Bummer

Just can’t seem to get my give-a-damn up and running. Don’t know if the girl’s teething is starting to wear me down—constant runny diapers, fits of rage that spring from seemingly nowhere when her teeth start bothering her all of a sudden, or perhaps just when she decides she can’t take it anymore. Could be that I’m tired of constantly feeling like a failure of  a parent since my son can’t go a freaking week at school without getting on yellow, much less red. It’s gotten such that now, instead of asking if, tomorrow when he behaves can he [insert reward here—play video games, watch a movie, whatever], he asks  if tomorrow when he gets in trouble, will he get a spanking or will he write sentences.

I’m bone weary and I know I have no right to complain since I just had an entire week off. I know that I’m very lucky to have the job I have and I’m even more lucky to have the children and husband I have.

I just don’t know why I’m so funky lately, and not in the funky-chicken kind of way.

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m one of those folks who has S.A.D. I’ve always kind of blew that off as bullshit, but this year I’m really thinking that maybe it’s the real deal. Either that, or genetic code is finally kicking in and I’m coming into my family’s store of crazy bi-polar/manic-depressive/whatever. Either way, it sucks.

Wish I had time to exercise so I’d be able to get some endorphins, which might make things a little better. Wish I ever had more than an hour or two at most when I wasn’t inside during the little bit of sunlight we have this time of year.

Wish I just cared a little more.

Working Blue

Some nights, I just don’t know what to write about. I have thoughts rolling around in my head all day like rocks, getting smoother and smoother with each lap they make. By the time I sit down to work it all out on paper, as it were, they’ve been ground so much that there’s not really anything to grasp and make stick. (How’s that for mixed metaphors?) Basically, I’ll have spent all day phrasing sentences in my head, thinking of ways to improve the thought, and by the time I’m ready to write, they’re so “improved” that I can’t even remember what they were in the first place and how they got into my head.

So that doesn’t work well.

Other nights, I figure I’ll just do some cute anecdotal thing the kids said or did. Like how, while driving to school the other day, Harrison saw one of those inflatable Santas in a yard, but it was daylight so it was deflated. He looked at it and said, “Look Mommy! There’s Santa!” And then, almost as an afterthought, “He’s dead.” But then I think, ‘Good grief, how much of this I Have the Cutest Kids crap can people take?’ And then I think to myself, ‘Well, I’ve only got, like, three or four regular readers. Who cares if I offend them with my kids’ winning ways?’

And so then on some nights, I think, ‘Hey, I’ve only got three or four readers, none of whom are even my parents, so why am I being so [expletive] pristine all the time?’ And then I start thinking of the most vulgar things I could say. All the cuss words I don’t ever say when the kids are around because I want them to be better than I am, but that as soon as they go to visit my parents I spend the entire time saying. Insulting things. That sort of stuff. And I almost go down that path.

But I stop, because, well, I don’t know why I stop. I’m not sure if I’m afraid of offending someone and having awkwardness because of it (it’s happened…), or if I’m afraid of the Thought Police coming into my home and taking me away because I’m not doing my part to keep the airwaves (ether?) clean for our children. Maybe I have delusions of grandeur that I’m just “above all that mess.”

Maybe I’m worried that someone at work will read this and it will come back to haunt me? Maybe I’m worried that my kids will read this some day and that they will think less of me?

I don’t know.

I know that I recognize private voice and public voice. As a teacher, I’m often restrained from saying things that I really want to say, that really need to be said, because I could get fired for doing so. Cussing, that sort of thing. I understand that, as the adult in my room, I should be the one who is more mature, who should be able to control myself so that the kids have a good example. I know that the way I talk with my husband and my closest friends when in confined quarters is entirely different from the way I talk to these same people in public. That’s certainly a lesson I’m trying to instill in my students and, to a much greater effect, my children.

But sometimes, it gets tiring being the adult. It gets exhausting not ever saying the things that rattle around in my head, banging against each other, wearing away edges until it is as smooth as my baby daughter’s bum. Sometimes, I want to say things that I want to say and screw the rest of the world.

Fuck.

Curiosity Got the Cat(herine)

Ok, I’m curious.

I’ve been writing on this blog for over five months now, day in and day out. I see the numbers on my counter go up every day, but I’m kind of ignorant regarding their true meaning. Do they mean that I’ve had that many visits, total, or do they count unique visits? Either way, I’m pretty astounded that almost 800 people have read my stuff. (Or that it’s been read almost 800 times. Whatever.)

Astounded and a little humbled.

Astounded, a little humbled, and just a tiny bit freaked out.

But that’s life in this digital landscape, isn’t it? Everything is out there for you to see. Anyone can know anything about you. All they have to do is push a few buttons.

