I Take it Back!

My paternal grandma died in 1989.

She had a fall at home and laid on the floor for something like 14 hours before someone found her. The thing that happens to so many elderly people happened to her, she ended up with pneumonia and died about 10 days later.

While the whole family gathered at the hospital, my brand new at the time sister in law took care of the young people (my son was three, my nephew, four) and made sure we were fed.

She brought a fried chicken dinner for 14 people one afternoon and we all sat in the hospital cafeteria and had a good meal.

After Grandma died and it was time to find new homes for all Grandma's possessions that my dad didn't sell as fast as he could (and of course he kept every dime and wouldn't give us any of the things we asked for, none of which were terribly expensive or rare, we just got small things and it's not the things that are the point, you get that, right?) my parents thought Grandma's clock should go to my sister in law. It was an antique with music and a ballerina all encased in a wood and glass case.

We all agreed that she should have it, Grandma had treasured it and we wanted to keep it in the family.

So life moved on, as it does.

A few years later, my brother and his wife had two little boys. I had my baby girl. My other brother and his wife had another little boy, too. 

It was 1995, I think.

There was some, uh, marital strife between my brother and his wife and he moved out of their house over a weekend and got an apartment.

It's their story, and I won't tell it here, it's not up to me. 

I called my sister in law on Monday morning and told her that I did not need to know what was going on. That I loved her and I loved my nephews and that they were welcome in my home at any time.

She did tell me a little bit of what was going on, again not my story to tell, but I couldn't blame her for feeling how she felt.  

But my parents were furious with her. 
They didn't make any effort to find out what was going on, either. They just took his side against her, started trash talking. I was actually stunned at the vitriol and name calling. They called her a slut and a whore and suggested that the youngest little boy wasn't even my brother's child. My mom called me every day to say some other awful thing. It was really incredible. I saw a side of her I'd never seen, 'cause she sure as hell never brought out the mama bear side for me. 

I did make an effort to talk them down, as it were. Not that it did any good, they had decided she was 'just like Jezebel' and they hated her.

It was about a week later that my mom decided that Jezebel had to give the clock back.

Yep, she called me up told me that 'she has no right to keep that clock, it belongs in the family' and that she was going to tell her to give it back.

I know she called her and left that as a message, but I don't know what the response was. They ended up getting back together not long after (after seeing a pastor as a counselor which is like hiring a barber to do open heart surgery ) and suddenly my parents had nothing but nice things to say about Jezebel.

It was 'all they had prayed for' and 'guess gawd has a plan after all' and 'we knew it would be okay, gawd had given us peace'.

It was really weird, that sudden reversal. All the venom they'd been spewing was magically turned into sweetness. Suddenly Jezebel was wonderful and everyone was so happy they were back together.

Mom was constantly saying, "Thank GOD and I mean that literally."

She said it so often, and with the same exact inflection that I can hear it even now.

Mom had Jezebel come speak at one of her Women's Aglow meetings, which I secretly refer to in my head as simpering Jesus rallies. 
There's a whole lot of religious crazy in the fam. 

My mom really wanted me to come over and visit  so I could hear Jezebel speak!

Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen.

I've never told Mom I am an atheist, it would serve no purpose and would hurt her feelings. She would worry over it daily. It's not about what kind of person she is, it's about what kind of person I am, and apparently I'm not the type to make an old lady feel bad over religion. Although she's made ME feel bad over it more than once, ha!

But my sister in law still has Grandma's clock.
 
She and my brother seem to be happy, and whatever route that takes is fine with me, I don't have to agree with it.

Another weird episode from the past.
Geez.

Making Connections

So I told you about spending my birthday money on a sweater for my mom. (Scroll down if you missed it, it's the next post).

And my brain finally made a connection that I've been searching for since June of 1976.
Took me a long time to get there, huh?

My parents occasionally decided we kids were going to 'earn' an allowance. This happened multiple times, and was always the same story.

It was going to be five dollars every month. For the three months or so they continued to pay the allowance for all the chores we did, they'd come back a day or so later and 'borrow' the money back from us.

Did they then pay us back?

So as you've probably gathered, I did not have an allowance or any way to get small amounts of cash as I was growing up. There weren't jobs for teens in our small town. Apart from the yearly birthday/Christmas money, I was broke all year.

Forget buying clothing, I couldn't even buy a candy bar on my way home from school.

In June of 1976, an acquaintance who'd graduated from high school three or four years earlier asked me to sing at her wedding. I accepted, and learned the song (These Are The Best Times from Walt Disney's Superdad) in a couple sessions with the pianist.

Attended the wedding on June 12th all by myself. 

The only other wedding I'd been to was my aunt Sue Ann's. I was 4 years old at the time and all I remember from that was a straight pin still in the waistband of the yellow satin dress they'd made for me as the flower girl. Damn thing poked me all afternoon and I kept telling my mom and she kept shushing me.

So when I arrived at the church to sing and an usher asked me which side, bride or groom, I had no idea what he was even asking. Funny.

Once he figured out who I was, he seated me in the second row at the end, near the  piano. Sensible.

So I sang my song. (link leads to a YouTube video) 
I still remember all the lyrics. 
The piano score was much nicer than the organ that's in the background on this version, but you get the idea.

After the wedding, the father of the bride was walking around handing envelopes to the pianist, the minister, the guy who had helped park cars. He walked to me and handed me an envelope, too.

I had no idea that I was going to be paid to sing. 
No one had told me.
There was a fifty dollar bill in that envelope.

That was the most money I'd ever held in my hand. 
It was a FORTUNE to me. 
I was stunned.

I was really excited because it meant I could have some new clothes to start school in the fall. If you've ever been a teenage girl, you can probably relate. Heck, if you've ever been a teenager you probably can. 

Later that week, as my mom drove to the grocery store with me, she asked me why I hadn't bought a birthday present for my dad. She told me that I had hurt his feelings when I was being 'selfish' by wanting to spend all the money on myself.

"Very selfish," she said. "I thought you knew better than that."

It was a weird thing, felt like it just came from nowhere. I couldn't figure out why he'd say that, he'd never mentioned us buying him presents before. Why would a parent even expect that?

But after writing the post the other day about spending my birthday money on my mom, I realized that my dad was jealous! He remembered that I'd done that only six months prior, and here I was with FIFTY dollars and it was his birthday and I didn't do anything for him! What an ungrateful brat, huh?

It was only 18 months later that I left home.

I haven't thought about the 'why didn't you spend your money on your father' story in a long time, but it's finally clear to me why that happened in the first place.

Huh.

Heaping Helping of Profanity

Yes, a large plate full of bad words. Yum!


Since apparently we aren't going to be having heaping helpings of anything else for a bit.

Got up yesterday morning to an announcement on a fluorescent green card that our microwave had died. 

Actually, that's not what it said. It was unplugged, the cord was hanging over the front and this was closed into the door at the top.

