Borrowing Trouble

Why is it when everything is going well I question it?
My classes are going wonderfully, I have students who are quicker to grasp info than I have had in the past and yet I wonder "are they really getting it" "am I really qualified to instruct about this stuff" and other ridiculous questions. Dax is doing exceptionally well in school (second grade). I don't know if I mentioned it but we received his semester report card and the child is on a 6th grade reading level (2 grades of improvement in half of a school year) and can read/comprehend 155 words per minute -- I don't believe I can do that an a little comment stating that he is above level in all subject areas (I wasn't aware this was possible, I thought kids have a strength somewhere, not everywhere). Yet I wonder/worry about his next school year. I have been lucky to get wonderful teachers for him thus far who believe me when I say he is gifted. I fear the teacher who gives me the "oh sure, every parent thinks that" nod. What do I do when the teacher isn't ambitious enough to challenge him or stuck in their ways to adjust to his learning level? Why does next year or any following year matter right now? As my mother says "don't borrow trouble", I always do. Then there is Tel: he begs me not to go to work every morning over breakfast. He is my early riser so we share table talk daily around 6 am. It kills me, but I have to and to be honest I would go INSANE staying home day after day--summer vacation is bad enough. KUDOS to the stay at home parents, I can't do it: I can't keep my sanity and I don't think I could guarantee safety for my children after the first 4 months. So all day I fret about my little man who wants mom to stay home instead of him going to his grandmother's (my mom in law) and playing with his cousins. When it is time to pick him up he wants nothing to do with me and asks, practically daily, if he can just sleep there. Now I stress about how I am chop liver in comparison to grandma--I gave birth to him shouldn't that count for anything, especially favoritism? Next is my house, remember I explained my OCD, I am totally freaking out because I need new doors on the boys' bedrooms and the laundry room but I cannot do it myself and hubbie is a procrastinator (polar opposite of me but he makes up for this short coming in other ways ;) ). I need to paint my entryway, hall, and bedroom but cannot decide on a color--HUGE commitment fears--and I hate painting (very difficult to have a perfect outcome with it and it stresses me more). Yes, it sounds as if I NEED these things for my house, yet if you came by you wouldn't even notice. Maybe it is a psychological disorder, the borrowing of trouble or worrying about things that really don't exist (not yet anyway). I know it is a problem but I continue to dwell and lists I do make to check off when I "solve" the problem. Maybe it isn't a bad thing--it is what makes me.

Introduction to death

When I became a parent no one gave me an instruction manual on how to be one. If I were to write one I think one of the chapters, titled something catchy like "Death", would instruct us on how to help your child deal with it. My oldest son, 8 years old, has lost loved ones, and pets, and attended their funerals. He has proven to have a very eerie sense of dealing with death, however today he is falling apart. We are the proud owners of chickens--you know to teach children responsibility and knowing that our eggs are hormone free, etc. etc. One of them was a banty hen (a small breed) she was named Henrietta, after the chicken on Return to Oz. Dax named her, trained her to come to her name, and spoiled her so badly that she would not eat with the other chickens, she needed her own pile of scratch. We had a terrible storm last night and temperatures dipped lower than they have been for some time. This in addition to Henrietta being over 3 years old which exceeds chickens life spans (or so I've been told)--I found Henrietta in full rigor this afternoon and had to let Dax know before he went out calling for the filthy little bird. HE'S A MESS!! We had to put a dog down last summer, we lost uncles and grandfathers in the past year but the child is having an emotional breakdown over a bird who didn't even lay eggs large enough to eat. As I type, he is talking about how she was picked on by the other chickens and how she didn't have a fair life. How do I deal with this? I'm not cold-hearted but my god, it was a chicken. It lived at the back of our lot in a shed. I hate to see my child in so much pain but I'm grasping at straws with this one. Hopefully CAL Ranch or IFA will have banty chicks this spring, buying new has always cheered me up :)

The Mentality of a High School Girl

We have all, at one time or another, said "Thank God I'm not in High School anymore, I couldn't deal with the drama..." or something to that effect. I am now second guessing that statement and how I feel about not having the mentality of a high school girl anymore.
In high school our goal was to accumulate as many friends as possible (because that mattered) now I haven't the time, or rather I don't make the time, to even call one let alone spend an entire afternoon doing nothing with one. In high school if you didn't go out on Friday night, even if it was to "drag main" you were a LOSER come Monday morning; now I can't wait to get off work on Friday and get into my jammies to do nothing and maybe get to sleep by 8 if I'm lucky! In high school you fought over time on the phone and raced to answer it in hopes it was for you. I sigh and pray someone will get it before me now and thank god whomever was on the other end didn't ask for me. In high school we would dwell on every little thing that happened, good or bad. If it was "good" we were appreciative of it and never forgot, if it were bad, by god we would change it immediately so we didn't look like an ass ever again. Today we don't dwell on the good, it tends to be fleeting thoughts and the bad is "just another day" or "my luck". We have forgotten to live in the moment, at least I have. Sadly, I recognize it and am not going to do a damn thing to change it.
Maybe the mentality of a high school girl isn't soooooooo bad--but yeah, I'm glad the drama is gone.

