You know the mountain of paperwork that gets sent home at the beginning of every school year? The stack that has all the contact info for your family, and they ask if there are siblings, who has custody, and so forth? I was looking in Cubby's stack for 7th grade. I think they should have a question regarding how often my 7th grader loses his mind, but that's not mine to say.
A few of the questions, he'd already filled out, such as his name, his parents' names, his address, and his desired nickname. Know what it was? Chris. His chosen nickname is Chris. Problem is, his first name isn't even Christopher. That's his MIDDLE name. So he's essentially told a bunch of people who don't know him not to use the name his father and I gave him, but to call him a mini version of his middle name.
When teachers hand out this sheet, I'm sure they see it as a fun opportunity to get kids involved with telling about themselves. MY son chose to use it as an opportunity to try out a new alias. I wonder if he's done something heinous enough that we all need to enter the witness protection program.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Thursday, August 29, 2013
And so the semester begins. . .
Yes, a new semester has begun! The promise of work submitted on time, all those shining faces with new books and pens and iPads and phones they're texting on! As it begins, I've already had a winner of an email to share. While classes for the university began on Monday the 26th, one of my classes is a Friday evening only course, in their attempt to accommodate our large adult learner community. But hey, I'm not ditching a full week just because class doesn't happen until Friday. So I posted in our learning management system the syllabus, info about the book, and some of the few assignments, telling them which ones could be done early if they so chose.
One of those was an email sent from their university email. It's an easy peasy assignment, meant only to ascertain they can access their campus email--through with EVERYTHING is routed--right from the start. I received an email from one of the students. I am paraphrasing and correcting spelling. I'm not going to hold this person up for TOTAL ridicule, yet.
Hey Prof!
Is this a distance learning class? Are we handing in stuff on Moodle and not meeting every week? That would be great, because this is my last class on Friday. I hope we don't have homework on the weekends.
Ok, see you soon!
Name Withheld
Yes, that's right, internoodles, this student doesn't even know if this is a brick and mortar, hybrid, or online course. Plus, he is pretty much telling me he doesn't really want to come to class on Fridays, because it cramps his style AND he doesn't want to do homework on the weekends, because we're, what, NINE?! Keep in mind, this is the first encounter of any kind I'm having with this student. Oh, and this is an upper level business writing course. Can you imagine if he sent something like this to his BOSS?! Oy, vey!
I didn't point out the glaring issues I had with the writing, but in my head, my response went something like this--
Dear Mr. Withheld,
I'm totally psyched you don't want to come to class or do homework! It frees up my schedule in a number of ways. I am, however, totally bummed that I'll be seeing you again, and probably again and again in this class, because those who have crap attitudes are doomed to repeat.
Sincerely,
The Prof who plans for months for each class
Yeah, I come off all valley girl, but I'm not up on the slang, and what I am has more swearing than I'd like to use. It's gonna be a fun one!
One of those was an email sent from their university email. It's an easy peasy assignment, meant only to ascertain they can access their campus email--through with EVERYTHING is routed--right from the start. I received an email from one of the students. I am paraphrasing and correcting spelling. I'm not going to hold this person up for TOTAL ridicule, yet.
Hey Prof!
Is this a distance learning class? Are we handing in stuff on Moodle and not meeting every week? That would be great, because this is my last class on Friday. I hope we don't have homework on the weekends.
Ok, see you soon!
Name Withheld
Yes, that's right, internoodles, this student doesn't even know if this is a brick and mortar, hybrid, or online course. Plus, he is pretty much telling me he doesn't really want to come to class on Fridays, because it cramps his style AND he doesn't want to do homework on the weekends, because we're, what, NINE?! Keep in mind, this is the first encounter of any kind I'm having with this student. Oh, and this is an upper level business writing course. Can you imagine if he sent something like this to his BOSS?! Oy, vey!
I didn't point out the glaring issues I had with the writing, but in my head, my response went something like this--
Dear Mr. Withheld,
I'm totally psyched you don't want to come to class or do homework! It frees up my schedule in a number of ways. I am, however, totally bummed that I'll be seeing you again, and probably again and again in this class, because those who have crap attitudes are doomed to repeat.