So I visited our local Sprawlmart yesterday afternoon. I had 8 different choices, from small (no bigger than a fart bucket as my Grandma Fern used to say) to a deluxe model that apparently has an air fryer/convection/regular microwave thing going on. About $400.00. For something we use to heat up leftovers, I thought that price was a bit steep.

I found a basic mid-size model that does not have a turntable to clean under for $80.00.

I also learned that I'm not as strong as I used to be. 

Not that I wasn't already aware, but I could not lift the box from the bottom shelf into my shopping cart. I would have been able to scooch it onto the bottom of the cart if there had been room, but the box was too big. I also have a portable hand truck in my trunk, but it didn't occur to me to bring it into the store with me. I would have been able to at least wrestle it to the checkout. But nope. I had nothin'.

Had to go search for someone to help me.

I found a guy who was wearing the team colors (rah rah!) standing with a manager and having a conversation about the air conditioning and the air flow in the store. I asked if they could send someone to help me. He said, "I can do that," and followed me back to the aisle with all the small appliances.

He loaded the box into my cart, accompanied me to the checkout lane and walked out to my car with me. Deposited the giant box on the front seat of my little car. I tried to give him a tip, he said, "No, thank you. Very kind of you to offer."

I asked Lyssa about it later and she said accepting a tip when you work for Walmart is a fireable offense. Because of course they don't want anyone who works there to make a fair wage. 

Left the box in the car for Eric to bring in, which he did.

The microwave works fine, it's interesting to me that every time we get a new one, it works very well. It seems as the years pass, it's not as strong and takes longer to heat something up. 
Then it dies. 
Or you know, goes tits up. ::snort::

When I was setting the time on it, I mused to myself that at least we didn't have to replace our stove.

We've had the stove for at least 20 years. 
Our first with the glass cooktop. 
Fancy. We'd had it about two years when one afternoon I was baking cookies and the oven did not turn off. The cookies and the cookie sheet were both burned black. Had to unplug it, it wouldn't clear and wouldn't shut off. 

The electronic heart of the thing had to be replaced. It was around $120. Not cheap but less expensive than buying a whole new stove. About 10 years ago, we replaced it again, but it got broken because Eric slammed the oven door too hard trying to get the speed bake function to kick on.

I've thought about the first runaway oven incident three times over the last couple days. No particular reason. 

This afternoon I baked some chicken thighs in the regular oven. 
For no reason I can discern, my brain once again remembered what the appliance salesman referred to as a runaway oven.

I hadn't turned it off yet, I was going to bake some muffins. I went into my office space to grab my phone and the oven started beeping. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEPPPPP. 

It wouldn't stop. I went back into the kitchen and there was an error message on the display. When I tried to turn the power off, it would not turn off. The element in the bottom of the oven was glowing BRIGHT orangey-red and heat was just billowing off the damn thing.

While I was moving it out from the wall to unplug it, the smoke alarm closest to the kitchen started beeping.

It was a little noisy, I added to it by swearing. Ha.

I have some mobility issues, and one of the things that's most difficult for me is trying to grab or do anything that's close to the floor. Trying to get that 220 cord unplugged was not an easy feat. 

I tried four times. The fifth time, I got it unplugged. I had already decided that if I wasn't able to pull the cord out that time, I would move the cabinet in the laundry room to get to the circuit box and turn it off at the panel. Glad I didn't have to.

A half hour later I felt really nauseous, which is what happens to me when I get blasted with adrenaline. Yuck.


The great unplugging was 5:45 PM. At 8 PM the front of the oven and the outside of the glass were warm, the inside glass was still almost too hot to touch. I checked it again a few minutes ago and things are finally cooled off. There's a layer of gray ash in the bottom of the oven, too. Guess it got pretty hot in there.

So I get to go oven shopping tomorrow.
And then who knows how long it will take for an oven to be delivered?

Bet they won't do it for free, either.
Shit shit shit.

And get this... Today at about 2 PM I finally had our credit card paid off from my big trip in March. 

We have some things that go on that credit card every month, subscription services, a payment for this or that. I don't want any payments being deducted from my bank account, too many stories of huge errors that don't get fixed. 
So we use the credit card. 

Usually I pay it off monthly, but this was four months of paying a bit here and there. We had a couple other larger expenses during that time, too.

I was feeling happy about getting it paid off since I'm not working much this summer (3 hours every two weeks isn't much, right?) But still, bills were paid and we could still get groceries! Win/win!

So now I get to go charge that sucker up again.
My understanding is that it's a good idea to use a credit card for appliance purchases so if there is a problem or warranty issue, the credit card company will help with that. So far I haven't had to find out for sure.

Let's hope I don't this time, either.

Why can't I have a premonition that comes true about winning 5 million dollars in the lottery?

Presumed Competent

I turned 65 in December.
Today was the first time I've seen my doctor after getting signed up for Medicare and all the shit that goes along with it. 

Just adding here that the process to sign up for Medicare and get straight answers in plain English is a colossal pain in the ass and for about a month I was in a state of just-below-boiling pissoff. I hate talking on the phone, the things I read just made it more confusing, and I wanted to slap someone. Several someones. On multiple occasions.
This epic sign up coincided with my Spring break trip to see my mom, so my mental state was chaotic anyway. Plane trip, car rental, staying in an unfamiliar place while trying to continue figuring out all things medical and endeavor to be polite to my mom and all her caregivers while wiped out and grumpy. 

Seeing my mom just brings up all kinds of shit from my own personal wayback machine. Good times. 

I had been carrying medical insurance through my job, but it was Kaiser. 
So I had it just in case something horrible happened, not because I wanted a Kaiser doctor. 

Nope, I was still seeing my regular doctor who is NOT part of that network and paying out of pocket for the privilege of doing so. Did you know that a simple medication check visit is over $300? Not a typo.

Interesting that now I'm on Medicare, they cut the cost of a visit in half before ever turning it over to my insurance. Our health "care" system in the US is so fucked up.

So I take medication that requires me to see my doctor on occasion for blood work or to pee in a cup to check all my function-y stuff with kidneys etc.
I've been taking it a long time, so the doctor visit thing isn't new, but this is the first post-65 thing.  

So we checked my eyesight etc.
And they gave me a tablet with page after page of questions about falling, about who else lives in my home, do I use a cane or other mobility device blah blah blah.

The medical assistant told me at the beginning to remember three words. "I will ask you the words again later." 
(None of them were person, woman, man, camera, TV.)

I was supposed to remember them until the end of my appointment. 
Haha, then she forgot to ask me. 
Chair, car, banana.
Who comes up with this stuff?

They asked me to draw the face of a clock and set the time at 10:45.

So I get it. 
I know it's a baseline and that screening for dementia isn't actually a bad thing.

(Beats the hell out of me how an asshole with what appears to be dementia can be president, but that's really not part of this story, now is it? Bet that sorry shitbag can't draw a clock, either.)

It was a kick in the pants all the same.

