, so he decided, 'Hey, I don't believe that, so I'm going to try marrying my servant and have a baby with her instead.' Back then they didn't have all those laws about marriage, see, so he could do that. But God really meant for Mary--" I interrupted, "Uh, her name wasn't Mary." "Well, it looked like Mary. Or Marai. Or something like that. Anyway, God had really meant for him to have a baby with his first wife even though she was way too old to have a baby, and she did, and they named the baby Isaac."
I was nearly bursting with anticipation about the various life lessons we could explore here. "So God told Abraham one thing, but Abraham didn't believe him and tried to do things his own way, hm? So how did that work out? What lesson can a person learn from this story?"
Brian shrugged. "Not to marry two wives?"
Cruel mother that I am, I forced the children to go to church today. The part of me that is still an 18-year-old rebel tries to avoid being my parents; which, when it comes to church, means avoiding forcing the kids to dress up and pile into the car every Sunday morning. Ripped jeans? Skull-patterned t-shirt? No problem. Oversleep? That's ok, we'll go next week. I try to make sure we're there more often than not--after all, I don't let them go hog-wild with the Halloween candy and avoid dinner just because that's what they'd rather do--but I'm not super pushy about it.
Still, it's important to me that we do go to church often, and the more overwhelming life gets for me, the more I really make it a point to be there...and the more I use my parental veto power to override the boys' complaints. Erin loves Sunday School, which makes me happy, since if we're going to go, we might as well enjoy it. But the boys have hit that stage, I guess, where they find sleeping in or watching cartoons to be a better use of their time. I lured them into the car this morning with the promise of donuts.
So tonight, hoping that they got something beneficial from their morning after all, I asked Brian what he learned about at Sunday School this week. "Oh, we didn't really learn anything," he replied. "We just sang songs and stuff." Now, I've helped out in his room before, and I know it's not just all singing. "No bible verses?" I persisted. "Nobody talked about anything?"
"Well...we read some verses. About Abraham. How God told him he was going to have a baby, and he didn't believe God, so he decided, 'Hey, I don't believe that, so I'm going to try marrying my servant and have a baby with her instead.' Back then they didn't have all those laws about marriage, see, so he could do that. But God really meant for Mary--" I interrupted, "Uh, her name wasn't Mary." "Well, it looked like Mary. Or Marai. Or something like that. Anyway, God had really meant for him to have a baby with his first wife even though she was way too old to have a baby, and she did, and they named the baby Isaac."
I was nearly bursting with anticipation about the various life lessons we could explore here. "So God told Abraham one thing, but Abraham didn't believe him and tried to do things his own way, hm? So how did that work out? What lesson can a person learn from this story?"
Brian shrugged. "Not to marry two wives?"
Lessons in prayer...from Erin
Erin came with me to the grocery store tonight to help return our redbox movies (that were rented YESTERDAY, making this return ON TIME and the cost per movie just one dollar, rather than the $20 or so a redbox movie usually costs me!) and to pick up some laundry soap. She offered to carry the soap to the car, but discovered it was heavier than she expected. "HOLY GOD, this bag is heavy!!!" she shouted. Nearly immune to her attempts to mortify me, I just rolled my eyes and whispered to her that we don't yell "Holy God!" for that sort of reason; that expression ought to just be used in prayer, "like if you're actually talking to God," I explained.
Erin nodded. "Like if I said, 'How 'bout I call you holy, God?'"
Um...yeah.
Erin nodded. "Like if I said, 'How 'bout I call you holy, God?'"
Um...yeah.
Monday, October 4, 2010
My nemesis, the earthquake kit
In addition to the joy of school fundraisers, the back-to-school season also means the return of another perennial favorite of mine: the earthquake kit. I spent the month of September ignoring all the notices that went home demanding that I provide one for my kids, hoping that "mandatory," in this case, meant "everyone except Debbie." But it seems they keep track of which kids have brought in or ordered kits, and Brian's teacher has begun stalking me at pickup to remind me that he is the only kid in class who doesn't have one. I figure Chris's and Erin's teachers will soon follow suit, and if I'm going to be stalked, I'd rather it be by a rich, harmless, and good-looking guy--not by my kids' elementary school teachers. So, I have officially surrendered. It is now Earthquake Kit Time.
I'll back up here for a minute and explain what earthquake kits are, since a very close yet geographically distant friend of mine had no idea what I was talking about when I tried complaining to her about them. Earthquake kits, or "emergency kits," as the school likes to call them now, trying to be disaster-inclusive, are bags of supplies kept at school in case an earthquake occurs and prevents the children from being picked up for an extended period of time. So, since we have to include food and drinks, we are to assume the cafeteria has been flattened, the drinking water is contaminated, and the only thing our kids will have to get them through living in rubble for days while waiting to be rescued is the contents of these earthquake kits. It would appear vitally important, then, that each student have an adequate supply of rations. Hence the stalking, I suppose. I just see no need to rush out and get a kit together, since the rumored "big one" that will topple Los Angeles and send the California coast into the sea has been threatened my whole life, and it hasn't happened. Though I suppose the residents of Northridge in '94 would disagree...
At any rate, I finally decided I'd better find one of the many flyers the kids have brought home and see what I need to do to get these teachers off my back. The school helpfully offers two options: put a kit together on your own, or buy one pre-made from the PTA. Right away, though, something seemed a little off:
I can either get totally ripped off, for $10, by getting nothing but some water, a ration bar, a light stick and a foil blanket that probably cost the school less than $5, or...
I can spend WAY more than $10 and go on a grocery store scavenger hunt, plus have to go through all my photos to try to find one of all of us that would actually be "reassuring."
The two kit options aren't even close to being the same. The PTA-provided kit costs less than trying to make one on my own, but gives my kids next to nothing. Both kits ask for drinks, food, and some form of light. The PTA kit also provides a blanket, albeit a blanket made out of foil less than a millimeter thick that will make a kid look like an astronaut reject. There is no requirement that the homemade earthquake kit include either a blanket or foil; however, THAT kit will contain better food, tissue, hand wipes, and underwear. I have to make a decision: do I want my kid to be warm? Or have a clean rear end? Because evidently, these disaster-stricken kids don't get both. While I hardly want my kids to freeze to death while waiting for rescue, I figure maybe they can find some fallen drywall or ceiling tile to keep them warm...they're not going to find a spare pair of undies laying around unattended. And knowing the way Chris and Erin like to dig around in the dirt and collect things like glass shards, those hand wipes sound like a necessity if they don't want to contract e coli or something by eating earthquake rations with dirty hands. My choice seems clear. Plus, I missed the ordering deadline and couldn't give my kids the astronaut reject option even if I wanted to.
I'm thinking, though, that instead of providing a picture of our family, I might just print off a few good ones from http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com. The kids see enough of me as it is, and all three of them will be trapped in the same school together anyway. They're not going to miss each other. I'm glad, though, that it's no longer required to write a letter to your kid in addition to enclosing a photo. That had to go in the kits when I was a kid. Can you imagine? "Dear son, If you're reading this, there's been a horrible earthquake that's toppled power lines and your school. You're stranded at school, your least favorite place, with nothing but a couple snacks and some underwear. But hang in there, kiddo, I'm coming to get you just as soon as I can! Assuming the house didn't fall on me and kill me, that is. See you soon...maybe! Love, Mom." Yes, that'd definitely be reassuring.
I am now $38 poorer after my scavenger hunt at Target tonight, but at least Brian's teacher can get off my back. And the kids can now look forward to the June tradition of eating whatever hasn't melted into oblivion when the school gets everyone's unused earthquake kits out of whatever forsaken trash can they're stored in all year, and returns them to the kids to take back home. Last year, I went with the PTA kit option, and the poor things had nothing but an MRE-quality snack bar and water that looked like THIS:
Mmmm, emergency water. For use "anytime water is needed for an emergency." Yes, my kids are definitely more loved this year, when they get juice cans and underwear, than they were last year with their PTA Emergency Kits, or as I now call them, Supplies for Unloved and Stinky-Bottomed but Warm Children. Because nothing says love like hand wipes and clean underwear.
I'll back up here for a minute and explain what earthquake kits are, since a very close yet geographically distant friend of mine had no idea what I was talking about when I tried complaining to her about them. Earthquake kits, or "emergency kits," as the school likes to call them now, trying to be disaster-inclusive, are bags of supplies kept at school in case an earthquake occurs and prevents the children from being picked up for an extended period of time. So, since we have to include food and drinks, we are to assume the cafeteria has been flattened, the drinking water is contaminated, and the only thing our kids will have to get them through living in rubble for days while waiting to be rescued is the contents of these earthquake kits. It would appear vitally important, then, that each student have an adequate supply of rations. Hence the stalking, I suppose. I just see no need to rush out and get a kit together, since the rumored "big one" that will topple Los Angeles and send the California coast into the sea has been threatened my whole life, and it hasn't happened. Though I suppose the residents of Northridge in '94 would disagree...
At any rate, I finally decided I'd better find one of the many flyers the kids have brought home and see what I need to do to get these teachers off my back. The school helpfully offers two options: put a kit together on your own, or buy one pre-made from the PTA. Right away, though, something seemed a little off:
I can either get totally ripped off, for $10, by getting nothing but some water, a ration bar, a light stick and a foil blanket that probably cost the school less than $5, or...
I can spend WAY more than $10 and go on a grocery store scavenger hunt, plus have to go through all my photos to try to find one of all of us that would actually be "reassuring."