Sincerely,
The Prof who plans for months for each class
Yeah, I come off all valley girl, but I'm not up on the slang, and what I am has more swearing than I'd like to use. It's gonna be a fun one!
Friday, August 23, 2013
My husband is weird
I think most wives know their husbands have weird little quirks. Heck, at one time we thought they were ADORABLE, even. With mine out of work coming up on 11 months, well, I'm seeing way too much of him. WAY too much. Or maybe I'm just tired of the kids AND my husband being constantly around. I need the Fall semester to begin so I can talk to some adults I'm not related or married to on a daily basis.
With Hubby home more, he's watching more TV, specifically sports, which, granted, he had a high tolerance for to begin with. The side effect is I, who really can take or leave (mostly leave) anything but basketball, and even that requires a team I really want to watch, I never. want. to. see. another. sporting. event. as. long. as. I. live. So I realize that my saying he's been "watching a lot of sports lately" carries little to no weight. BUT! I find him watching odd things that he's usually not even into, like golf. I can't remember the last time he picked up a club and went to a course--which is ok by me, that sport is wicked money just walking out the door--and played. But he'll watch it "when nothing else is on" he says. Or I could even understand a little beach volleyball with nubile cuties playing. That serves a purpose I can get behind.
But I've caught him recently on more than one occasion watching the World Series. . . of Little League. That's right, Little League, as in children playing. First, why is this sport even televised? It's a KID'S game! Way to blow something out of proportion, crazy sports parents! Because you just KNOW this idea was spearheaded by some parents who were all, "but Muffin's NANA can't COME to the game, and it's such a big DEAL, and wouldn't it be GREAT if it were on TV?!" Second, why is anyone who is not a blood relation of the people playing interested? I can barely hold interest for my own kids' activities. Now I should care about strangers? Um, no.
So explain to me, people, why he's watching this drivel. I don't get it. Meanwhile, the "honey do" list keeps getting longer.
With Hubby home more, he's watching more TV, specifically sports, which, granted, he had a high tolerance for to begin with. The side effect is I, who really can take or leave (mostly leave) anything but basketball, and even that requires a team I really want to watch, I never. want. to. see. another. sporting. event. as. long. as. I. live. So I realize that my saying he's been "watching a lot of sports lately" carries little to no weight. BUT! I find him watching odd things that he's usually not even into, like golf. I can't remember the last time he picked up a club and went to a course--which is ok by me, that sport is wicked money just walking out the door--and played. But he'll watch it "when nothing else is on" he says. Or I could even understand a little beach volleyball with nubile cuties playing. That serves a purpose I can get behind.
But I've caught him recently on more than one occasion watching the World Series. . . of Little League. That's right, Little League, as in children playing. First, why is this sport even televised? It's a KID'S game! Way to blow something out of proportion, crazy sports parents! Because you just KNOW this idea was spearheaded by some parents who were all, "but Muffin's NANA can't COME to the game, and it's such a big DEAL, and wouldn't it be GREAT if it were on TV?!" Second, why is anyone who is not a blood relation of the people playing interested? I can barely hold interest for my own kids' activities. Now I should care about strangers? Um, no.
So explain to me, people, why he's watching this drivel. I don't get it. Meanwhile, the "honey do" list keeps getting longer.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
I'm tired!
I'm SO tired and jealous of all these great pics of their kids' first day of school. Know why? Mine are still HOME! That's right, we don't start until Monday the 26th round here, and I have officially thrown in the towel. I'm not cleaning anymore, because they're just standing behind me ready to make another mess. I'm not cooking anymore, because everyone whines about what's for dinner and asks to "pick up" disgusting alternatives instead. I won't even discuss the fights over computer, TV, IPad, Xbox, air they are breathing.
We've had our fun, including multiple weeks of camp, one in which they were BOTH gone, thank you, Jesus, but if you ask the kids, we've done nothing but keep them from awesome activities that would bankrupt a lottery winner they SWEAR their friends are doing.
While I've tried to get them back into the bedtime routine, they insist on living like frat boys. All I can say is teachers, I'm sorry, but they will be BEASTLY the first week. Good luck with that. I'm thinking of creating a fictional event that takes me away from home next week. Shhh, don't tell my husband.