Meat Heads

Before I begin my rant about what I term "meat heads" I would like to focus on the new info I received when logging on: I can now blog in Hebrew and Arabic (and another language). This would be lovely if I could speak, write, read, understand any but I have to stick to simple boring English. I wanted to learn Spanish at one time--I'm not good at learning new things, but I know what a mesa, sia (?), and a ton a great swear words are.
I have been faithfully going to a gym for about 9 months (my membership will have it's 2 year anniversary in 6 months, I'm a slow starter). I feel better, in general, due to my gym going and the severe pain that I have inflicted upon myself (mainly due to my hubbie I like to refer to as the gym nazi because of such inspiring words like "unless you increase the weight you're wasting your time" & "your ass isn't going to be tighter just because you've been going for a week") isn't as bad as it used to be: 4 Ibuprofen, vs the Lorcet, will take care of the pain now. Anyway, enough about me, the meat heads. According to the Darcie dictionary of slang, a meat head is a male gym addict who has obviously enjoyed too many doses of testosterone or steroid injections, they love to watch themselves lift weight and think that, by right of all the time they spend there, every part of the free weight area is theirs at their beckoning.
I'm not gym savvy like some, I only do what I've been shown or what I copy from my inconspicuous spying from the stairmaster. I lift free weights twice a week (trying to get rid of the part of arm that keeps waving when I quit) and I haven't exceeded 12 lb dumbbells and 20 lb barbells so you know I shouldn't be competition to the meat heads. I have to pleasantly ask if they are going to use the 20 lb barbell because they have congregated around the rack and yes, one of them actually made some smart ass remark about him looking as if he used that amount (I wish I had the balls to say "I don't know, maybe before your arms took precedence over your ball size you did"; but no I've heard too much about 'roid rage and chose not to).
Everyone, well except the girls who wear next to nothing and do next to nothing, is at the gym to better themselves (second thought, maybe those girls are bettering themselves, more specifically, their sex life) why don't the meatheads go in at the ass crack of dawn and do their vain lifting when the rest of the world isn't there to give a shit.
I'll continue going, they'll continue to piss me off, and maybe I'll piss them off too (hopefully I don't reap the rewards of roid rage). It's kind of like the circle of life, just not Lion King style.

Potty Training

I am dealing with potty training my second, and youngest, child. He will be 3 in two months--HELLO!! 2 1/2 weeks in and the whole number 1 thing is going great; except when we are outside playing which was the case yesterday. The first time he just couldn't give up whatever fantasy adventure he was playing to go inside and relieve himself. I explained that due to the fact we live on a whole acre in a tiny town it would be okay if he dropped his drawers and watered a tree. COOL! Unfortunately I forgot to let him know that just because he wasn't going to aim at the square of TP floating in the porcelain bowl he still had to aim the tally wacker. Yep, filled his drawers and was repulsed. WTF--mom, I dropped my drawers just like you said and I STILL got wet (I forget how important direct, complete instructions are).
This morning he let me know that he needed to do number 2, so we put the mini seat on the big seat, propped him with his stool and let him do his business. A couple of minutes later out he comes and lets me know that nope couldn't do it. Whatever, go play. 20 minutes later up the hall he comes letting me know he needs to be changed (I guess forgetting we ditched the diapers and changing TransFormer undies just isn't as easy). Full load. It took everything I had not to lose my breakfast--I gagged the entire clean up time.
Oh well, I will continue on with my drill master like potty training techniques and by the way: I say BS to the books that say "don't attempt until the child is ready to ditch the diapers" I don't have the stomach for a 15 year old's turd.