The two kit options aren't even close to being the same. The PTA-provided kit costs less than trying to make one on my own, but gives my kids next to nothing. Both kits ask for drinks, food, and some form of light. The PTA kit also provides a blanket, albeit a blanket made out of foil less than a millimeter thick that will make a kid look like an astronaut reject. There is no requirement that the homemade earthquake kit include either a blanket or foil; however, THAT kit will contain better food, tissue, hand wipes, and underwear. I have to make a decision: do I want my kid to be warm? Or have a clean rear end? Because evidently, these disaster-stricken kids don't get both. While I hardly want my kids to freeze to death while waiting for rescue, I figure maybe they can find some fallen drywall or ceiling tile to keep them warm...they're not going to find a spare pair of undies laying around unattended. And knowing the way Chris and Erin like to dig around in the dirt and collect things like glass shards, those hand wipes sound like a necessity if they don't want to contract e coli or something by eating earthquake rations with dirty hands. My choice seems clear. Plus, I missed the ordering deadline and couldn't give my kids the astronaut reject option even if I wanted to.
I'm thinking, though, that instead of providing a picture of our family, I might just print off a few good ones from http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com. The kids see enough of me as it is, and all three of them will be trapped in the same school together anyway. They're not going to miss each other. I'm glad, though, that it's no longer required to write a letter to your kid in addition to enclosing a photo. That had to go in the kits when I was a kid. Can you imagine? "Dear son, If you're reading this, there's been a horrible earthquake that's toppled power lines and your school. You're stranded at school, your least favorite place, with nothing but a couple snacks and some underwear. But hang in there, kiddo, I'm coming to get you just as soon as I can! Assuming the house didn't fall on me and kill me, that is. See you soon...maybe! Love, Mom." Yes, that'd definitely be reassuring.
I am now $38 poorer after my scavenger hunt at Target tonight, but at least Brian's teacher can get off my back. And the kids can now look forward to the June tradition of eating whatever hasn't melted into oblivion when the school gets everyone's unused earthquake kits out of whatever forsaken trash can they're stored in all year, and returns them to the kids to take back home. Last year, I went with the PTA kit option, and the poor things had nothing but an MRE-quality snack bar and water that looked like THIS:
Mmmm, emergency water. For use "anytime water is needed for an emergency." Yes, my kids are definitely more loved this year, when they get juice cans and underwear, than they were last year with their PTA Emergency Kits, or as I now call them, Supplies for Unloved and Stinky-Bottomed but Warm Children. Because nothing says love like hand wipes and clean underwear.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Fun with fundraising!
Well, the kids are back in school, which can only mean one thing...the return of the fall fundraiser. They're training the kids for careers in sales, evidently; my three came home insisting that I buy at least two items from each of them so they can all get a prize. What they want with a small flying Shrek toy, I don't know, but I'm glad they at least realize the 50-item Razor go-kart is out of the question.
My protests that they're asking me on the wrong day (i.e., any day that's not payday) notwithstanding, they forced me to open up the catalog and take a look at all the wonderfully photographed, overpriced crap nobody needs but everyone is guilted into buying. Right away, though, something caught my eye that really made me wonder about the people who designed this fundraising program.
Um...the last time I checked, things for sale have a price. Not a price RANGE. If you're shopping for groceries, they don't tell you the milk is anywhere from two bucks to $4.50, there's a nice little sticker on the shelf saying it's $2.59. This should be an easy concept to grasp. Evidently not:
So basically, they figure that charging way more than any of these things are worth isn't enough, and some people out there are thinking, "I realize they're asking me to pay $20 for a picture frame I can get anywhere else for $10, but I really wish I could pay even MORE." Because we're all just itching for more ways to throw away money. I'm always telling cashiers my groceries and clothes don't cost enough, and offering to pay an extra $20 or so. Finally, a company is going to allow me to pay more than I need to! The only thing frustrating about this is there's a limit to how much extra I can pay. Those cheap plastic luggage tags, for example, could cost me only $6.75, but I'm allowed to pay $11 for them instead if I want to. But what about someone who might want to pay $12? Or $15?
...Yeah, that's pretty much the stupidest thing I've ever seen in a catalog.
Idiotic pricing system aside, I do have three kids hoping for cheap and annoying prizes, so I decided to see exactly what kinds of crap I can pay too much for this year. Hmmm...
It's like brass knuckles for my wrist.
Cupcakes: no longer for eating, now for planting in flower pots.
Isn't that what the lid of the can is for?
The same people who can't figure out what to do with their removed can lid must also not be able to figure out how to squeeze a tube of toothpaste.
I can guarantee you that if Chris had to complete a placemat-sized math worksheet before eating, he would never eat a meal again.
Now these wind chimes, I could actually consider buying. They're not hideous. The catalog promises they will "add a touch of serenity" to my house, and we all know I could use more of that. Except...if you look at the picture...that would be an interior house wall those wind chimes are up against. That is most definitely not a stucco outside wall, or siding, or brick, or ANY kind of exterior surface. And the inside of my house just does not get that windy. Looks like the geniuses that can't strain a can of beans or squeeze out their toothpaste have struck again...
I may just stick with the tried-and-true overpriced gift wrap. I wonder if they'll let me pay $25 for the $8.50 rolls....
My protests that they're asking me on the wrong day (i.e., any day that's not payday) notwithstanding, they forced me to open up the catalog and take a look at all the wonderfully photographed, overpriced crap nobody needs but everyone is guilted into buying. Right away, though, something caught my eye that really made me wonder about the people who designed this fundraising program.
Um...the last time I checked, things for sale have a price. Not a price RANGE. If you're shopping for groceries, they don't tell you the milk is anywhere from two bucks to $4.50, there's a nice little sticker on the shelf saying it's $2.59. This should be an easy concept to grasp. Evidently not:
So basically, they figure that charging way more than any of these things are worth isn't enough, and some people out there are thinking, "I realize they're asking me to pay $20 for a picture frame I can get anywhere else for $10, but I really wish I could pay even MORE." Because we're all just itching for more ways to throw away money. I'm always telling cashiers my groceries and clothes don't cost enough, and offering to pay an extra $20 or so. Finally, a company is going to allow me to pay more than I need to! The only thing frustrating about this is there's a limit to how much extra I can pay. Those cheap plastic luggage tags, for example, could cost me only $6.75, but I'm allowed to pay $11 for them instead if I want to. But what about someone who might want to pay $12? Or $15?
...Yeah, that's pretty much the stupidest thing I've ever seen in a catalog.
Idiotic pricing system aside, I do have three kids hoping for cheap and annoying prizes, so I decided to see exactly what kinds of crap I can pay too much for this year. Hmmm...
It's like brass knuckles for my wrist.
Cupcakes: no longer for eating, now for planting in flower pots.
Isn't that what the lid of the can is for?
The same people who can't figure out what to do with their removed can lid must also not be able to figure out how to squeeze a tube of toothpaste.
I can guarantee you that if Chris had to complete a placemat-sized math worksheet before eating, he would never eat a meal again.
Now these wind chimes, I could actually consider buying. They're not hideous. The catalog promises they will "add a touch of serenity" to my house, and we all know I could use more of that. Except...if you look at the picture...that would be an interior house wall those wind chimes are up against. That is most definitely not a stucco outside wall, or siding, or brick, or ANY kind of exterior surface. And the inside of my house just does not get that windy. Looks like the geniuses that can't strain a can of beans or squeeze out their toothpaste have struck again...
I may just stick with the tried-and-true overpriced gift wrap. I wonder if they'll let me pay $25 for the $8.50 rolls....
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Tooth Fairy is a cheapskate.
Erin lost her second tooth yesterday, much to her delight. She showed it off to anyone at school she could get to pay attention, and then asked to make a round of phone calls last night informing family of the news--and her impending payday. "Last time I got TWO DOLLARS!" she proclaimed into the phone. I nudged her, reminding her that was a first-tooth bonus, and she probably wouldn't get the same amount again. "I know," she responded. "Maybe this time I'll get three! Or a thousand!" I told her if the Tooth Fairy was paying out a thousand bucks a tooth, I'd knock my own teeth out.
So, this morning, I woke up to a mournful-looking face inches from mine as a finger poked me in the side. "Mom," she pouted, "I don't know why, but there was only THIS under my pillow this morning." No, the tooth fairy didn't forget--Erin was holding a dollar in her hand. "Last time, I got TWO dollars. This time I only got one. Maybe the next time I lose a tooth, I'll only get a PENNY!"
I tried explaining that a dollar is pretty much all anyone gets around here for a tooth, unless there's extenuating circumstances, like the first-tooth bonus or the time a three-year-old Christopher knocked one of his out. But since I could not think of anything sold at Toys R Us for the low price of just one dollar, Erin is still rather perturbed. The dollar store is evidently just not her style.
So, this morning, I woke up to a mournful-looking face inches from mine as a finger poked me in the side. "Mom," she pouted, "I don't know why, but there was only THIS under my pillow this morning." No, the tooth fairy didn't forget--Erin was holding a dollar in her hand. "Last time, I got TWO dollars. This time I only got one. Maybe the next time I lose a tooth, I'll only get a PENNY!"
I tried explaining that a dollar is pretty much all anyone gets around here for a tooth, unless there's extenuating circumstances, like the first-tooth bonus or the time a three-year-old Christopher knocked one of his out. But since I could not think of anything sold at Toys R Us for the low price of just one dollar, Erin is still rather perturbed. The dollar store is evidently just not her style.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
He's just looking out for me, is all...
Brian: "Mom, there's something wrong with the tv. There's no sound, no matter how high I turn up the volume."
Me: "Uh, aren't you grounded from tv? So...you're trying to watch tv even though you're grounded?"
Brian: (pause) "I wasn't watching it...I just turned it on to check in case there might be a problem."
Me: "Uh, aren't you grounded from tv? So...you're trying to watch tv even though you're grounded?"
Brian: (pause) "I wasn't watching it...I just turned it on to check in case there might be a problem."
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Since when do boys get PMS?