The dog has become my favorite mammal in the house.
We've had our fun, including multiple weeks of camp, one in which they were BOTH gone, thank you, Jesus, but if you ask the kids, we've done nothing but keep them from awesome activities that would bankrupt a lottery winner they SWEAR their friends are doing.
While I've tried to get them back into the bedtime routine, they insist on living like frat boys. All I can say is teachers, I'm sorry, but they will be BEASTLY the first week. Good luck with that. I'm thinking of creating a fictional event that takes me away from home next week. Shhh, don't tell my husband.
The dog has become my favorite mammal in the house.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
I've become my grandmother
You know all those little things you noticed about your parent or grandparents that seemed at the time, well, odd? You vowed never to do those things, again, because they were odd.
Today, I caught myself doing one of those things. I was reading the obituaries in the paper. No one I know has died. There's no reason for me to read the obituaries, but I did. From A-Z. It's something I used to watch my grandma do. She'd cluck and coo over the reasons people died, how young--or old--they were, if they left kids behind, what they did for a living. It was like a cosmic sort of "Here's Your Life" with strangers.
I found myself doing the same thing today. Ugh.
Something weird did come through, though. I saw many, many pictures with the obituaries, which isn't terribly new, but I have noticed many people's relatives put, well, NOT recent pictures of their loved ones in. I mean, the Navy graduation is nice, but if it was taken DURING a war, it probably doesn't resemble who the person was in the present day, know what I mean? I don't get it. Maybe if I wait a few years, I will.
Today, I caught myself doing one of those things. I was reading the obituaries in the paper. No one I know has died. There's no reason for me to read the obituaries, but I did. From A-Z. It's something I used to watch my grandma do. She'd cluck and coo over the reasons people died, how young--or old--they were, if they left kids behind, what they did for a living. It was like a cosmic sort of "Here's Your Life" with strangers.
I found myself doing the same thing today. Ugh.
Something weird did come through, though. I saw many, many pictures with the obituaries, which isn't terribly new, but I have noticed many people's relatives put, well, NOT recent pictures of their loved ones in. I mean, the Navy graduation is nice, but if it was taken DURING a war, it probably doesn't resemble who the person was in the present day, know what I mean? I don't get it. Maybe if I wait a few years, I will.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Us onlies
No, I'm not misspelling stuff. Puh-lease. I AM the grammar police. No, I'm thinking about those of us who are only children. When I tell people I'm an only child, I get the knowing look and the eye roll, despite the fact I'm 45 and no longer a child in any respect. Often people feel the need to make the "oh, you must have gotten EVERYTHING" comment out loud, and some have the class not to say it, but their faces say it loud and clear. Maybe that's true of some only children. I don't know those people. When I, in the wake of the comment, shake my head and smile, I don't bother to go into why I don't fit that bill at ALL, but I am here.
But after my post yesterday, I've been thinking about a comment a friend, who is also an only child made. She said being an only "ain't for the faint or weary." In a lot of ways that's true, but it's especially true for the subset of only children that she and I both fall into, only children of single parents, in our case, moms. See, we're a different breed. Not because our moms wanted to, but out of necessity, we became peers way too soon. We skipped over most of the indignant tantrums and whiny demands, moving straight to the years most people make peace with their parents. There WERE some tantrums and demands, but they were early on, and they were cut off quick, because there was literally no time for nonsense. See, our little subset became partners in The Effort. That effort of keeping those elusive, slippery, never long enough ends meeting. We onlies knew when the light bill wasn't paid, because we needed winter coats, and there wasn't money for both. We saw our moms worrying over the bills piling up on the kitchen table. We maybe scraped through Trigonometry (okay, I barely scraped through), but by God we could calculate how much we had in the grocery cart and get within $1 of the total in our heads. We knew better than to ask for anything--even if it was for school--on the 25th because there was only $10 left until payday on the 30th. We got jobs at 12 and used it to pay for things we couldn't ask our parents for, because we knew something else wouldn't get paid. We studied harder than anyone we knew, because the certainty of education was pushed into our heads, right along with the certainty we'd need scholarships to get it.