My Space

So I think I've become obsessed with MySpace--yea it's ridiculous I'm 30 years old for god's sake!! I created a profile so that I could look at another page that I was told about from then on it was bad. I have found a few long lost friends, looked at some pages of friends that I wish they never created, and morned for my students for the day they realize they ruined their lives by the shit they posted. I now have a kick ass page but it lacks a current (&cute) photo of myself--my kids and hubbie look GREAT!!
Why couldn't they have had this little addiction when I was young enough for it to be ok? How do I kick the habit--I am constantly thinking of new people I "need" to search for.
Well until I am either humiliated for using it or 86ed from the program I think I will continue to peruse--yea the rest of you are closet myspacers too :)

You've been Punk'd

I don't know how many of you are familiar with the MTV show "Punk'd", it may not be on anymore. It was a Candid Camera knock off hosted by Demi Moore's boy toy Ashton Kutchner. Anyway enough of the background info: I believe this is really what is happening to me. My sons, Dax (8) & Tel (2) are constantly doing random, weird things that I don't believe any other person on the planet does--and this is normal to them.
First thing this morning I was reading the newspaper, online, when Tel walks in with a fisher price guitar (about 10 inches long) and asks if I want him to sing to me. (Picture a short blond Don Ho with the ukulele) I didn't have time to answer when he began strumming the guitar and singing "My name is Tel, let's go mom! dun, dun, dun dun dun... I am Iron Man, dun nu nun nun nu nu nun... Whooo Hooooo! (insert leg kick)" Are any of you familiar with Black Sabbath? I don't think my two year old should/would be. I am now waiting for Ashton to come into my house and tell me that I have been punk'd and cart the little actors away.
Dax is also famous for his punk'd moments. I have far too many pictures of Dax as an infant, one for every new outfit! I didn't pose him just snapped--we are ever so lucky to have a 2 month pic of Dax laying on a couch and shit you not he is flipping the bird. YOU'VE BEEN PUNK'D! Another "are you kidding me moment" was when Dax had just celebrated his 8th birthday and had received a lot of money for presents--he was $20 short of $100. I asked my hubbie if he had any cash so he preceded to open his wallet to give me some. (As a preface: I want to let you know that Dax is a very polite and grateful child. He doesn't take his life, family, or possessions for granted--I really couldn't ask for a nicer kid.) Dax watched the whole thing and as Jesse pilfered through the bills Dax asked politely "hey Dad will you just give me a 20?" We were flabbergasted!! WTF: "just a 20", we just laughed thinking he was being a smart ass. Dax became stern and said in his most serious tone "all I want is a 20, just give me one". You've been Punk'd.

Introduction of Self

The title is so formal which is a great one-liner to introduce myself. I have been reading, and commenting, to blogs for a while and finally realized I must create my own. I love to read about other's lives maybe someone will find mine amusing--if not screw you anyway. No, really this is a great way for me to vent without pissing anyone off.
I am a neat freak. I don't mean I like a straightened house, time managed, and plans made in advance. I mean I get this weird itching on my scalp when my house is cluttered, people arrive unannounced, my plans were jacked because of some fly by the seat of their pants asshole, or I just wake up a little late. Serious, my sister is a hairdresser (best hairdresser there is and I'm not saying that because she's my sis--she is awesome and she'll do what's best for your looks) and I asked her to check my scalp, maybe do a treatment due to buildup or, god forbid, check for lice cuz something was not right. She did the works and guess what: NERVES. I pride myself as being the only person in my entire extended family who isn't on mood stablizers, anti depressants, or anti anxiety meds but I would qualify if I opened up to a doctor. Which leads me to my other "neat" issues: my life. I like it to look as if it is a fairy tale to everyone from the stranger I passed on our last family va-cay to my own mother. What the hell??? I recognize the problem however I cannot graduate to the next of the 12 steps.
I am happily married (after two bouts of marriage counseling) to my high school sweetheart (aaaaahhhh, how sweet. Shut up). We have two wonderful boys. My oldest just turned 8 and is in the 2nd grade. He reads on a lower 5th grade level and he will surpass our intelligence by the time he is 12 but by god he will be able to afford a great nursing home for us. No really, he is brilliant. The child walked at 8 months and was speaking in full sentences by the time he turned 1. He is amazing. My youngest is 2, almost 3. He, too, is very smart. However he has devoted his intelligence to sarcasim. I have never seen another toddler who knows when to roll their eyes or give the "sure...." nod in the appropriate context.
I live on a mini-farm but you would never believe it due to my knock off hand bags and smart heels. I love both ends of the spectrum and no one is going to tell me what to be.
I hope this turns out to be great--I am excited but nervous: correct grammar, opening up to people, etc. Perfection is always my goal and yes, I know, it is not obtainable (is that a word?)