I thought it was the GIRLS that went through mood swings and all-out general craziness. And I thought 10 years old wasn't quite puberty aged yet anyway. WTH is up with Brian? We got into some kind of yelling match earlier over something that I can't even remember, he was sent to his room, he screamed at me, "YOU SUCK!" and got grounded from tv for the rest of the week, he threw things around in his room, I told him I might not be paying for him to go on the next field trip if he acted this way, and he proceeded to bawl his eyes out for the next half hour. Not even fake crying...REAL crying. LOUD real crying. For half an hour. Then he went off on me for leaving the house to get Chris and Erin from the neighbor's where they were playing with the dog, because when I left the house it was dusk, so no lights were on, and then in the 10 minutes I was over there, it got dark, and he came out of his room to find the lights off and no one home and somehow couldn't figure out that I was picking Erin and Chris up even though the neighbor's screen door faces ours and their door is maybe 15 feet away and you could see me through the doorway. He was "scared." This from the kid who stays home for 2 hours at a time no problem. I asked him what the problem was--he knows how to turn on a light--and got a look of utter disgust.
This kinda thing happens all the time now. He's the most delightful, polite, mature person...and then WHAMMO, he's psychotic!
Who is this child? And if boys truly are easier than girls, I'm selling Erin on ebay now.
This kinda thing happens all the time now. He's the most delightful, polite, mature person...and then WHAMMO, he's psychotic!
Who is this child? And if boys truly are easier than girls, I'm selling Erin on ebay now.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Yep, she's female.
To say I'd been looking forward to sleeping in today would be an understatement. It's been a long week of field trips, recess supervision, and other things that you wouldn't think would tire a person out so much, but still leave me scrambling for red bull and coffee to prevent me from passing out when I get home from work each day. The one thought permeating my brain as I fell asleep last night was that finally, a morning was about to come that didn't involve my alarm going off at 6 am (and then again at 6:30, and then again at 7:00...). The blinds were shut tightly--not a single ray of sunlight would invade my house this morning until I was good and ready for it. The kids were all threatened properly with things like death and grounding from all things Nintendo that they had BETTER. SLEEP. IN. as well.
So when Erin woke me up at some unbearably early time and announced it was 7:30, all I could do was groan and point vaguely in the direction of her bedroom. She didn't get the hint, though, and kept trying to ensure I was aware of her presence. "Mom, I've been in my room for a long time and now I'm in the living room. Mom, I'm awake now. Mom, the clock says it's 7:32...." My half-asleep brain seemed to register that I was stuck with her, so I tried to get her to climb up next to me where she might decide she was so comfortable she'd go right back to sleep. (Yeah, that's never happened, but my half-asleep brain was desperate.) I moved one foot, exposing a small corner where she could sit, mumbled something incoherent, and wiggled my toe, which in the International Language of Sleep-Deprived Parents means "Since you won't go away, just come sit over here and be quiet, so I can pretend you're not there and keep sleeping."
Erin climbed up next to me, pulled some of my blanket over her, and burst into tears. I sighed and asked what was wrong. "I've been awake for a long time," she sobbed, "and all I could do was play with my toys, and I just want to TALK to somebody and all you're doing is going 'uhhhhhnnn!'" Grudgingly acknowledging that sleep was simply not on my agenda for the morning after all, I sat up. "Okay, okay. I'm awake. What do you want to talk about?"
Erin wiped away a tear. "Random stuff."
"Random stuff?" I wasn't sure I heard right. "Like what?"
"Oh, you know, like, hi and stuff."
And wouldn't you know, now that I've been properly roused out of bed, paid attention to her for two minutes, and have absolutely no chance of falling back asleep anytime this morning...she's dragged half of her Littlest Pet Shop toys out of her bedroom and is sitting on the couch with them all arranged around her in some invisible pet mansion or something, oblivious to everything I'm doing. I asked if she was done eating breakfast and just got an eyeroll and a "Mommmm...leave me alone!"
So when Erin woke me up at some unbearably early time and announced it was 7:30, all I could do was groan and point vaguely in the direction of her bedroom. She didn't get the hint, though, and kept trying to ensure I was aware of her presence. "Mom, I've been in my room for a long time and now I'm in the living room. Mom, I'm awake now. Mom, the clock says it's 7:32...." My half-asleep brain seemed to register that I was stuck with her, so I tried to get her to climb up next to me where she might decide she was so comfortable she'd go right back to sleep. (Yeah, that's never happened, but my half-asleep brain was desperate.) I moved one foot, exposing a small corner where she could sit, mumbled something incoherent, and wiggled my toe, which in the International Language of Sleep-Deprived Parents means "Since you won't go away, just come sit over here and be quiet, so I can pretend you're not there and keep sleeping."
Erin climbed up next to me, pulled some of my blanket over her, and burst into tears. I sighed and asked what was wrong. "I've been awake for a long time," she sobbed, "and all I could do was play with my toys, and I just want to TALK to somebody and all you're doing is going 'uhhhhhnnn!'" Grudgingly acknowledging that sleep was simply not on my agenda for the morning after all, I sat up. "Okay, okay. I'm awake. What do you want to talk about?"
Erin wiped away a tear. "Random stuff."
"Random stuff?" I wasn't sure I heard right. "Like what?"
"Oh, you know, like, hi and stuff."
And wouldn't you know, now that I've been properly roused out of bed, paid attention to her for two minutes, and have absolutely no chance of falling back asleep anytime this morning...she's dragged half of her Littlest Pet Shop toys out of her bedroom and is sitting on the couch with them all arranged around her in some invisible pet mansion or something, oblivious to everything I'm doing. I asked if she was done eating breakfast and just got an eyeroll and a "Mommmm...leave me alone!"
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Chris is not a happy camper tonight. I guess he yelled at a teacher or something today, and now he's stuck writing standards, which at my school often consist of a doozy of an essay. So lucky me is now sitting with him, dictating word-by-word what he needs to write, because he can't so much as write a sentence on his own without having his pencil blast off into outer space, or suddenly feel the need to clean his fingernails, or examine a speck of dust on the floor, or question the physics involved in slicing vegetables while not simultaneously slicing fingers...and on and on. Wheeeeeee. Here's the dissertation that is having me join him in plotting against his teacher:
"Why I am here:
"I am writing this lesson because something I said or did made my teacher think I am confused about why I am at school.
"All children must go to school because people in this country have decided that our country will be a better place to live in if everyone is educated. Educated people will probably be happier, earn more money, pay more taxes, and make more intelligent decisions during their lives. These things do not seem very important to me while I am in elementary school, and that is why the law is used to make me do something that I will appreciate later.
"I am in school to learn and practice using all the skills I might need as an adult. The teachers know more about which things will be worthwhile and useful for me in the future. They are here to provide me with information to make me more prepared and self-confident.
"Since I am required to be here, I should use my time wisely so that my time is not wasted. A good teacher cannot allow me to be disobedient, create disturbances, or show displays of poor attitude. She/he has to maintain an atmostphere that makes it possible for serious students to learn.
"School is not always fun. School is not here to entertain me. The teachers are not hired to show me a good time. Good teachers make subjects interesting whenever they can, but I have no excuse not to be cooperative when I do not think something is interesting enough. The teachers do not owe me anything except a chance to learn and grow from the experience he/she shares. I should accept this fact and make things easier for everyone, especially for me."
Now, I am all for consequences for yelling at teachers, but now that we're on the third time through this thing...even I am getting sick of it. I've started dictating things like "The teachers know...kung fu!" and "They are here to provide me with...candy!"
Maybe I need some standards of my own, lol. I seem to be a rebellious 8-year-old tonight myself. ;)
Thursday, June 10, 2010
My kids' motto: question everything. Literally.
The rebel in me likes that the kids don't ever seem to just accept what they're told. The teacher in me likes that they're curious and independent. The mom in me says...ENOUGH.
Today I had Nirvana's Incesticide playing in the car on the way home. Upon getting out of the car:
Chris: "Why'd he want his grandma to take him home?"
Me: "Apparently some kids don't like it when their parents leave them."
Chris: "What'd he kill?"
Brian: "A dog."
Me: "No...not a dog! A toad."
Erin: "How'd he do that?"
Me: "Uh...he ran it over."
Erin: "With his bike?"
Me: "Well, his grandma told him to ride his bike and then it said he killed a toad, so..."
Erin: "Where'd he ride his bike?"
Me: "His grandma's house."
Erin: "Where does his grandma live?"
Me: "It's a song...I don't know! It's just a SONG!"
Today I had Nirvana's Incesticide playing in the car on the way home. Upon getting out of the car:
Chris: "Why'd he want his grandma to take him home?"
Me: "Apparently some kids don't like it when their parents leave them."
Chris: "What'd he kill?"
Brian: "A dog."
Me: "No...not a dog! A toad."
Erin: "How'd he do that?"
Me: "Uh...he ran it over."
Erin: "With his bike?"
Me: "Well, his grandma told him to ride his bike and then it said he killed a toad, so..."
Erin: "Where'd he ride his bike?"
Me: "His grandma's house."
Erin: "Where does his grandma live?"
Me: "It's a song...I don't know! It's just a SONG!"
Sunday, April 25, 2010
From order to chaos
Yeah, I know, it's supposed to be the other way around. My kids missed that memo.
I decreed today Cleaning Day, as I am apt to do about once every few weeks when the mess sufficiently horrifies me and I decide the kids need to pitch in with cleaning, since probably 99% of the mess is theirs. Every time I do this, I have to come up with a new way of conning them into helping. The simple things--bribery, threats, checklists--stopped working long ago. These days I have to make them think that the cleaning itself is going to be some amazingly fun task: spray bottles to clean the floor, money hidden where they're cleaning, jobs they usually aren't "allowed" to do but "just this once" can get away with. They seem to be on to me now, though, and the same trick doesn't work twice.
I'm running out of options, so today's idea probably wasn't the stroke of genius I considered it to be at the time. I made up a list of all the jobs that needed to get done, and then let everyone pick a marker. They got to take turns picking a job from the list and calling it by marking near it with their color, then could cross it off with their assigned color after completing it. Thankfully, they didn't ask if I was going to count up how jobs each of them did or give them a reward or anything--I had nothing in mind. The "fun" of picking their own work and using markers was supposed to be good enough. I can see that was where I erred. (Well, that and expecting these kids to do ANYTHING properly unsupervised.)