Up until that visit, I was considered a fully functional human. 
The moment I walked into the clinic, I wasn't anymore.

Interesting experience.
I hated it.

Physically it's definitely not as easy for me to get around and do stuff as it once was, but so far at least, my brain still works. I do logic problems and online puzzles and I read constantly. 

And although it's been a few weeks since I wrote here, I write all the time, too. Currently working on some activity plans for my job, writing a how-to for someone who has never done this project or that. Trying to make it clear without being complicated, but with enough detail that it won't make someone crazy to try to do it.

I'm not doing those things as some kind of talisman to ward off dementia, I do all of them because I like it. But my understanding is that it might help my brain all the same.
One of the questions on the endless tablet list was something like, 'has anyone told you that it's time to stop driving or have you received traffic violations or been in a recent auto accident?'

No. Hopefully telling me to stop driving is not a possibility for at least, oh, 10 years? 
I hope I'm smart enough to realize when it's time to stop. I know a lot of 'take the keys away from Grandma' situations happen. 

I'd just as soon never have traffic violations or an accident, that's not new, though. 

I have been in a few close calls, usually someone who decides to change lanes without looking in their blind spot and nearly takes me out or someone who doesn't understand a safe following distance and tries to turn my car into a speed bump.

The last week of school, I was in the center lane on I-5, passing a semi that was in the right lane, when a semi in the left lane decided the absolute best spot to be RIGHT NOW was the center lane and nearly turned me and my little car into a Toyota sandwich. 

I hit the brakes, came within a gnat's ass of being rear ended by some nimrod who was following me too closely and managed to swerve into the left lane behind the lane changer. Pretty sure he never even saw me. I work hard to stay visible (lights on, is the driver visible in their side mirrors... if you can see the driver then the driver can see you) It was just one of those things.

It's really amazing how many stupid things I see on the freeways, though. The big surprise is that I don't see more of it.

So that's the news. I mean, there's more, and I have (checking) 5 posts in various stages of undress in the drafts. They may even get finished sometime this week.

I've been appreciating the time off, trying to get a little cleaning done around the house, keeping up with dishes and laundry, sleeping in, and most days not even getting dressed after my shower.

I put on a clean giant tie dyed t shirt (that's what I sleep in) and that's my uniform for the day.

Every other Wednesday I am going to the office to help with that curriculum planning, but I've been working on it at home, too. Even though we're not supposed to be. They took our laptops away from us at the end of the school year and will re-issue them when we go back to work in the fall. 

That's okay, this computer works just fine.
Hoping my brain keeps functioning, too. 

In 30 minutes....

I tried to do a running commentary with little notes on a piece of paper one afternoon last week to give you an idea of what it's like in the first half hour after school gets out.

One of the best things about the job is the immediacy.  
One of the most difficult parts of the job is the immediacy. 

First 30 minutes looked like this:

Got their bracelets on. 
Checked with each kid, "Did you wash up?" 
Most of them stop at the sink on their way into our space and wash (but not dry, haha), as is evidenced by the growing puddle of water to my left on the top of the table where they place their hand to steady it while I peel and stick the little adhesive end of their bracelets. I have a paper towel sprayed with the table disinfectant to wipe it off once they've finished arriving.

They all have to wash upon arrival, even if they're not planning to have a snack.
They put their backpacks and assorted sweatshirts and jackets and papers in one of the laundry baskets along the back wall. 

Everyone except for Noah, that is. He drops stuff here and there around the room. He stops to talk to a friend at the art table and leaves his homework there. On his way to the corner where we keep our baskets, he drops his sweatshirt on the floor by the dramatic play area. He usually leaves the little prizes from his class treasure box (I hate a token economy SO MUCH) on the snack table.

In my mind I refer to him as Darth Deciduous. 
Obviously wouldn't ever say it to him. 
But it helps me keep a sense of humor about his cluttery self. 

I have to track down kids who aren't there but are on my attendance list and their parents didn't remember to either mark them absent in the app or leave me a text on the site phone or send me a friggin' email and it's my JOB to make sure they're safe and for goodness sake, trying to figure out where your kid is while I'm trying to manage the other 22 who did show up is not a simple thing! 

In some cases your kid has been in my program for three years and I've had to contact you every time your kid didn't show even though I have asked you every time to please call or let us know if your kid won't be with us after school. 
It's for THEIR safety, dammit!!! Also, it's a colossal pain in the ass to have to make a phone call while I am trying to do all the things necessary when 22 kids show up all at once.

Sometimes one shows and they're not sure if they're supposed to be there after school or not. 

If they're not and the buses have already left, and the child doesn't appear in the app, I tell the child to put away their backpack and go have a snack and I'll call parents.

They don't all attend every day. I always tell them if they're not sure, just come to me. We can call parents or whatever, meanwhile the kid is not going home to an empty house. We know they're safe, they get a snack, their friends are there.

I've made it clear to children and parents that we try to make it easy. 
If you're not 100% sure, come to me. 
We'll get it figured out together. 
We don't charge a family for the extra attendance, either. 
We want to make sure the young humans are safe, that's it.

Aaron had a recent schedule change and was completely confused about where he was supposed to be. So I put a bracelet on him and sent him to get a snack, telling him I'd call his mom.

Okay, so check in/wash hands/snack right away. Sometimes I have to leave our space and zip into the school office and get one of the nice ladies who work there help me track one or two of the young humans down. It's more difficult because of the extra curricular classes. A kid could be in the pick up line, in the bus line, in one of the seven extra curriculars... but we have to find them. 

I also have two new kids in the group and their parents haven't learned the whole 'contact your day care if your child won't be attending' rule. They think if they let the school know that I automatically know. And I don't. My program is a separate entity, a private contractor within the school. The sharing of information, while courteous, isn't enough under licensing. 

My school office is happy to let me look at their attendance logs, but not all schools do that and even if I've looked at that log and I know the kid won't be there, I need to contact a parent because it's still my job.

So that's the first five to seven minutes post-dismissal. Assuming that I've located all my young humans, the next steps are making sure everyone gets snacks if they want one (William is in charge of the snacks)  and that they're finding things to do that don't involve running or chasing or breaking toys. 

One of my new kids is quite destructive, although he's not malicious, just careless/clueless. I have to tell him every single day that we don't throw our toys, that if it's not yours, don't touch it, and that if he can't treat his friends nicely, he can play alone until he can. 

He has some neglect in his past, so he's starting from a much younger child perspective. He hasn't been taught those rules. Actually, he hasn't been taught any rules. He's no longer living with the parent who didn't take proper care of him. It's going to take some time, patience, and effort to help him catch up.

Kids are choosing what they'd like to do for the afternoon, asking for specialty items (googly eyes, construction paper, tacky glue) or for a refill of the paper drawer that's on the art cart. 

Phone is ringing because Parent A finally called back to say their child is not attending. Which I knew already but still had to check.