I try not to freak out over this idea. I publish my kids’ names, my husband’s name, etc. I don’t put our bank account numbers out there, nor do I include Social Security numbers, driver’s license numbers, etc. If you look hard enough and deduce enough, I’m sure you can get the birthdates of most of the people in the house, but I’m pretty sure without any other corresponding numbers that’s pretty useless. Besides, most people put that information right on Facebook, so how would it be different to have it on my blog?

Anyhoo, I’m just curious because I have these numbers—this almost 800 visits—and I’m wondering who these people are. Where are they from? I can look at some of the data provided by my blog counter, but honestly I’m not always sure what I’m looking at. The graphic overview is nice because I can see that most of my visits occur late at night (I post late a night, usually—coincidence?). I can see that my average number of visits is growing most months.

I guess I just feel weird not knowing who’s coming into my virtual “home.”

To that end, I’ve added a Live Traffic Feed that I can watch obsessively (yeah, I need to get a life) and a Followers widget so that people can let me know they’re, you know, following. Because I’m curious.

I made some kind of statement way back in, like, June or July about how glad I was that people weren’t talking to me about the fact that I’m posting on my blog. The roar of crickets, comments-wise, has been deafening. I’m not sure if people saw that and thought, ‘Hey, she doesn’t want to hear what I’ve got to say.’ Maybe people think I don’t like comments? Maybe people just don’t care? (Self absorbed much? Me?)

I know that when Robert and I got married, we decided that we wanted to wait to have kids until I was out of school and working steadily. This took almost ten years. Since we didn’t share our plan—it was our plan, after all, not everyone else’s—many of them thought that we didn’t want kids. My grandparents actually thought that Robert was keeping me from having the kids that I wanted—when I told them I was pregnant, they said, “I’m so glad that Robert finally let you have a baby!”

I think what I meant to say was, “Man, I’m really glad that people in my “real” life don’t bring up the fact that I write on my blog every day and make some kind of bone-headed comment to me because that’s all they can think to say to me. But virtual friends—man, I’d like to hear from them!” Because that kind of real world vs. virtual life paradigm is kind of weird. If someone IRL says that they saw that I was writing again, I would expect it to be followed by, “Hey, that’s interesting that you think this about [topic x], but did you ever consider [idea y]? Unfortunately, the only thing I ever hear (aside from my sweet, sweet husband) is “So yeah, I saw you’re writing again.” Crickets.

Maybe I’m just too self important for my own good and there’s not really that many people visiting.

I dunno.

I’m curious.

Bearly Done

Done! (With Laura’s jacket.)

Well, almost. Got the body of it finished. Need to hand stitch the six inch opening through which I turned it. Need to add snaps. Need to add a squirmy nine month with blue eyes and pink cheeks.

Then I’m done.

In retrospect, the only thing I wish I would have done differently was add some ears to the hood. Failing that, I’m thinking of tacking a bow or something on the hood, or at least on one of the bear pockets.

I’ll post pictures probably tomorrow, hopefully of the girl wearing it. At the very least, I’ll get photos of the bear pockets because they’re so danged cute. The pattern calls for button eyes and some other stuff, but I went fairly simple and just embroidered circles for the eyes and nose. Blanket stitched the pink inside the ears. Called it good. In fact, called it pretty danged cute (like I already said…).

Now need to get the boy’s hoodie done. His will be much quicker, I think. Hers didn’t take that much actual time—it’s just that finding big chunks of time to sew is pretty hard with two rug rats in the house. So in lieu of sitting down for two days straight (which is what I estimate is the actual time spent at the machine—this, of course, doesn’t include tracing the pattern and cutting the fabric out, so throw another day in for that), I have been hacking away at it for about a week and a half, I think. Seems like I got started on it in earnest a few days before Thanksgiving, so go from there.

I originally planned this jacket, as well as Harrison’s jacket, for a trip we had thought to take to Ohio to visit some family. I figured (rightly, I might add) that the kids would need something warm. However, we changed our plans and stayed home instead (which, in retrospect, is probably the best thing—long road trip into snowy, icy place with two kids? crazy!).

We had snow today. It was nowhere near the stuff they get up north—the flurries started when my 4th period class was about half finished (so about 45 minutes in), we ran outside for about 10 minutes and by the time we were trekking back upstairs to my classroom the snow had all but stopped. It was cold though, so I’m glad that now my little girl has something warm and cuddly to snuggle up in if we go outside for any length of time.