It started well enough. Jobs got picked and crossed off. I got to start on the dishes knowing everyone could consult the list, and not me, for orders. Except then Brian crossed off the dishes with his red marker, even though it wasn't his job, let alone done, and I felt OCD enough to need to rewrite the entire list to fix it. Then Erin crossed off the bookshelf instead of the tv area that she'd just done. I griped at her to just do the bookshelf next, then, because I wasn't going to write the list AGAIN. Then everyone picked a sweeping job. At once. When we only own one broom. And said broom cannot be in the kitchen, bathroom, and hallway, held by three different people, at once.
When the Broom Wars had concluded and the kids were starting to escape out the front door to play, I decided to check in and see what had been done...inspection time.
At first, all looked good. The TV area had been organized, bookshelf straightened, and the living room was swept. Nice!
Then I moved on to the kitchen. Apparently Brian felt the need to return the dirty dishes to the top of the stove after cleaning it. The stove itself was shiny, though, so I let it go.
Our dining table had been cleared off...kinda. While I appreciated the lack of dirty dishes and napkins, I am not quite sure what possessed Erin to think that the wadded-up kitchen rug would be a good addition to the place where Brian eats. Nor do we particularly need an Easter basket, paper towel roll, or giant bag of chips there.
Still, there had at least been improvement. But I think it was at this point the kids stopped applying themselves. Supposedly this was a freshly swept and mopped kitchen floor:
It was a nice touch to replace overturned trash cans and dirty laundry in the exact spot where they'd been found, right? Never let it be said that my kids lack attention to detail. Even the sand on the bathroom floor had been returned to its hiding spot along the wall behind the door after that room had been "swept" and "mopped."
And while I didn't realize that I'd written "Organize a WWE wrestling match to take place on Erin's bed" on the list, apparently the boys found that there in invisible ink or something, because that's what they moved on to next, instead of picking toys or clothes up off bedroom floors. It was at this point I decided the only part of the house that *really* needs to be clean is the front entryway, and since that's done...it's quitting time.
The next time I plan a cleaning day, I'm thinking I'll do it Simpsons-style, and just start throwing sticks of dynamite around. It'll look the same, and take less than half the time.
I decreed today Cleaning Day, as I am apt to do about once every few weeks when the mess sufficiently horrifies me and I decide the kids need to pitch in with cleaning, since probably 99% of the mess is theirs. Every time I do this, I have to come up with a new way of conning them into helping. The simple things--bribery, threats, checklists--stopped working long ago. These days I have to make them think that the cleaning itself is going to be some amazingly fun task: spray bottles to clean the floor, money hidden where they're cleaning, jobs they usually aren't "allowed" to do but "just this once" can get away with. They seem to be on to me now, though, and the same trick doesn't work twice.
I'm running out of options, so today's idea probably wasn't the stroke of genius I considered it to be at the time. I made up a list of all the jobs that needed to get done, and then let everyone pick a marker. They got to take turns picking a job from the list and calling it by marking near it with their color, then could cross it off with their assigned color after completing it. Thankfully, they didn't ask if I was going to count up how jobs each of them did or give them a reward or anything--I had nothing in mind. The "fun" of picking their own work and using markers was supposed to be good enough. I can see that was where I erred. (Well, that and expecting these kids to do ANYTHING properly unsupervised.)
It started well enough. Jobs got picked and crossed off. I got to start on the dishes knowing everyone could consult the list, and not me, for orders. Except then Brian crossed off the dishes with his red marker, even though it wasn't his job, let alone done, and I felt OCD enough to need to rewrite the entire list to fix it. Then Erin crossed off the bookshelf instead of the tv area that she'd just done. I griped at her to just do the bookshelf next, then, because I wasn't going to write the list AGAIN. Then everyone picked a sweeping job. At once. When we only own one broom. And said broom cannot be in the kitchen, bathroom, and hallway, held by three different people, at once.
When the Broom Wars had concluded and the kids were starting to escape out the front door to play, I decided to check in and see what had been done...inspection time.
At first, all looked good. The TV area had been organized, bookshelf straightened, and the living room was swept. Nice!
Then I moved on to the kitchen. Apparently Brian felt the need to return the dirty dishes to the top of the stove after cleaning it. The stove itself was shiny, though, so I let it go.
Our dining table had been cleared off...kinda. While I appreciated the lack of dirty dishes and napkins, I am not quite sure what possessed Erin to think that the wadded-up kitchen rug would be a good addition to the place where Brian eats. Nor do we particularly need an Easter basket, paper towel roll, or giant bag of chips there.
Still, there had at least been improvement. But I think it was at this point the kids stopped applying themselves. Supposedly this was a freshly swept and mopped kitchen floor:
It was a nice touch to replace overturned trash cans and dirty laundry in the exact spot where they'd been found, right? Never let it be said that my kids lack attention to detail. Even the sand on the bathroom floor had been returned to its hiding spot along the wall behind the door after that room had been "swept" and "mopped."
And while I didn't realize that I'd written "Organize a WWE wrestling match to take place on Erin's bed" on the list, apparently the boys found that there in invisible ink or something, because that's what they moved on to next, instead of picking toys or clothes up off bedroom floors. It was at this point I decided the only part of the house that *really* needs to be clean is the front entryway, and since that's done...it's quitting time.
The next time I plan a cleaning day, I'm thinking I'll do it Simpsons-style, and just start throwing sticks of dynamite around. It'll look the same, and take less than half the time.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Victory! Or at least progress.
I am so stinkin' proud of Brian. He was chosen by his teacher as Student of the Month for this month from his class and received an award today. Turns out Brian's award was for "most improved behavior." And while I suppose that means that at one point, he was exhibiting some very un-improved behavior...well, he's Brian. That kinda comes with the territory. ;) Ever since he started school he's been getting in trouble for one thing or another. He punched kids in kindergarten. He argued in the classroom in first and second grades. He's always been a retaliator rather than an instigator, but what he'd "retaliate" for was usually something that hadn't even happened with any offense meant, or at least didn't warrant a reaction as large as Brian's. Every year, he quickly got a reputation as somewhat of a troublemaker. One with a good heart, for sure, and the teachers always recognized how bright he was and usually saw how delightful a child he could be, but he just couldn't control his impulsivity.
His habit of punching kids who offended him in kindergarten is what led to his ADHD diagnosis, and that in turn led to behavior therapy, classroom accomodations, Adderall, and Strattera...and more parent-teacher conferences than I can count. This year, though, I've only met with his teacher twice, and he wound up going off all medication after having some side effects from Adderall and not seeing any benefit with Strattera. My attention has been tied up with Chris, too, what with his issues with getting homework done, and so I've had to just kinda cross my fingers and hope that Brian was getting through his year with as few problems as possible.
So it has just made my entire month to see that without any medication or interventions on my/his teacher's behalf, Brian has been able to show enough improvement in controlling his ADHD symptoms to receive an award for improved behavior. I want to shout to someone, "...and he did this WITHOUT MEDS!" I am so proud of him, so incredibly proud. I'm sure we'll have plenty of issues in the future--he's often off task during work time and still can't seem to get homework turned in, for one thing--but to know that he's able not just to get by, but to do well, behaviorally, without having to be on medication is such thrilling news for me.
And this also means...there's hope for Erin yet. ;)
His habit of punching kids who offended him in kindergarten is what led to his ADHD diagnosis, and that in turn led to behavior therapy, classroom accomodations, Adderall, and Strattera...and more parent-teacher conferences than I can count. This year, though, I've only met with his teacher twice, and he wound up going off all medication after having some side effects from Adderall and not seeing any benefit with Strattera. My attention has been tied up with Chris, too, what with his issues with getting homework done, and so I've had to just kinda cross my fingers and hope that Brian was getting through his year with as few problems as possible.
So it has just made my entire month to see that without any medication or interventions on my/his teacher's behalf, Brian has been able to show enough improvement in controlling his ADHD symptoms to receive an award for improved behavior. I want to shout to someone, "...and he did this WITHOUT MEDS!" I am so proud of him, so incredibly proud. I'm sure we'll have plenty of issues in the future--he's often off task during work time and still can't seem to get homework turned in, for one thing--but to know that he's able not just to get by, but to do well, behaviorally, without having to be on medication is such thrilling news for me.
And this also means...there's hope for Erin yet. ;)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
So much for THAT life lesson.
The boys both have monthly speeches to give in their classrooms this year. It's apparently part of the fourth grade curriculum to deliver a monthly oral presentation on a given topic, so Brian is required to write and give a speech every month, and Chris is in a 3/4 combination class so he's stuck giving the speeches too. These speeches have been a nemesis for all of us throughout the year--I've heard it said that people with ADD have two times: "now," and "not now," and speech-writing assignments have gotten lumped into the "not now" category until the week they are due, which leaves the boys scrambling to come up with something with me stressing out and breathing down their necks about it. Typically, they'll leave the project alone until two days or so before it's due, and then grudgingly write and practice their speech under threat of grounding from nearly everything they own. Come the next month, they promise to start earlier...and then promptly ignore the assignment until two days before the next one is due.
Last month was the final straw for me...after weeks of me being on his case, Chris managed to write just eight words to guide him through a two-minute presentation--which he somehow pulled off, but scored rather low on. Brian spent one stressed-out week writing about Steven Spielberg and could only get going after I drew up an outline for him and coached him through weeding through pages of biography.com printouts for pertinent information, so that he could write a biography, and not a list of every movie Spielberg ever touched. I told the boys that their March speech would need to be started ASAP so we could avoid the "let's see how stressed we can make Mom on Wednesday night" game they've been playing each month the week their speech is due.