There is girl drama at the art table. Bella was being vocal about what she hated about the play they saw on their field trip and two other kids disagreeing with her. 

Also, a discussion about middle names. Again, I don't attach their real names to them here so this one is also made up, but I have a kindergarten girl who didn't know her middle name. She has a hyphenated last name. So when they asked her what her middle name was, she said, "My name is Emily Grace Cullen-Witherspoon. Which one of those is my middle name?"

Surprisingly, it took them a minute and a little discussion to draw the correct conclusion.
She's a cutie, as all the K age kids are, and she's grown so much this year.
::sigh::

There are physical altercations in the construction zone.
"THOSE ARE MY MAGNATILES!!" 
Followed by shoving, screaming in a sibling's face, crying frustration.

And the Zoobs. The damn Zoobs. I have a love/hate relationship with them. I love that the kids are very focused when they make stuff, and that it's contained in a small area. I make them keep the pieces on the table because they're fragile enough that when one steps on them, they break. I hate that they fall on the floor anyway and most of the time I have to remind someone that they are on the floor and please pick them up!

Daniel asked me the other day if they could take them to the reading area since no one was reading over there. I told him they could try it and we'd see how it went. Noah and Daniel are best friends, but Daniel is only in program three days a week. So on the days they're both there, they do everything together.

It didn't go so well.

I had to talk to Shelly and Mike and explain once again that no one gets all of one color. That we have to share the toys.

I told Emma and Bailey the same thing just seconds later.

Within about three minutes, Steffie was on her back on one of the chairs, lying down building a little car with her Zoobs. Noah decided he wanted some of the ones from her stack, so he laid on top of her to reach for them. And because of the positioning, stuck his junk in her face.

She had no idea why everyone else was laughing, and I tried to keep it calm by telling Noah, "Dude. Personal space." He didn't have malicious intent, he's a little kid. 
Still... um, NO.

I'm not sure Steffie caught on, but everyone else seemed to. 
Saw a couple kids pointing and laughing from across the room.

Noah always has problems keeping his body in his own space. He's not mean, he just gets really involved in whatever he's doing and pays zero attention to what anyone else expects or needs from him.

So within two minutes, I'd had to remind him four times about personal space. He was upsetting everyone else over there, and the fifth time I heard an aggrieved, "NOAHHHHH!!" I finally told him that he'd need to take his toys and play in a different location, because, "Everyone else has a right to play here without you in their face or their space, Noah."

He got up, starting to cry. He crawled under the salad bar at the other end of the room, sobbing like I'd torn his heart out. I felt bad, I don't want to hurt their feelings, but the consequences of being in someone's space over and over need to be that you are removed from that space. When he's escalated, there is no point in trying to talk to him. 
If a person tries, it makes it worse. So I wait until he runs down, then take a few minutes to sit with him and (once again) explain why he needs to keep his hands in his own personal space.  

On my table were the collage art projects from the day before, it helps them remember to pick up their art and take it home.

Steffie came to pick hers up. She did one that was all hummingbirds for her mom, carefully gluing little jewels and star-shaped sequins on and humming her own little song while she worked. She was very excited to give her art to her mom.

When she picked up her page, she was dismayed to see that, "My special big blue jewel is gone!!"

She began crying loudly. She's another one who has to run down a little before she is able to be rational. I got the jar of rhinestones from the cabinet and dumped a bunch into a little french fry boat, which is what we use to organize stuff when we're crafting.

"Steffie, let's find another jewel for your picture."
"THAT WAS THE ONLY ONE!!!!"

I found six more. Unfortunately snapped the pic of her project before she happily glued the larger blue rhinestone on.

It was important to her, because she made it for her mom.

The blue jewel was on the big 
hummingbird's 
chest below the row of jewels.

During the same half hour, Malia was picked up early. She was frantically searching for her blue whale (what??) at the project table. I found it later when I was cleaning, it was an origami project. I texted her mom to let her know I'd found it.

I had to get Aaron and John to stop firing Lincoln logs across the room with the catapult they made from K'nex during that time, too.

None of the rest of the day made it into this post. The assigning of jobs to get outside (our bug out bag, ball cart and door holder of the day... unimportant to me but SUPER important to them). 

I haven't told you about our art project, any of the other arguments that happened during the afternoon (there are always several, they persist in acting like children) and parent pick ups and shoe tying and all the little things that go on.

This was just the first half hour of the afternoon.

Huh.

Possibly why I'm so tired all the time?

And. I've been sitting here swearing for 10 minutes trying to get the bottom part of this post to line up on the left margin. I am officially giving up.

The Secret Word is...

Do you remember PeeWee's Playhouse?

My son was a fan when he was a little guy, we watched it every time we could. 

Matt's favorite was the secret word segment. 
PeeWee shared the secret word and leaned in close to camera and said, "For the rest of the day, whenever anyone says the secret word, scream real loud!"

Apparently the secret word at my program today was vagina. I was sitting at the snack table with my group when a couple of the kids screamed with laughter from the construction zone. I heard, "What's a vagina?" from one of the kids, a few words of explanation from Noah and then there was more screaming/laughing.

::sigh::

So I walked over to the carpets where they were all still just in stitches. 
Steffie was saying, "PUH china," at intervals to try to keep the laughter going.

I said, "Hey, that isn't a word we need to be using here unless we're doing anatomy lessons or talking about the human body. And I know for a fact that we're not. Let's move on, people."

"Is it a bad word?" John asked me, blushing.

"Nope. It's just not appropriate or necessary for here. Unless, like I said, we're having a study of the human body."

Then Steffie asserted, "But I can still say PUH china, because it's not like I'm actually saying the word."

"Um, yes it is like you're actually saying the word. So please don't.
What started this conversation, guys?"

Three of them turned and pointed their fingers at Noah.
John added helpfully, "It was Noah. He says it's a woman's private parts."

Of course it was Noah who shared the word to begin with. He is one of the kids whose parents will answer his questions appropriately. Then he turns it into something else to make other kids laugh or be shocked or be mad. He can't keep anything to himself. I hope he's aged out of my group before his parents answer his curious questions about where babies come from.

So you know what to do.

For the rest of the day, whenever anyone says the secret word, scream real loud!

Uh oh. They got me.

Is this in any way believable?
I know we're not supposed to respond, but if I could figure out how to scream mad laughter in their faces, I would.

"Transeer"?? (To a tollbooth and add 35% service fee?)
"Thank you for your immediate attraction"??
Oh, and check out the official seal on the upper left.

I have three or four posts in various stages sitting here in drafts. 
I just haven't managed to finish them.
I'm still reading you if you're writing, just having some motivation issues.

Which reminds me, it's after noon and I need to get a shower 'cause I have like 5 loads of laundry to do.

Put a bandaid on it.

Tuesday afternoon as we were setting up the program, I moved our rolling construction shelf unit (known as a zone cart at the company I work for) up against the wall. The carts are birch plywood with a nice finish.

They're not cheap, between 400 and 700 depending on what you get. 