All that had a really odd effect on us. Of the onlies I know of single moms, we're all more than a little heavy on the control freak thing. Things need to be a certain way in our world. We crave stability and security for ourselves and those we love. We're the ones breaking our legs to get to every kids' performance and riddled with more than average guilt if we can't. We're the ones trying over and over again to make things perfect. Perfect family meals, perfect holidays, perfect outfits and parties for our kids, perfect memories, not because we're trying to impress those adults around us. We're doing it because we're trying to give our kids everything we didn't have. We want them to never hear the words "we just can't afford it" when talking about their dreams waiting for fulfillment. We want them to travel a path we never even dreamed of.
So in our world of judgments made in a snap moment, the only child may not be what he or she seems. Some may be heavy on the only and short on the childhood. My friend was right, it's not an existence for the faint or weary.
But after my post yesterday, I've been thinking about a comment a friend, who is also an only child made. She said being an only "ain't for the faint or weary." In a lot of ways that's true, but it's especially true for the subset of only children that she and I both fall into, only children of single parents, in our case, moms. See, we're a different breed. Not because our moms wanted to, but out of necessity, we became peers way too soon. We skipped over most of the indignant tantrums and whiny demands, moving straight to the years most people make peace with their parents. There WERE some tantrums and demands, but they were early on, and they were cut off quick, because there was literally no time for nonsense. See, our little subset became partners in The Effort. That effort of keeping those elusive, slippery, never long enough ends meeting. We onlies knew when the light bill wasn't paid, because we needed winter coats, and there wasn't money for both. We saw our moms worrying over the bills piling up on the kitchen table. We maybe scraped through Trigonometry (okay, I barely scraped through), but by God we could calculate how much we had in the grocery cart and get within $1 of the total in our heads. We knew better than to ask for anything--even if it was for school--on the 25th because there was only $10 left until payday on the 30th. We got jobs at 12 and used it to pay for things we couldn't ask our parents for, because we knew something else wouldn't get paid. We studied harder than anyone we knew, because the certainty of education was pushed into our heads, right along with the certainty we'd need scholarships to get it.
All that had a really odd effect on us. Of the onlies I know of single moms, we're all more than a little heavy on the control freak thing. Things need to be a certain way in our world. We crave stability and security for ourselves and those we love. We're the ones breaking our legs to get to every kids' performance and riddled with more than average guilt if we can't. We're the ones trying over and over again to make things perfect. Perfect family meals, perfect holidays, perfect outfits and parties for our kids, perfect memories, not because we're trying to impress those adults around us. We're doing it because we're trying to give our kids everything we didn't have. We want them to never hear the words "we just can't afford it" when talking about their dreams waiting for fulfillment. We want them to travel a path we never even dreamed of.
So in our world of judgments made in a snap moment, the only child may not be what he or she seems. Some may be heavy on the only and short on the childhood. My friend was right, it's not an existence for the faint or weary.
Friday, July 12, 2013
The Kindness of Strangers
This blog post comes really as a response to one of my online friends who wrote this about her dad recently. It immediately brought back a very powerful memory for me that I didn't think was appropriate for her comment section. Given that this past week was the 12th anniversary of my mom's passing, I felt even more compelled to share. So here we go!
My mom passed away when my son, Cubby, had just turned 3 months old. She'd gone into the hospital when he was only 3 weeks old, so I don't even have a picture of them together, except in my mind. My mom only saw him twice. Add to this fun that I had an emergency c-section I was recovering from, and I exclusively nursed my son, so I was eternally sleep deprived while going to the baby sitter to drop him off, going to the hospital to visit, going to my mom's house to box up her things so she could live with us, trying to find a place big enough for our family plus Mom. Then when things went south with my mom's health, contacting doctors who wouldn't tell me anything, talking to friends and family to give updates, planning and having a funeral. Did I mention I'm an only child, and my dad disappeared long ago? It was all a ragged blur. Caring for my son kept me both grounded and provided an escape. Unfortunately, I did what I call surface level grieving. I cried, I was sad, but I don't really think it penetrated to my core.