So, of course, this month, nobody worked on their speech. And I vowed not to save them this time. Chris wrote a list of ten words or so and was going to give the rest of his presentation (on his review of The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles) pretty much on the fly, without even practicing. Then he lost the paper. Brian didn't write anything at all, then fell to pieces last night when I told him I would absolutely NOT allow him to stay up late to write, let alone assist him. I told Chris he needed to keep better track of his papers and Brian that he needed to start MUCH earlier than the night before a project was due if he expected any help. I told them they'd just have to show up speech-less (ha) and live with the consequences.
Chris found his list of words in the car, and according to his post-school debriefing, did "great, Mom!" on his presentation. Brian switched books this morning, opting for Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Roderick Rules over The Wizard of Oz (which in itself made me cringe), and then proceeded to start writing a speech in the car as I drove to Starbucks and then to drop them off at school. He says he kept writing in the classroom and had time to read over one sentence in his head before it was his turn to present. I supressed the urge to start in with the "I told you so!"s until he finished his tale of a dismal performance...
...except apparently, he did better on this speech than on any other this year. He got a grade of 3.4 on a 4-point scale, meaning he met the standards and then did a little bit better in some areas. In a final injury to my plan to gloat over his misdoings, his teacher had even written comments like "Great job!" and "Rehearsed, but read"...meaning he somehow managed to fool his teacher into thinking he had practiced a speech he had just finished writing within two minutes of giving. The only thing he was marked down for was a lack of eye contact, since he read straight from his paper, but even there he saved himself by bringing up the book and showing parts of it to the class (which also helped him meet his time requirement of two minutes, since his written speech wasn't long enough).
He is now utterly bewildered at why I've grounded him and is complaining to anyone who will listen that he got grounded for getting an A on his speech. And my brilliant plan of letting him suffer the consequences of his poor work ethic has rather backfired. Chris didn't learn any lessons about preparation and planning today, either, since he apparently pulled off a great speech, too. So...another life lesson learned: procrastination gets you far in life. Sigh.
Last month was the final straw for me...after weeks of me being on his case, Chris managed to write just eight words to guide him through a two-minute presentation--which he somehow pulled off, but scored rather low on. Brian spent one stressed-out week writing about Steven Spielberg and could only get going after I drew up an outline for him and coached him through weeding through pages of biography.com printouts for pertinent information, so that he could write a biography, and not a list of every movie Spielberg ever touched. I told the boys that their March speech would need to be started ASAP so we could avoid the "let's see how stressed we can make Mom on Wednesday night" game they've been playing each month the week their speech is due.
So, of course, this month, nobody worked on their speech. And I vowed not to save them this time. Chris wrote a list of ten words or so and was going to give the rest of his presentation (on his review of The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles) pretty much on the fly, without even practicing. Then he lost the paper. Brian didn't write anything at all, then fell to pieces last night when I told him I would absolutely NOT allow him to stay up late to write, let alone assist him. I told Chris he needed to keep better track of his papers and Brian that he needed to start MUCH earlier than the night before a project was due if he expected any help. I told them they'd just have to show up speech-less (ha) and live with the consequences.
Chris found his list of words in the car, and according to his post-school debriefing, did "great, Mom!" on his presentation. Brian switched books this morning, opting for Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Roderick Rules over The Wizard of Oz (which in itself made me cringe), and then proceeded to start writing a speech in the car as I drove to Starbucks and then to drop them off at school. He says he kept writing in the classroom and had time to read over one sentence in his head before it was his turn to present. I supressed the urge to start in with the "I told you so!"s until he finished his tale of a dismal performance...
...except apparently, he did better on this speech than on any other this year. He got a grade of 3.4 on a 4-point scale, meaning he met the standards and then did a little bit better in some areas. In a final injury to my plan to gloat over his misdoings, his teacher had even written comments like "Great job!" and "Rehearsed, but read"...meaning he somehow managed to fool his teacher into thinking he had practiced a speech he had just finished writing within two minutes of giving. The only thing he was marked down for was a lack of eye contact, since he read straight from his paper, but even there he saved himself by bringing up the book and showing parts of it to the class (which also helped him meet his time requirement of two minutes, since his written speech wasn't long enough).
He is now utterly bewildered at why I've grounded him and is complaining to anyone who will listen that he got grounded for getting an A on his speech. And my brilliant plan of letting him suffer the consequences of his poor work ethic has rather backfired. Chris didn't learn any lessons about preparation and planning today, either, since he apparently pulled off a great speech, too. So...another life lesson learned: procrastination gets you far in life. Sigh.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Adventures in second grade...
This is my fourth school year at The School That Never Closes, and the second graders in my 2/3 combo are the roughest group of students I've taught so far. I knew it was going to be "that kind" of a year soon after they moved from first grade into my class. Suddenly NEEDING a week-long vacation two weeks after getting a new group of kids is never a good sign, and despite my summer of boot camp and strict adherence to class procedures during the year, these kids are still acting like we're only three weeks into the school year--when we're less than three months away from it ending. Since this group will become next year's third graders, who I can usually count on to set an example and work more independently at the beginning of the year while I get the new second graders in shape, I am pretty darn worried. I call them the Second Graders of Doom. I say that affectionately, of course--individually, I love nearly all 21 of them, and have found things to like about the couple who are less endearing. But as a class...it's the herd mentality at its worst. Or at least a very immature group of kids who all act like they have ADD.
Today started off with me getting to deal with a fiasco from yesterday. Apparently a few of my quiet ones--top students who never talk or get into any kind of trouble--had been passing notes back and forth. Notes that said things like "You should show your fat butt to the class!", "You kissed J--- and M---. Ask god if you can marry me now!" (to which the reply was, "He said yes!"), and the kicker..."You have a fat weener!" After my interrogation (where I also learned that there was a rumor running rampant that two other kids had kissed on the lips) revealed which students had written which words, I got to spend some time in the office dealing with the school's director over it, and then got to lecture the class about note-passing, the appropriate use of class time, and the lack of a need to discuss kissing, dating, marriage, and human anatomy in second grade. The three kids involved received standards from the office that I had to enforce ("I will not write mean notes" 100 times, written at recess--leaving those kids without any recess today) and I was told their mortified, conservative Asian parents wanted to come in and read the notes. So I had that to look forward to.
All that happened in just the first 45 minutes of school. We then got to enjoy spelling, reading, and social studies tests before lunch. After lunch, five of my second graders were caught playing tag in the bathrooms (girls and boys reaching into each other's restrooms to try to get the other kids) and so they wound up with standards, too. Apparently one of my note-passers really likes to write, because he was in Bathroom Group and got standards for that on top of the ones for the "Show Your Naked Butt"-writing incident.
By the time we got to our math lesson--usually first thing in the morning but pushed to the afternoon because of all the tests--the kids' attention spans were so short that math consisted of me passing out blocks to learn about volume and then spending the following 45 minutes saying things like, "Okay, next, I want you to make--Allison, eyes up front--to make a shape that has--Ethan!--a volume of--Jason, leave Janna alone--Megan, go throw that eraser away. Now that you've hacked it into bits with your pencil there's no way it can be used for anything. Just put it in the trash. A shape with a volume of ten--Miranda, there is no math lesson on the wall behind you. Turn around. A volume of ten blocks..." all while walking around the classroom being kicked by swinging feet under desks by kids who had mysteriously lost all feeling in their feet, because they all claimed no knowledge that their feet had struck anything, let alone my shin. (They totally did not mean to kick me...I am just flabbergasted that they didn't even realize their feet were swinging into me.)
By the end of the school day, I was exhausted and ready to go home. But luckily, I work at a school that stays open for extended care and requires me to work until 5:30 pm, so after my 2:30 pm lunch break/trip to pick up the boys from their school, I got to return to work. Heaven only knows how much of my day would have been wasted laying around the house, otherwise. At least Thursday is Movie Day, I thought--after our half hour of homework time where the kids do anything but their homework, they'd be quiet and I could close my eyes and mentally whisk myself away to the nearest happy hour...or at least catch up on some grading. But the Second Graders of Doom don't do anything easily. First I had a girl volunteer to sharpen the pencils. I thanked her for offering and then informed the class that she was perfectly capable of using our one pencil sharpener by herself and so we didn't need any other helpers. Five hands stayed up. I repeated that she would do the job alone and nobody else would be helping. One hand stayed up. I asked the kid if he had a question about his homework. He said no--could he help sharpen the pencils? I asked if he'd heard what I'd told the class two times. He said yes, that Pencil Girl would be working alone and nobody would help her. I asked if it made any sense, then, for him to ask to help. He said yes. My head was introduced to my desk.
After that, my coteacher and I started dismissing kids to move their chairs for better movie viewing, allowing the tortured third graders to go first (as they have been a stellar class all year and have to put up with the behavioral consequences and lectures the second graders get). Coteacher and I then had a few second graders change desks so nobody was sitting next to anyone else, and then my coteacher told one quiet second grader he could move to another seat if he liked. At that point, a girl raised her hand (meaning to ask if she could move somewhere else), so I headed off that flood of questions by telling second grade that everyone who was going to be dismissed had already been, so anyone who hadn't been dismissed needed to stay put. Her hand stayed up. I repeated my statement. Her hand stayed up and she looked expectantly at me. I called on her...and she asked if she could move.
Then the kid who had been told to move raised his hand, and complained to me that the other teacher had told him he could move his chair. I said I didn't know why he was telling me that because I had never told him he couldn't move--I had told everyone else that if they had NOT been dismissed, they needed to stay put. HE had been given permission to move. Everyone else had not. So he sat down at his desk dejectedly. It took another few minutes of explanation before he understood he I hadn't told him anything about staying put and he was free to follow the other teacher's permission to move his chair. And this is a straight-A kid.
Tomorrow we get to go on a field trip to a farm an hour or so away to pick strawberries. The kids have been instructed to pack a lunch with only disposable contents, as we can't bring anything back on the bus, and to not wear anything that covers up their green school t-shirts. I overheard one of the girls tell her mom that she needed a lunch packed so she could throw it all away.