Tired and Frustrated

Stopping work now only to post and meet my self-inflicted midnight deadline and to then head on to bed. I’ve been sewing for most of the evening and am almost entirely done with Laura’s bear jacket. It is really too cute and I can’t wait to see her in it. I’ve got the outer shell and the inner shell sewn together along the front and the top with the hood intact; now I need to get the bottom hemmed, insert the elastic into the sleeves and hem them and then flip the whole thing outside in, sealing up the turning hole in the side seam. Get all that done and install the snaps (I don’t want to attempt button holes on fabric layers this thick and hairy—and snaps are easier!) and I’m done. Tossing around the idea of putting ribbons on the bear pockets, but that’s not a requirement and will probably not happen.

Ready to throttle the boy. Three days running now that he’s gotten in trouble with school, always for the same thing—playing in line. I’m worn out trying to make him do right. He’s written lines (lots and lots of lines), he’s had all his toys taken away, he’s come near getting a spanking over it because it’s now the third day of misbehavior. He knows how to stand in line properly—I had him show me the right way to do it and he proudly stood up with his duck tail and bubble and walked perfectly without a glimmer of trouble.

The problem is that he is apparently standing next to his friends in line and they egg each other on. I’m not saying the other kids instigate the misbehavior—my boy is quite capable of that. I just think that he and they encourage each other to bigger and goofier mischief until one, two or more of them get moved to red.

We’ve threatened spankings and revocation of Ninja Camp privileges, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. He seems to understand the consequences—he knows that at Ninja Camp he will get to work with nun chucks and he’s very excited about that. He’s in his room right now, dreaming of Ninja Turtles and Bruce Lee.

I just don’t know that it’s going to do any good.

I wonder what Santa has to say about all this?

Grrrrr…I mean, Brrrrrr!

Posted on Wanna Share A Needle?

He’s Watching You, Man!

So we’re trying to convince the boy to behave this holiday season. I mean, grand scheme of things, he’s a pretty good kid. He gets moved to ‘yellow’ at school once or twice a week and probably every other week or so we get notice of getting moved to ‘red,’ so I guess we could have it much worse. We’ve exhausted our brains trying to come up with ways to make him behave, from writing sentences to removing privileges to outright spanking for major infractions.

Tonight, though, I think (hope, hope, hope!) that we might have stumbled on something that will work, at least in the short run.

His favorite topic of conversation these days, much like every other little kid I know, is Santa Claus. What’s he eat? Where’s he live? Can we call him? Will he call us? Can I go for a ride in space with him? (For this last one, I had to tell him that space is NASA’s jurisdiction and that Santa’s not really allowed to travel so far up.)

“When I see Santa, I’m going to tell him that I’ve been sweet.” This, tonight after he had been moved to ‘yellow’ for line misconduct at school.

“But what about getting in trouble at school today?”

“I just want to tell him that I have been sweet.”

“Well, son, you realize that that’s lying to Santa, don’t you? You can tell him you’ve been trying to be sweet, but to outright say that you have been sweet all the time is a lie.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to this.

“You know, son, that Santa will be calling us to find out how you’ve been behaving and we have to tell him the truth. And if there are too many ‘yellow’ days or, God forbid, any ‘red’ days, I just don’t see any way that Santa is going to be able to bring you that Batcave you’ve been wanting.”

[ed.The kid wrote his letter to Santa more than a month ago. A month. He started by circling all the things he wanted in the toy catalogue and then, when I told him that Santa only brought a few toys to boys and girls, he edited through all the choices to come up with the one thing he wanted more than anything else. Then he sat down and painstakingly wrote out a letter, asserting his attempts to be good, asking the health of Mrs. Claus and then telling what he wants. He wants covets will go insane if he doesn’t get a Fisher Price Batcave toy this year.

Anyway.]

Robert pipes up. “You know that Mrs. Davis [his kindergarten teacher] talks to Santa, too, don’t you? She keeps lists of who is on yellow and who is on red and she sends those lists to Santa. When she tells us about you getting in trouble at school, she also tells Santa that you’ve gotten in trouble.”

Throughout all this, Harrison’s eyes are getting bigger. He’s getting quieter and paler and about the time Robert mentions the Santa-Mrs. Davis connection he just about stops breathing. A single sigh escapes his lips, with which he utters a low, desperate, “Whoa.”

The crazy thing is, in a sense, everything Robert said is true. Mrs. Davis is telling Santa about Harrison’s behavior when she tells us what he’s been doing. She does keep lists of kids who get moved to ‘yellow’ or ‘red,’ at least in a way. (She sends calendars home with this information.}

I’m curious to see how this is going to affect the boy. I know this is probably the last good year of Santa we have with him. I guess next year we’re going to have to do some real parenting and learn to really discipline.

Sigh.