The cart isn't new, wasn't new when I opened this site in 2023. Seems to be wearing out now.

The front edge on top got me and a huge sliver went into my right hand at the base of my index and middle fingers.

Holy crap, that really hurt! 
Worse, it went in at an angle and was deep.

::sigh::

I tried to pull it out with tweezers and broke off the part that was barely sticking up, leaving the rest of it embedded.

Shit shit shit.

So I washed my hands, applied some antibiotic cream and a bandage and went back to setting up.

Covered the barely rough edge with some blue masking tape so no one else would have the same thing happen.

It was painful enough and buried deeply enough that I was concerned I wouldn't be able to remove it on my own. 

And since it was in my dominant hand, that made it even more difficult.

So as much as I hated to, I filed an incident/accident report in case I had to seek medical attention. 
Can you imagine? 
Work comp for a splinter. 
Sheesh.

So I did a lot of changing bandages and using antibiotic cream between Tuesday afternoon and Friday morning. Stupid thing. Every time I bumped it, it hurt. Every time I used my hand, it reminded me it was there. And never coming out, apparently.

On Thursday morning, I took my daily shower and noticed the skin over the splinter was soft and didn't hurt after the shower. So I told Eric that he was going to have to help me dig it out on Friday morning. He's off work on Fridays. 

I glopped unscented lotion on the wounded area and covered it with still another bandage when I went to bed on Thursday night. 

Got up Friday morning, found the skin soft and pliable and grabbed a needle and my tweezers and figured I could at least try. 
I got the damn thing out myself.
Eric was glad, he hated the idea of possibly hurting me.

It was almost half an inch long, yes, I measured it, and came out in two pieces. The 2nd piece was at an angle deep into the tissue under my index finger, but it didn't hurt to take it out, apparently the wound healed up a bit around it?

Score one for the good guys. There is no residual soreness. The rough edges of the skin I opened up are kind of a nuisance, they keep catching on my clothes,but I have lots of bandages. Tie dyed bandages. Of course. And no, I did not tie them. Or dye them.

Scrolling through some videos this morning I came across one from a teacher who has lots of video shorts. She talked about kids and how they always want bandages.
It's true. 

The video suggested that a bandage makes them feel better, so why not give them one?

I don't always read the comments, most of the time they're a waste or just aggravating, but there was some speculation that kids are 'just asking for attention'. 
As if that's a bad thing.
Of course they're asking for attention.
They're children. 

Why should asking for a bandage cause the adult in charge to get into big boss mode? It's just a bandage. 

Why not assume the child needs attention and get down off your goddamn high horse and SEE that child? 

Even if I had to pay for them myself I'd still give them to kids who think they need them. 

It makes them feel better. 
How is that wrong?
Sure wish I could feel better in such an easy way!

I don't question kids who ask for a bandage. 

They usually feel like they need to prove to me why they've asked for one, though. 
You can tell they've been questioned and faced with skepticism before.

They hold out an index finger with a tiny spot of dark pink or point vaguely to a spot on their arm or leg and tell me it hurts. 
They are accustomed to having to justify their requests. 
Ask permission to ask for help. 
Ever notice that?

I always give them one. I have bandaids in my clipboard and in the little first aid pack that goes everywhere with us.

I ask if they want to do it themselves or if they need help with it. 
Most of them are self sufficient and want to do their own. 
I hand them a bandage and watch.

Occasionally they're not as great at it as they thought they were, and they ::gasp:: wreck the bandage!!!

If you immediately thought they look aghast and embarrassed because they failed at putting on a band aid, you're right.

If they need another, I give them one. 
While saying something like, "I don't know why bandages don't behave better, always tying themselves in knots is not helpful!"

I may even lecture the new bandage. "Look, Buddy, behave yourself and go on straight! We don't want to have to tell you again!" 

Any time I can add humor and know the child(ren) will appreciate it is a good thing.

I've noticed that many adults, when faced with a crying, hurt child say, "Oh, you're okay, you're okay."

I don't like that. Even if they're just emotional and not physically hurt, it's still pain. It's not my job to tell them they're okay, it's up to them to let me know when they actually are okay.

I feel like people should ask, "Are you okay? Would you like to sit with me awhile and see if it starts to feel better? I'm sorry this happened to you."

It's similar to going to a doctor for help as an adult and being dismissed. 
The condescending pat on the arm or the leg and, "There, there," or something similar. "You're fine. Follow up in a month." Or whatever. 

People want to be heard. For the listener(s) to make an effort to understand them. Maybe offer to help fix the situation.

Kids... well, they're people. 
They want to be heard.
If they want a bandage or an ice pack, go get it.

It's a big deal to them.

Splash

There is another after school group in the building.

I'm not sure which 'at risk kids' entity they're working for, but I know they aren't required to license.

This means that just about any adult off the street who wants to work with kids can be hired. No background check and no training. 

To work under an actual day care license and do what I do takes an FBI background check, including fingerprints before you can even walk in the door. I have co-workers who have job coaches on site, and even the job coaches must submit fingerprints and do an FBI background check. 

To be a site director takes a fair bit of experience and training. Probably don't need to explain that experience teaches you far more than formal training.

So yeah. This other group in the building.
I watch them as they run screaming ...

the kids I mean, the adults aren't screaming, (at least on the outside) through our area to exit the back doors and hit the playground.

They've recently begun carrying a little first aid kit with them, a definite improvement over the last 2 years when they go out with nothing but some playground equipment. I have given bandages to them more than once. 

Yeah, I know, not my responsibility, but the alternative is to just let a kid bleed. 
Can't do it.

But this week I noticed they're finally carrying a kit on their way out to the playground.

They still run and scream on their way out the doors, and quite often are wandering around the building unaccompanied in pairs and trios while they're supposed to be in their upstairs classroom. I have to monitor our restroom area carefully. Our rule is one kid at a time for safety purposes.

I've had to ask them to please go back to their group when the action is getting ridiculous in the restroom area. They are never alone, always with at least one friend, and they're loud, messy and since no one is watching them, they do whatever they feel like doing.

I go to the area and ask them to please rejoin their group, that I have kids who need to use the restroom and they can't while other groups are there.

They aren't always polite when I ask them to go, but I have a thick skin. I talk with the person in charge of their program on occasion, she actually is pretty good at her job.

But when Brian came back from washing his hands on Wednesday and his entire front was soaking wet and he told me 'a couple of kids' had splashed him, I was full of righteous anger.

I immediately texted Anna, our front office person and let her know what had happened, told her I can't leave the kids but since it just happened, it seems that they'd know which kids had left their classroom area.

She was on it. Showed up about 30 seconds later with a laptop for Brian to look at to try to identify the kids who had splashed him. He pointed out two photos of girls and said, "It was this one and this one."

Anna went upstairs to talk with the kid wranglers.

I didn't see her again that afternoon, but I know she has a million things going on. Brian was fine, just a little wet.