I think I need to pack a flask.
Today started off with me getting to deal with a fiasco from yesterday. Apparently a few of my quiet ones--top students who never talk or get into any kind of trouble--had been passing notes back and forth. Notes that said things like "You should show your fat butt to the class!", "You kissed J--- and M---. Ask god if you can marry me now!" (to which the reply was, "He said yes!"), and the kicker..."You have a fat weener!" After my interrogation (where I also learned that there was a rumor running rampant that two other kids had kissed on the lips) revealed which students had written which words, I got to spend some time in the office dealing with the school's director over it, and then got to lecture the class about note-passing, the appropriate use of class time, and the lack of a need to discuss kissing, dating, marriage, and human anatomy in second grade. The three kids involved received standards from the office that I had to enforce ("I will not write mean notes" 100 times, written at recess--leaving those kids without any recess today) and I was told their mortified, conservative Asian parents wanted to come in and read the notes. So I had that to look forward to.
All that happened in just the first 45 minutes of school. We then got to enjoy spelling, reading, and social studies tests before lunch. After lunch, five of my second graders were caught playing tag in the bathrooms (girls and boys reaching into each other's restrooms to try to get the other kids) and so they wound up with standards, too. Apparently one of my note-passers really likes to write, because he was in Bathroom Group and got standards for that on top of the ones for the "Show Your Naked Butt"-writing incident.
By the time we got to our math lesson--usually first thing in the morning but pushed to the afternoon because of all the tests--the kids' attention spans were so short that math consisted of me passing out blocks to learn about volume and then spending the following 45 minutes saying things like, "Okay, next, I want you to make--Allison, eyes up front--to make a shape that has--Ethan!--a volume of--Jason, leave Janna alone--Megan, go throw that eraser away. Now that you've hacked it into bits with your pencil there's no way it can be used for anything. Just put it in the trash. A shape with a volume of ten--Miranda, there is no math lesson on the wall behind you. Turn around. A volume of ten blocks..." all while walking around the classroom being kicked by swinging feet under desks by kids who had mysteriously lost all feeling in their feet, because they all claimed no knowledge that their feet had struck anything, let alone my shin. (They totally did not mean to kick me...I am just flabbergasted that they didn't even realize their feet were swinging into me.)
By the end of the school day, I was exhausted and ready to go home. But luckily, I work at a school that stays open for extended care and requires me to work until 5:30 pm, so after my 2:30 pm lunch break/trip to pick up the boys from their school, I got to return to work. Heaven only knows how much of my day would have been wasted laying around the house, otherwise. At least Thursday is Movie Day, I thought--after our half hour of homework time where the kids do anything but their homework, they'd be quiet and I could close my eyes and mentally whisk myself away to the nearest happy hour...or at least catch up on some grading. But the Second Graders of Doom don't do anything easily. First I had a girl volunteer to sharpen the pencils. I thanked her for offering and then informed the class that she was perfectly capable of using our one pencil sharpener by herself and so we didn't need any other helpers. Five hands stayed up. I repeated that she would do the job alone and nobody else would be helping. One hand stayed up. I asked the kid if he had a question about his homework. He said no--could he help sharpen the pencils? I asked if he'd heard what I'd told the class two times. He said yes, that Pencil Girl would be working alone and nobody would help her. I asked if it made any sense, then, for him to ask to help. He said yes. My head was introduced to my desk.
After that, my coteacher and I started dismissing kids to move their chairs for better movie viewing, allowing the tortured third graders to go first (as they have been a stellar class all year and have to put up with the behavioral consequences and lectures the second graders get). Coteacher and I then had a few second graders change desks so nobody was sitting next to anyone else, and then my coteacher told one quiet second grader he could move to another seat if he liked. At that point, a girl raised her hand (meaning to ask if she could move somewhere else), so I headed off that flood of questions by telling second grade that everyone who was going to be dismissed had already been, so anyone who hadn't been dismissed needed to stay put. Her hand stayed up. I repeated my statement. Her hand stayed up and she looked expectantly at me. I called on her...and she asked if she could move.
Then the kid who had been told to move raised his hand, and complained to me that the other teacher had told him he could move his chair. I said I didn't know why he was telling me that because I had never told him he couldn't move--I had told everyone else that if they had NOT been dismissed, they needed to stay put. HE had been given permission to move. Everyone else had not. So he sat down at his desk dejectedly. It took another few minutes of explanation before he understood he I hadn't told him anything about staying put and he was free to follow the other teacher's permission to move his chair. And this is a straight-A kid.
Tomorrow we get to go on a field trip to a farm an hour or so away to pick strawberries. The kids have been instructed to pack a lunch with only disposable contents, as we can't bring anything back on the bus, and to not wear anything that covers up their green school t-shirts. I overheard one of the girls tell her mom that she needed a lunch packed so she could throw it all away.
I think I need to pack a flask.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
A rose by any other name...is a TRICK, I tell you!
The kids were peeking over my shoulder as I commented back to someone on my facebook page this morning. Erin noticed my name at the top had both my current name and my maiden name, which I think I am going back to (but that's a whole 'nother existential-crisis-laden post), but is currently up there just so that people who knew my by that name can find me as easily as people who know me by the name I have now. Erin took one look at the name in parentheses and exclaimed, "Mom! You're really Debbie Lensner? You TRICKED us!"
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The little engine that...wouldn't.
I'm fed up with Chris...just plain fed up. I don't know where to draw the line between "I'm the parent and I'll make him do what he's supposed to" and "He's responsible for himself; let him suffer the consequences." I've tried various combinations of the two and nothing leaves me feeling like I'm doing anything right.
He won't do his schoolwork/homework. I mean--won't do it. Flat out just doesn't do anything. And a big part of this I think is ADD-related. Last year he did a lot better in school; this year I think his medication is not at the right dosage for him anymore and I've tried various things after various dr visits but we just aren't at the right place yet.
But part of it, too, is that he just doesn't care. He doesn't even try. With Brian...you can tell the kid tries. He may be a basket case in terms of organization but he really tries. He is incredibly dependable and responsible, actually, and though he can't seem to remember he has unfinished homework some nights until bedtime, he'll stay up until he's done, ask for help with organizing his writing, etc., and he'll DO it. He wants to do well and is trying to work within his means to do so. And so I don't care if that doesn't please his teacher, quite honestly--I can tell he's doing everything he can, and he's not even on any medication right now. But Chris...holy crap. I cleaned out his desk at his school today and got a big stack of unfinished work--probably twenty pages of cursive practice, some spelling, and some other random pages. While I was collecting the past semester's worth of written work out of his desk, his teacher came up to me and said "Chris did his social studies today!" like someone might say "Bobby memorized eighty-five digits of pi today and recited them while tap-dancing to an original music composition--on the MOON!" I told her I was glad, and yet so sorry that surprised her, and we both laughed...but seriously. Trying to get him to do ANYTHING written is like pulling teeth. Worse. And it's not like he can't do the work. He already has his May speech memorized--that is just reciting a poem, nothing written. He can do his math just fine, he just hates to write any of it down on paper. He has the vocabulary of a high schooler. He's been identified to test for admission to the GATE (gifted) program. He can easily, so easily, do his third grade classwork. He is just freaking stubborn and doesn't want to do anything involving a pencil and paper. And he can't type all his work. And even typing doesn't encourage him much.
He has a speech due Thursday and he hasn't written it. He's done nothing towards getting it done. He has to write about a hero and said he "can't think of anyone" and finally, after DAYS of me trying to help him think and get started, decided to talk about the school police officer. He has a list of maybe six words written down and says maybe he'll just add a few more words and wing it...but I know he doesn't have enough to fill two minutes of speaking time. I told him I'm not going to help him anymore since he's not doing any work on it and he'll just have to suffer the consequences. He said he understood. I told him if he keeps on not doing his work and winds up with 0s and 1s on his report card, that's like failing, and he might have to repeat 3rd grade. He looked shocked--then grinned, and said, "Well then, I'd better keep my papers!"
And this is on top of the sneakiness I've been trying to nip in the bud. I am beating my head against the wall with this kid. Whatever stage he's in, needs to friggin' END.
He won't do his schoolwork/homework. I mean--won't do it. Flat out just doesn't do anything. And a big part of this I think is ADD-related. Last year he did a lot better in school; this year I think his medication is not at the right dosage for him anymore and I've tried various things after various dr visits but we just aren't at the right place yet.
But part of it, too, is that he just doesn't care. He doesn't even try. With Brian...you can tell the kid tries. He may be a basket case in terms of organization but he really tries. He is incredibly dependable and responsible, actually, and though he can't seem to remember he has unfinished homework some nights until bedtime, he'll stay up until he's done, ask for help with organizing his writing, etc., and he'll DO it. He wants to do well and is trying to work within his means to do so. And so I don't care if that doesn't please his teacher, quite honestly--I can tell he's doing everything he can, and he's not even on any medication right now. But Chris...holy crap. I cleaned out his desk at his school today and got a big stack of unfinished work--probably twenty pages of cursive practice, some spelling, and some other random pages. While I was collecting the past semester's worth of written work out of his desk, his teacher came up to me and said "Chris did his social studies today!" like someone might say "Bobby memorized eighty-five digits of pi today and recited them while tap-dancing to an original music composition--on the MOON!" I told her I was glad, and yet so sorry that surprised her, and we both laughed...but seriously. Trying to get him to do ANYTHING written is like pulling teeth. Worse. And it's not like he can't do the work. He already has his May speech memorized--that is just reciting a poem, nothing written. He can do his math just fine, he just hates to write any of it down on paper. He has the vocabulary of a high schooler. He's been identified to test for admission to the GATE (gifted) program. He can easily, so easily, do his third grade classwork. He is just freaking stubborn and doesn't want to do anything involving a pencil and paper. And he can't type all his work. And even typing doesn't encourage him much.