Fast forward to about a year later. I remember it was in July, because Cubby and I had gone to Target, and it was warm, warm enough that I'd left shoes and socks off Cubby. He had shorts on, so his gorgeous little chubby legs and feet were hanging out, aching to be squeezed. That's just what a lovely little old lady did. She squeezed his thighs, played with his toes, and suddenly she had moved her fingers up to play with his curls and squeeze his cheeks. Now normally, I send off a vibe that says, "Look, do NOT touch" pretty loud and clear. Rarely did people ever invade my space when I was pregnant to touch my belly or later with my kids to coo at them. My vibe must have been off that day, and Cubby was giggling, so I just looked at this interaction and smiled instead of walking away.
That's when it happened. This sweet old lady looked at my baby and said "Do you need a grandma? You look like it. I think I could be your grandma." Oh, internoodles, I lost my effing crap. I don't mean I teared up (like I'm doing right now remembering it) demurely. I mean within 30 seconds I lo-ost my CRAP! I was sniveling, crying uncontrollably, nose running, unable even to speak and tell this lovely old lady I was not a crazy person on most days, just that she'd hit a nerve. I have a vague recollection of this woman with an arm around me, and her other arm still playing with Cubby's hair. I cried so hard on her shoulder I lost a contact that day. Through my blindness, I remember little old lady with a huge wet mascara smudge on her shirt helping me to the check out. I don't know who she was, and I can only imagine what she told her family, but it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
And yeah, there are days when I'm angry at the unfairness of it all, and there are days that just make me sad. The days between get better, Jules, but there's always the potential for being blindsided. Maybe they're up there throwing those people in our path just to make sure we're thinking of them. I don't know.
My mom passed away when my son, Cubby, had just turned 3 months old. She'd gone into the hospital when he was only 3 weeks old, so I don't even have a picture of them together, except in my mind. My mom only saw him twice. Add to this fun that I had an emergency c-section I was recovering from, and I exclusively nursed my son, so I was eternally sleep deprived while going to the baby sitter to drop him off, going to the hospital to visit, going to my mom's house to box up her things so she could live with us, trying to find a place big enough for our family plus Mom. Then when things went south with my mom's health, contacting doctors who wouldn't tell me anything, talking to friends and family to give updates, planning and having a funeral. Did I mention I'm an only child, and my dad disappeared long ago? It was all a ragged blur. Caring for my son kept me both grounded and provided an escape. Unfortunately, I did what I call surface level grieving. I cried, I was sad, but I don't really think it penetrated to my core.
Fast forward to about a year later. I remember it was in July, because Cubby and I had gone to Target, and it was warm, warm enough that I'd left shoes and socks off Cubby. He had shorts on, so his gorgeous little chubby legs and feet were hanging out, aching to be squeezed. That's just what a lovely little old lady did. She squeezed his thighs, played with his toes, and suddenly she had moved her fingers up to play with his curls and squeeze his cheeks. Now normally, I send off a vibe that says, "Look, do NOT touch" pretty loud and clear. Rarely did people ever invade my space when I was pregnant to touch my belly or later with my kids to coo at them. My vibe must have been off that day, and Cubby was giggling, so I just looked at this interaction and smiled instead of walking away.
That's when it happened. This sweet old lady looked at my baby and said "Do you need a grandma? You look like it. I think I could be your grandma." Oh, internoodles, I lost my effing crap. I don't mean I teared up (like I'm doing right now remembering it) demurely. I mean within 30 seconds I lo-ost my CRAP! I was sniveling, crying uncontrollably, nose running, unable even to speak and tell this lovely old lady I was not a crazy person on most days, just that she'd hit a nerve. I have a vague recollection of this woman with an arm around me, and her other arm still playing with Cubby's hair. I cried so hard on her shoulder I lost a contact that day. Through my blindness, I remember little old lady with a huge wet mascara smudge on her shirt helping me to the check out. I don't know who she was, and I can only imagine what she told her family, but it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
And yeah, there are days when I'm angry at the unfairness of it all, and there are days that just make me sad. The days between get better, Jules, but there's always the potential for being blindsided. Maybe they're up there throwing those people in our path just to make sure we're thinking of them. I don't know.
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