I wrote an incident report and notified his dad in person about what had happened.
Called my manager, too. Covered all the bases.

The next afternoon, Anna stopped by while I was setting up program. I asked her if she thought we'd be having any more issues. 

She said, "Well. About that. He lied."

My mouth dropped open. Of all the kids in my care, he's the absolute last one I'd expect a lie from. 
"Whaaaattt???"

"Yep. We wanted to make sure we weren't falsely accusing anyone of wrongdoing, so we viewed the video footage. He went around the corner into the sink area alone, was there for about two minutes, and came back out alone and soaked. No one went into that area for the 10 minutes before, and no one came out after he did, and we watched for another couple of minutes."

I really was speechless.

BRIAN lied? Brian??? Little Mr. Integrity? That Brian?

Wow.

So she told me that the principal had called his parent and had a conversation with them, and that he'd been called to the office and they talked about telling the truth and how lying can cause harm to others.

I talked with him briefly, too.
Explained that I have to be able to trust him. That I tell him the truth and expect the same courtesy.

His mom told me at pickup that she thought he just told a little lie and then things got away from him and he didn't know how to get out of it, so he just went with it.

He's six. Lying is age-appropriate behavior, and they do (usually) outgrow it.

But I'm still really surprised that he wasn't truthful with me. He's a seriously neat little kid, always trying to help. Always nice to the other kids, too. I'm also taken aback by how he didn't blush, or look away or give ANY indicator that what he was telling me wasn't the absolute truth. 

ADHD and Fairness

Our Bailey has ADHD. 
Or at least that's what I think.

I'm not a doctor, in case you didn't know.
Ha.

It's my opinion, based on her behavior and inability to manage certain group expectations, that ADHD is at least a part of what's going on. She has all kinds of trouble during the school day doing what's expected of her, too.

She's an intelligent kid. Thinks deep thoughts and is good at expressing her feelings. She can tell you that she's feeling frustrated/angry/nervous/happy and exactly why she's feeling how she feels.

About a month ago, I watched her talking with two other girls in a corner of the gym. She had that look she gets when she's trying to help someone, empathy really shows on her face.

She crossed the gym to me and told me there was an argument between those two other girls that was getting mean, one of them was crying. I went and talked with the two kids who were in the disagreement and helped them figure it out.

Later she came to me and told me she 'felt like a jerk' for telling on them. 
"I didn't want to get them in trouble."

"You're not getting people in trouble when you're trying to help them solve a problem. I talked with them both and they're fine. No one thinks you're a jerk."

"But *I* think I might be one," she told me. "I can't just be quiet when there's an argument. I wanted to help and I couldn't, so I told on them."

I explained to her that she hadn't told on them at all, that she was trying to help her friends and that neither one of them thought she had done anything that wasn't nice. "It's not telling on someone when they need help. It's telling someone, which can sometimes be hard, but you didn't do anything wrong."

She worries obsessively about doing the right thing. 
Is frequently certain she's done something wrong. 
She beats herself up over everything. 
If she thinks she's acted incorrectly, she'll talk to me more than once about it, sometimes days later.

Also, I was Bailey when I was a child. I understand on a deep level exactly what it's like to be unable to follow the expectations of the adults who spend their days telling kids what to do. How it makes you feel so bad when you just... can't. And you get yelled at and punished and looked at with anger/disgust. There's also the whole fitting in thing. I never did. I didn't have many friends. It hurts, growing up like that.

I spent a lot of time feeling diminished and wrong when I was a child. I did not fit in anywhere. Not in my family, not at school, definitely not at church/Sunday school.
Had an unreasonably large dose of self loathing all the way through school and well into my adult life. Figured there was something wrong with me.

65 years old and still have all kinds of trouble with executive function. I don't want things to be that way. If you're one of those people who say, 'well, you just need to ______' or 'then just change _____', you lack understanding. 
Sorry. 
But it's true.

People like me (and like Bailey and scores of other small humans I've worked with) really have to struggle sometimes. We'd love it if we didn't have to, but we do. 

There are aspects of my life that I have more or less together, but it's never easy.

So handling situations with Bailey, I try to remember what it felt like to be that child. The one who really wants to fit in but blurts out inappropriate for the situation words. Or reacts not like everyone else would. Or straight up doesn't even hear what's being said, even when it's face to face. 

We may even look you in the eye, but chances are, we don't hear you. Or we hear part of it and get the rest wrong.
I assure you, it's not on purpose. 

Bailey's one who can't change activities just 'cause someone snaps their fingers, blows a whistle or says, "NOW."
Some kids are so focused on what they're doing they don't even hear the person in authority talking to them.

This is the third year I have taken care of Bailey. She was in Kindergarten when she started. I know her to be honest, compassionate, friendly, earnest and smart. She's a lovely little person who always does her best to be kind and decent. She thinks it's 'because Jesus' but there are kids who are just innately kind. She's one of them.

Okay, so follow my little group outside.

We play outside as long as possible. 20 minutes on the schedule, but when the weather is decent and no one else is using the playground, we stay out between 45 minutes and an hour. They love it, they run the whole time, invent new games, just enjoy the outside and each other's company.

When it's time for us to go back into the building after our recess time, I blow a whistle and everyone lines up. We count them and/or do a roll call to make sure they're still with us and go back into the building. 

Bailey seems to be having a lot of trouble with the concept of going in, no matter how long we've been out. She runs away. She crosses the monkey bars four more (or five more or 10 more) times.
She climbs up and jumps off the wooden play structure.

The rest of the kids are in line waiting while she runs around, accompanied by William, my assistant. He's trying to get her to go inside, but she doesn't listen to him very well.
Ha. Of course she doesn't. She's focused on play.

The issue isn't new. She's been doing it off and on for three years. We talk about it, she does better for a few days, then goes right back to ignoring the signal to line up.

But in the past few months, it's becoming a larger issue than what I'd like to be dealing with and it's starting to affect other kids. They're either frustrated and saying mean things to her when she FINALLY joins the rest of us or they think since Bailey did it, it's a sign that it would be just fine for them to do it, too.

On Thursday, Aaron decided that since Bailey was running away instead of lining up, he was going to do it, too.

Before you ask, yes. I do give her a five minute warning. I do it in person or by saying into the walkie talkie, "Hey, let Bailey know we're going back in the building in five minutes," so William can let her know in person.

So yes, she knows five minutes ahead of time that we're going to be transitioning back into our program space.

It's really easy to get angry and put on a mean face and berate her when she doesn't line up. I could even do it in front of the rest of the kids, since she's publicly ignoring my instructions.

That's not what I do. 
It's mean. Power-trippy. 
I don't have to demonstrate to her or to anyone else that I'm in charge. They know.

But she needs to learn that sometimes we have to do things we really don't want to do and that it's not kind to keep everyone else waiting that way.

So Thursday, when she decided not to line up while we all stood there and waited, I found the stopwatch function on my phone and started it.