He has a speech due Thursday and he hasn't written it. He's done nothing towards getting it done. He has to write about a hero and said he "can't think of anyone" and finally, after DAYS of me trying to help him think and get started, decided to talk about the school police officer. He has a list of maybe six words written down and says maybe he'll just add a few more words and wing it...but I know he doesn't have enough to fill two minutes of speaking time. I told him I'm not going to help him anymore since he's not doing any work on it and he'll just have to suffer the consequences. He said he understood. I told him if he keeps on not doing his work and winds up with 0s and 1s on his report card, that's like failing, and he might have to repeat 3rd grade. He looked shocked--then grinned, and said, "Well then, I'd better keep my papers!"
And this is on top of the sneakiness I've been trying to nip in the bud. I am beating my head against the wall with this kid. Whatever stage he's in, needs to friggin' END.
Friday, February 12, 2010
You know you have ADD when...
I found a list by this title in my latest issue of ADDitude magazine, which may or may not have arrived in this week's mail, but which I just discovered in a pile of paperwork near the computer, and now I have to write my own.
...you get so bored waiting at red lights that you will make a detour to avoid the light that winds up being longer than it would have taken to sit at the light--but that's ok, because you were driving and not sitting there.
...you are happiest behind the wheel when driving 90 miles an hour, because you can really think.
...you can focus best with music blasting at jet-airplane-level decibels, yet cannot grade papers after school because the sound of students talking to each other in the afterschool care program is too distracting.
...you find yourself pulling into the parking lot at work with no recollection of driving there, because you drove the whole way on autopilot, lost in thought.
...it doesn't matter how badly you need to use the bathroom; you still wind up procrastinating at least an hour.
...you treat your tie shoes like slip-ons, because untying them every time you take them off and retying them every time you put them on is WAY too much work.
...you drink eight cups of coffee before bed and have no trouble going to sleep.
...you watch tv while sitting at your computer with five browser tabs going, dinner on the stove, and your cell phone in hand, texting.
...you forget that you were boiling water for spaghetti until there's an inch of water left in the pan.
...you set a timer for ten minutes so that you don't forget the boiling water on the stove, and when it goes off, you jump a mile and then can't remember why on earth you set a timer.
...your clean laundry sits in a pile until it is gradually worn and put into the dirty pile, which is hopefully at least two feet away from the clean pile.
...you remember all the important phone calls you need to make, such as calling the pediatrician for a refill of your son's medication, at 10:30 pm every night--but can't ever seem to remember to call when the office is actually OPEN.
...you have piles of mail and other paperwork covering any and all flat surfaces in your house.
...you forget what you were saying in the middle of the sentence you just began.
...you don't last five minutes into a telephone conversation before spacing out, and have to cover by mumbling some appropriate-sounding "uh huh"s and "really?"s while waiting for the other person to say something that will remind you what they were talking about.
...you have no idea what it feels like to not have at least five different topics on your mind at any given time.
...you don't make it out the door without forgetting at least one essential item you'd needed that day.
...you can't remember whether you just used the shampoo or not, while showering, so you shampoo again.
...you forget what you were about to do when you enter a room, so you go back and retrace your steps, remember, go back...and have forgotten again.
...you hear every voice talking in a room at once, and catch bits and pieces of every conversation except the one you're supposed to be participating in.
...you don't bother with lesson plans for anything you're going to teach because you'll never remember them or get the materials prepared anyway--but you think up a great, hands-on, meaningful lesson that is absolutely perfect for the subject matter two minutes into teaching it.
...you go to Target to buy paper towels and come out with a shirt, paper plates, toilet cleaner, flash cards, socks, and a charcoal grill (that will subsequently sit unassembled in its box for a full year in your garage)--and no paper towels.
...you get so bored waiting at red lights that you will make a detour to avoid the light that winds up being longer than it would have taken to sit at the light--but that's ok, because you were driving and not sitting there.
...you are happiest behind the wheel when driving 90 miles an hour, because you can really think.
...you can focus best with music blasting at jet-airplane-level decibels, yet cannot grade papers after school because the sound of students talking to each other in the afterschool care program is too distracting.
...you find yourself pulling into the parking lot at work with no recollection of driving there, because you drove the whole way on autopilot, lost in thought.
...it doesn't matter how badly you need to use the bathroom; you still wind up procrastinating at least an hour.
...you treat your tie shoes like slip-ons, because untying them every time you take them off and retying them every time you put them on is WAY too much work.
...you drink eight cups of coffee before bed and have no trouble going to sleep.
...you watch tv while sitting at your computer with five browser tabs going, dinner on the stove, and your cell phone in hand, texting.
...you forget that you were boiling water for spaghetti until there's an inch of water left in the pan.
...you set a timer for ten minutes so that you don't forget the boiling water on the stove, and when it goes off, you jump a mile and then can't remember why on earth you set a timer.
...your clean laundry sits in a pile until it is gradually worn and put into the dirty pile, which is hopefully at least two feet away from the clean pile.
...you remember all the important phone calls you need to make, such as calling the pediatrician for a refill of your son's medication, at 10:30 pm every night--but can't ever seem to remember to call when the office is actually OPEN.
...you have piles of mail and other paperwork covering any and all flat surfaces in your house.
...you forget what you were saying in the middle of the sentence you just began.
...you don't last five minutes into a telephone conversation before spacing out, and have to cover by mumbling some appropriate-sounding "uh huh"s and "really?"s while waiting for the other person to say something that will remind you what they were talking about.
...you have no idea what it feels like to not have at least five different topics on your mind at any given time.
...you don't make it out the door without forgetting at least one essential item you'd needed that day.
...you can't remember whether you just used the shampoo or not, while showering, so you shampoo again.
...you forget what you were about to do when you enter a room, so you go back and retrace your steps, remember, go back...and have forgotten again.
...you hear every voice talking in a room at once, and catch bits and pieces of every conversation except the one you're supposed to be participating in.
...you don't bother with lesson plans for anything you're going to teach because you'll never remember them or get the materials prepared anyway--but you think up a great, hands-on, meaningful lesson that is absolutely perfect for the subject matter two minutes into teaching it.
...you go to Target to buy paper towels and come out with a shirt, paper plates, toilet cleaner, flash cards, socks, and a charcoal grill (that will subsequently sit unassembled in its box for a full year in your garage)--and no paper towels.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
If my family had a theme poem...this would be it.
Chris and Brian both have to do a monthly oral presentation at school. This month, they had to find a poem that reminded them either of themselves or someone in their family. Brian found this gem in Shel Silverstein's Falling Up and I'm making Chris do it, too (since long-ish poems with some personal meaning have been hard for him to find). I want to print this out, frame it, and hang it above my door...
Noise Day
Let's have one day for girls and boyses
When you can make the grandest noises.
Screech, scream, holler, and yell--
Buzz a buzzer, clang a bell,
Sneeze--hiccup--whistle--shout,
Laugh until your lungs wear out,
Toot a whistle, kick a can,
Bang a spoon against a pan,
Sing, yodel, bellow, hum,
Blow a horn, beat a drum,
Rattle a window, slam a door,
Scrape a rake across the floor,
Use a drill, drive a nail,
Turn the hose on the garbage pail,
Shout Yahoo--Hurrah--Hooray,
Turn the music up all the way,
Try and bounce your bowling ball,
Ride a skateboard up the wall,
Chomp your food with a smack and a slurp,
Chew--chomp--hiccup--burp.
One day a year do all of these,
The rest of the days--be quiet please.
This would perfectly describe my house, except nobody ever got the memo that this was supposed to be just ONE day a year.
Chris would have done my favorite, "Homework, Oh Homework" but we've already picked that for the one he has to memorize in May. I've never encountered a poem that more aptly describes that boy...
Noise Day
Let's have one day for girls and boyses
When you can make the grandest noises.
Screech, scream, holler, and yell--
Buzz a buzzer, clang a bell,
Sneeze--hiccup--whistle--shout,
Laugh until your lungs wear out,
Toot a whistle, kick a can,
Bang a spoon against a pan,
Sing, yodel, bellow, hum,
Blow a horn, beat a drum,
Rattle a window, slam a door,
Scrape a rake across the floor,
Use a drill, drive a nail,
Turn the hose on the garbage pail,
Shout Yahoo--Hurrah--Hooray,
Turn the music up all the way,
Try and bounce your bowling ball,
Ride a skateboard up the wall,
Chomp your food with a smack and a slurp,
Chew--chomp--hiccup--burp.
One day a year do all of these,
The rest of the days--be quiet please.
This would perfectly describe my house, except nobody ever got the memo that this was supposed to be just ONE day a year.
Chris would have done my favorite, "Homework, Oh Homework" but we've already picked that for the one he has to memorize in May. I've never encountered a poem that more aptly describes that boy...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Things I never thought I'd hear myself say, #472...
"That's IT! I'm taking away your books--every last one of them! No more reading for you, kiddo...not until you start doing what you're supposed to!"
Yeah, um, Chris is now grounded from reading. No books each day till he shows me completed homework and has worked some on his report that's due at the end of the month. This is going to be a fun one to enforce--he's got hundreds, I think. Half on his bookshelf, and half scattered all over his room, buried under laundry and Legos and bedding. Fun times ahead tonight...
Yeah, um, Chris is now grounded from reading. No books each day till he shows me completed homework and has worked some on his report that's due at the end of the month. This is going to be a fun one to enforce--he's got hundreds, I think. Half on his bookshelf, and half scattered all over his room, buried under laundry and Legos and bedding. Fun times ahead tonight...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Operation Schedule Shift, Day 2
Last night left me doubting the benefits of our new wake-up time. Exhausted from getting up an hour earlier than usual, I was ready for bed by 9 pm. The kids, however, were not. A sick Erin and a new movie (we bought Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs...I could write a separate entry on my disappointment in that movie) didn't allow for our usual getting-ready-for-bed activities (my brain rebels against the word "routine"), but I did manage to have everyone in bed at bedtime. Still, when I collapsed at 11 pm, the boys were still talking to each other loudly enough for me to have to call in a few feeble "Hey, go to sleep..."s at them. Definitely no payoff last night.
This morning, the kids all managed to get out of bed by 7:05, 20 minutes after I first came in to wake them up. I suppose this would have gone better if I hadn't turned on their lights just to then head for the shower myself. Half an hour doesn't appear to be enough time for me to wake up and get myself ready before dealing with them...I may have to start getting up at 6. But shhhh...don't tell me that yet! I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. The fact that all 3 got up without too much protesting left me feeling hopeful that we might actually get out the door early today...until the kids went to pick some clean pants from the laundry pile and discovered that every single pair of jeans was still wet. And not a "damp waistband and pockets" kind of wet, but a "who on earth took these out of the dryer after only ten minutes?!" kind of wet. As you can well imagine, I was overjoyed to discover said wet jeans had sat in a heap on my big upholstered chair in the living room all night. I asked Brian (who'd been in charge of laundry) how he possibly could have thought those pants were ready to be removed from the dryer last night. He said the dryer had buzzed and he didn't notice they weren't dry. I think he's got it in his head to be removed from laundry duty like he was removed from dishwashing duty awhile back--the old "do such a miserable job that Mom thinks it'd be easier to just do it herself" ploy.
So, here I sit, waiting for the dryer to finish drying the kids' pants so they can get dressed, and listening to the kids argue over...whoknowswhat. If I got an extra half hour to sit around in my pajamas I don't think I'd use the time to yell at my siblings, but what do I know?
Time for more coffee...and forget the travel mug, I'm going to need to bring the entire coffeemaker in to work with me today if I'm going to make it till 5:30.
This morning, the kids all managed to get out of bed by 7:05, 20 minutes after I first came in to wake them up. I suppose this would have gone better if I hadn't turned on their lights just to then head for the shower myself. Half an hour doesn't appear to be enough time for me to wake up and get myself ready before dealing with them...I may have to start getting up at 6. But shhhh...don't tell me that yet! I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. The fact that all 3 got up without too much protesting left me feeling hopeful that we might actually get out the door early today...until the kids went to pick some clean pants from the laundry pile and discovered that every single pair of jeans was still wet. And not a "damp waistband and pockets" kind of wet, but a "who on earth took these out of the dryer after only ten minutes?!" kind of wet. As you can well imagine, I was overjoyed to discover said wet jeans had sat in a heap on my big upholstered chair in the living room all night. I asked Brian (who'd been in charge of laundry) how he possibly could have thought those pants were ready to be removed from the dryer last night. He said the dryer had buzzed and he didn't notice they weren't dry. I think he's got it in his head to be removed from laundry duty like he was removed from dishwashing duty awhile back--the old "do such a miserable job that Mom thinks it'd be easier to just do it herself" ploy.
So, here I sit, waiting for the dryer to finish drying the kids' pants so they can get dressed, and listening to the kids argue over...whoknowswhat. If I got an extra half hour to sit around in my pajamas I don't think I'd use the time to yell at my siblings, but what do I know?
Time for more coffee...and forget the travel mug, I'm going to need to bring the entire coffeemaker in to work with me today if I'm going to make it till 5:30.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Operation Schedule Shift, Day 1
I'm laughing a bit right now that my last post was in November and here it is January and we still have the same problems. I've done better at getting the kids into bed at a decent time, but they still don't fall asleep and their rooms look like a couple of tornados hit our house each night. I think as long as the living room area has looked presentable and the kids are in their beds by 9, I've been willing to declare a truce.
I've decided, though, that it would be in everyone's best interest (i.e. mine, and therefore everyone's) if the kids would actually be ASLEEP at a decent hour, not just in bed. Brian may be in his bed around 9, but it's common to find him still awake at midnight. Hearing the boys talking and giggling, and having to go in and confiscate a DS here and a lego vehicle there, is not doing much to give me my downtime at night. So I have begun Operation Schedule Shift: waking the kids up earlier to tire them out and make them fall asleep earlier, with the added benefit of not rushing so much in the morning.
The goal was to have myself up at 6:15 and the kids up at 6:45. That way, we'd all be guaranteed to be ready to leave the house by 7:30 each morning, giving me the chance to head into work early and have prep time in my room, or stay at home and let the kids have free time before school. Day 1 hasn't shown much progress, though.
My day began at 6 am, rather than 6:15, when an inexplicably awake Erin decided I needed to know then and there that her Halloween costume's wings light up when you flip a switch. She also informed me she was afraid of the dark. To an ordinary person, this would appear to be a problem that had solved itself: take lit-up fairy wings to dark bedroom. Not to Erin. Erin's solution was to crawl in bed with me, leaving the still-flashing fairy wings on the floor, and kicking my ribs as she tried to get comfortable. My alarm went off at 6:15. I planned to ignore it and get up at 6:30, but my ribs decided it'd be better to get up after all. I stumbled to the kitchen for coffee and got lost in Facebook.
At 6:45 the next alarm went off, reminding me my shower should be done and I should be waking the kids. I decided 7 am was a good wakeup time for the first day, but flipped on their light and told them to get dressed before I hit the shower just in case.
Sure enough, by the time I was dressed and ready, the boys...weren't. Instead, they were still in bed. Five minutes of continual "BOYS, GET UP. COME ON, GET OUT OF BED. IT'S TIME TO GET UP. LET'S GO! UP!" etc was enough to finally get a response from Brian, who yelled at me that he was "trying." I've seen rocks try harder to move. Chris looked dead. I went to check on Erin, who was thankfully getting dressed but informed me she was out of socks.
7:15 arrived, along with Brian's news that his pants drawer contained a pair of size 16 jeans (he wears size 10), pants to his Halloween costume, and the zipped-off legs of those pants/shorts that have zippers at knee level. I told him this would have been useful information for me last night, when I point-blank asked him if he had pants for the next day as I was about to do laundry, and the clean towels we now had since he'd said he was fine on clothes probably weren't appropriate school attire. Chris was now upside down in bed, with feet on his pillow and his head buried far beneath the covers, and still appeared dead.
By 7:20 Chris had been coaxed (i.e. yelled) out of bed and almost-fitting pants had been dug out of the bins of next-size-up clothing for Brian. At 7:30, when I normally go in to wake up the kids, all three were at least dressed. Which means I started in 45 minutes early to get myself an extra 15 minutes. I'd say this had better pay off at bedtime tonight, but I know it won't. Instead, it's going to be me falling asleep an hour early while the kids use the opportunity to do bunk bed acrobatics. Oh well--at least we survived the first day. Hopefully in a month or so, it'll have gotten easier.
I've decided, though, that it would be in everyone's best interest (i.e. mine, and therefore everyone's) if the kids would actually be ASLEEP at a decent hour, not just in bed. Brian may be in his bed around 9, but it's common to find him still awake at midnight. Hearing the boys talking and giggling, and having to go in and confiscate a DS here and a lego vehicle there, is not doing much to give me my downtime at night. So I have begun Operation Schedule Shift: waking the kids up earlier to tire them out and make them fall asleep earlier, with the added benefit of not rushing so much in the morning.
The goal was to have myself up at 6:15 and the kids up at 6:45. That way, we'd all be guaranteed to be ready to leave the house by 7:30 each morning, giving me the chance to head into work early and have prep time in my room, or stay at home and let the kids have free time before school. Day 1 hasn't shown much progress, though.
My day began at 6 am, rather than 6:15, when an inexplicably awake Erin decided I needed to know then and there that her Halloween costume's wings light up when you flip a switch. She also informed me she was afraid of the dark. To an ordinary person, this would appear to be a problem that had solved itself: take lit-up fairy wings to dark bedroom. Not to Erin. Erin's solution was to crawl in bed with me, leaving the still-flashing fairy wings on the floor, and kicking my ribs as she tried to get comfortable. My alarm went off at 6:15. I planned to ignore it and get up at 6:30, but my ribs decided it'd be better to get up after all. I stumbled to the kitchen for coffee and got lost in Facebook.
At 6:45 the next alarm went off, reminding me my shower should be done and I should be waking the kids. I decided 7 am was a good wakeup time for the first day, but flipped on their light and told them to get dressed before I hit the shower just in case.
Sure enough, by the time I was dressed and ready, the boys...weren't. Instead, they were still in bed. Five minutes of continual "BOYS, GET UP. COME ON, GET OUT OF BED. IT'S TIME TO GET UP. LET'S GO! UP!" etc was enough to finally get a response from Brian, who yelled at me that he was "trying." I've seen rocks try harder to move. Chris looked dead. I went to check on Erin, who was thankfully getting dressed but informed me she was out of socks.
7:15 arrived, along with Brian's news that his pants drawer contained a pair of size 16 jeans (he wears size 10), pants to his Halloween costume, and the zipped-off legs of those pants/shorts that have zippers at knee level. I told him this would have been useful information for me last night, when I point-blank asked him if he had pants for the next day as I was about to do laundry, and the clean towels we now had since he'd said he was fine on clothes probably weren't appropriate school attire. Chris was now upside down in bed, with feet on his pillow and his head buried far beneath the covers, and still appeared dead.
By 7:20 Chris had been coaxed (i.e. yelled) out of bed and almost-fitting pants had been dug out of the bins of next-size-up clothing for Brian. At 7:30, when I normally go in to wake up the kids, all three were at least dressed. Which means I started in 45 minutes early to get myself an extra 15 minutes. I'd say this had better pay off at bedtime tonight, but I know it won't. Instead, it's going to be me falling asleep an hour early while the kids use the opportunity to do bunk bed acrobatics. Oh well--at least we survived the first day. Hopefully in a month or so, it'll have gotten easier.
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