Six minutes. We stood there six minutes. Aaron joined us almost immediately, although I could tell he really wanted to go run with Bailey.

She finally came over and joined us. Some of the kids had things to say to her, but in characteristic Bailey fashion, she just let it roll off. I doubt she really heard what anyone said, she was busy making plans with another child to play Mancala.

When we finished with the hand washing I asked her to come sit with me.

Then I explained to her that what she's doing when it's time to come in is not fair to everyone else.

"We can't go into the building and leave you outdoors. We are forced to stand there and wait for you every time you do this. It's not fair to the other kids and it's not fair to me. I expect everyone to line up when it's time. Bailey, I don't ask a lot of you or the other kids. I want you to come here and choose your own activities, have a good time, be with your friends, make some art and do what you enjoy. So when I do ask a small thing, like lining up to come in, I need you to do what I ask. You ran around for six minutes while the rest of us waited for you in line by the building. So I'm going to have you sit here for six minutes and wait to go play. I want you to understand how long six minutes is when you don't have anything to do but wait."

She reached for a book that was on the table, and I said, "No. You get to sit here for six minutes and do nothing. No book, no coloring, no fidgets."

She wasn't happy about it. I know it hurt her feelings, something I don't like. 

When the timer was about to go off, I spoke to her again.
"I don't know another way to show you why what you did isn't helpful or nice to the rest of the kids."

"But that was a really long time!" she said. "I had to sit here and do nothing for the whole time!"

I agreed. "You did. I know it isn't fun. The other 17 kids were not happy having to wait for you, either. They also had nothing to do while they watched you run and play."

I could see the light go on in her little brain.

She then asked, "Are you mad with me?"

"I'm not angry at all, Bailey. And I understand that it's hard for you to stop what you're doing and do something else when you're having a really good time. But you have to get in line like everyone else when it's time to come in. Let's not have this conversation again, okay?"

She went to play with a friend.

On Friday when I blew the whistle, I saw her look toward the place we line up and make a decision to run the opposite way. So I hit the go button on the phone's stopwatch, which was ready. 
I knew she was going to do it. 
Knew it.

However, it was only three minutes. An improvement.

She thought she'd gotten away with it, because I didn't say anything to her about it.
After the kids all washed their hands, I did, though.

"Hey Bailey, come sit with me. Today you only have to sit for three minutes."

She wilted, but she came and sat. We had the discussion again.
I know that won't be the last time it happens.

She's a peach of a kid. 
She really is. 
But I'm not doing her any favors if I let her ignore the rules.

Busy. And sweary.

To have a peaceful environment in after-school programs takes work.

Listening to their conversations, being able to tell from across the room by the tension in someone's shoulders or the escalating tone of voice that there are issues brewing, reminding myself before they show up that Joey and Evan haven't been getting along lately, frequently squaring off at each other and yelling angrily. 
It escalates to pushing and red-faced anger so fast, too. 

There's a knack to monitoring them (those two and quite a few of the others) closely without appearing to. 
Occasionally I'm good at it. 

Trying to keep that yelling match from happening for the third time in a day is taxing, though. 

I grab extra infrequently used items from the back room to keep some of the other kids amused because they've done all the things so many times. Some days I do all that and more, sometimes within the first 10 minutes of program start. Bracelets on the kids/check in, snacks served, hands washed arguments mediated, figure out where Lily is. 
It's a lot. 

We have hot spots. 
The construction zone is one of them.

LEGO, blocks, zoo animals, Lincoln logs, Hot Wheels cars and tracks.
The large bin of magna tiles is never large enough for my group. 

When I remind the first few arrivals who are frantically stacking magnets and hovering over them that they're going to have to share as more kids show up, they impatiently agree, ("I knoooowwww!!") only to get pissed as hell when more kids actually walk in and want to join them.

Our Benji gets overwhelmed and screams angrily. He's not being a jerk or doing it to get attention, he's just reached his boiling point. It's like a tea kettle both in sound and function. He is doing it less as time goes on this school year, but there are days he shows up after having more than enough chaos during the school day and can't get in the groove. 

The 'hang out, do what you feel like doing' vibe I try to give them just isn't what he needs at those times. And apparently 'more structure' isn't something that works for him either, lol.

The magna tiles have continued to be an issue for the whole group. We're still working on finding a solution that works reasonably well for all of them. Haven't found it yet. I've already decided that my next site budget will be spent on magna tiles. Adding more seems to be the best idea I can come up with.

I spend a lot of program time monitoring the construction zone, trying (and failing) to permanently calm the storms. Best I've been able to do is get the temperature down a little, only to find it going up again five minutes later.

So during set up Thursday last week, I removed the bin of magna tiles from our construction cart. 
Not forever. 
And it's not a punishment. 
It's a consequence. 
Really a last resort, as taking things away isn't a tactic I like to use.

It's been one mean week between the magnet-obsessed boys in that group.

They RUN to program when they're dismissed. 
The kids who get there first don't even take off their backpacks. Instead of stowing them in the baskets provided for that purpose, they leave them  on. They're elbowing each other out of the way on the rug, grabbing magnets as fast as they can. It's a bloodbath.

They started an argument while still in the hallway on the way to program and not only could I hear them, I saw them running and jockeying for position to be first. They knocked Steffie over on the way into our space and didn't even stop to see if she was okay, they were so focused on getting to the magnets.

I checked on Steffie first. 
She was okay. 

Pissed off and crying some angry tears, "Why are they running like idiots??" but not physically harmed. John was highly insulted at being called an idiot. The fact that it was him crashing into her that caused her to fall didn't matter. Sheesh.

They were perplexed when they arrived on the big green carpet only to see no magna tiles. I made a general announcement that we were taking a break from them today, but after we talk about it tomorrow, we will try to get them out again. 

We do have a lot of other things to do. I suggested they find something else and went back to checking kids in.

Six to eight year old boys are known for many things. 
Being good at listening isn't one of those things. 

I was asked at least five times in five minutes by the same kids I'd spoken to, "Where are the magna tiles?"

I explained it to them each time and said that we would try again tomorrow.
They were disappointed, but none of them argued with me. They know I'm serious.

The thing is, they will find something to fight about or get in trouble for anyway.

One of the newer additions to the group is Jaime. He's six. He doesn't seem to understand why I want him to keep his language appropriate for our group, why it isn't nice to keep bothering Benji who's half his size and volatile. He'll 'accidentally' knock over the blocks that Benji is building with, 'accidentally' run into him while he's carrying his snack to the table. Benji explodes into screaming, crying tantrums over it. Kids like Jaime like getting that kind of reaction, it temporarily fixes something in his brain.

Jaime thinks it's funny to make Benji cry. 
The bigger the reaction, the more enjoyment shows on Jaime's face. 
When I ask him about his behavior, he's quick to assure me, "I did it on accident!"

I want to yell at him because it makes me angry to see him hurting Benji's feelings and I want to defend the little guy. 
 
But yelling in anger at a six year old is a mean thing to do (and it sure won't help anything)  and I'm supposed to be the adult in the room.  I don't want to make him feel like I don't like him or that I think he's a bad person, I just want him to consider what he's doing before it gets to the point of hurting someone else's feelings. 

It's a learned skill, though. He hasn't learned it yet.
So I'm playing catch up.

"Jaime, who controls your body?"

"Huh?"

"Who controls your body?"

"Um.. me?" 
With a sidelong glance at me to make sure he's answering me the way he thinks I want him to.

"Yes, you. So telling me something was an accident when you are the one in charge of your body and where it goes isn't telling the truth. You ran into Benji on purpose, he's angry now and it's a thing you chose to do. That's not an accident, Buddy. I don't like to see you running into people or ruining the things they build. It's not very nice."

"But I didn't mean to do it!"

"You know I can see you, right?  You did mean to do it. Please don't do it again. Benji didn't do anything to deserve that. This isn't how we treat our friends here."

At this point I'd like to help Benji calm down, but once the teakettle boils over, I can't. If I try, he growls at me. He needs a little space and some time, then he's okay. He can't help it, he's just a little kid. 

Jaime also swears. He uses inappropriate language to impress Hayden, who is only with us two days a week. Although they're in the same first grade classroom, Hayden and Jaime aren't allowed to be together during the school day. I heard that they support each other in behaviors that aren't generally allowed. I have seen them hit other kids, tease other kids, steal toys when one of the other kids might be looking away, scribble on someone's art and say words like ass and turd. Jaime has said fuck twice, at least those were the times I caught him, and told one of our smaller girls to 'get the hell away' from him the other day for no reason.

Actually, that's not 100% true. He has a reason, he thinks it's impressing the other kids and that it makes him look important. He's not impressing anyone, though. 

While I was tying Steffie's shoe and opening a fruit cup for Lily, I heard Jaime from all the way across the room. 

"Shit!"

Temporary lowering of the noise level as some of the kids noticed him saying it. He, in turn, noticed the adjustment in sound, so he said it again, just as loud to impress those who hadn't heard the first time.

"Shit!"

Instead of giving him a big reaction by shouting across the room/appearing shocked, I walked over and asked him to come talk with me.

Jaime has something going on cognitively. I'm not sure how to describe it except to say that he's sort of absent when someone is talking to him. He isn't being rude, he just doesn't appear able to process what's being said. There's a delay between what I say to him and his comprehension. He never really catches on to what I'm telling him, although he tries to provide acceptable answers. His answers aren't declarations, they're questions. That little uplift at the end of the sentence accompanied by a sincere face tells me he doesn't understand, or not completely. He's giving me an answer to make me go away, and he's not sure what the right answers are, hence the question.

I'm keeping an eye on him.

When his father came to pick him up, I had Jaime come with me to talk to Dad. He was reluctant to accompany me and I had to go across the room and touch his arm and point toward his dad as I told him to come talk with us. At that point, he knew his father had seen my interaction with him, so, dragging his feet a little, he walked over.

I asked him if he'd like to repeat the words he'd said in front of his dad. He immediately said no.

"So you know those words are not appropriate for our program if you can't repeat them in front of your dad. Jaime, we have kids here who are younger than you are and kids who are older. Boys and girls. All of them have a right to come here and not have to listen to that kind of language. This place is supposed to be a place to make friends and have fun, and I want that for you, too. But you have to help make it a fun and safe place by using appropriate words while you are here."

He doesn't attend on Mondays, so I haven't seen him since I talked with him and his dad. I've been around enough sweary kids that I don't expect an instant stop, but I am hoping for some improvement.

Haha... no one needs a bunch of shit!!

Hey, at least I get another day off...

Sometime between Friday night and now, whatever bug bit my husband glommed onto me and now I feel like crap. 

Pretty sure this is the bug.

I should have been suspicious yesterday when, although I'd slept about 10 hours (not consecutive ones) the night before, I still felt really tired and had a little headache. I made the decision that I probably needed a nap and slept for over two hours.

When I woke up, I still had a headache, but not as bad. I ate a small dinner and went back to bed about midnight.  

Again didn't get consecutive long hours of sleep, (I'm 65 years old and must visit the bathroom at least twice a night) but I still slept about 10 hours total.

In that way that old married couples have, there are some inside jokes about the middle of the night pee parade. Sometimes he gets up and goes and when he gets back in bed it wakes me up and I get up and go, sometimes the other way 'round. 

We make jokes about it, calling each other copycat. When Eric gets back in bed and is adjusting blankets and getting comfortable, I accuse him of 'thrashing around' and make vague threats about what I am going to do about it.

We make jokes about his 'prostrate'. Yeah, I know that's incorrect, but the incorrect usage of the word made it into the old married people lexicon back in 2006 because of one of my Goodwill stories. 

I saw two older ladies shopping at Goodwill. 
They were companionably pushing their carts side by side in an aisle that was really too small for that, as evidenced by the things that fell off the shelves as they passed. They took turns picking up things behind them, but after a large wooden shelf fell to the floor, the first lady bent down to pick it up, even though it was lady #2 who knocked it over.
"Thanks," Lady #2 said to #1. "I can't get up and down so good these days, I seem to wet a bit. I think my prostrate is acting up."

So I realized about two hours ago that the reason I still have a headache and feel crappy is that I'm sick.

I'll be going back to bed in about 15 minutes. 
That's long enough for my electric blanket to heat my side of the bed before I crawl in.

Since tomorrow is a federal holiday, our school and company are closed. Hopefully I can take it easy and make it back to work on Tuesday.

William was out on Wednesday and Thursday with the same kind of bug, too. I may have picked it up at my school, but I'm guessing it was from living in the same house with the man. Not giving each other hugs isn't a possibility. We *have* kept our lips apart, but you know, he's been coughing and coughing.  Yippee.

I'm hoping that I feel well enough to do some work prep. 
I have paid prep hours every weekday, although I really don't pay attention to how much extra time I put in. I work on weekends, I work at night, I work on holidays. Since my work is play, it's really hard for me to find a way to complain about it.

My goal is to have some 'sub bags' prepared. Everything needed for craft projects in a big ziplock bag. I have a few planned, but haven't made them yet.

This means I have to feel a lot better by Tuesday, because I want to be at work.

::sniffle::: 

Bad Bunny and White Jesus

 I was asked today about this past weekend's viewing habits.

"Did you watch the Super Bowl?"

"No."

"WHATTTTT???"

"No. I'm not interested in football."

"Well who did you want to win?"

"I didn't care. I didn't even know who was playing until the game was on."

"Well. My Seahawks WON!! I prayed and prayed and they won!!"

"I see. I know lots of families watched the game, I just am not a football fan."

A moment's thought, then,
"Did you watch the halftime show?"

"I did." (I waited until today and looked it up online, mostly muted it, I don't like rap, but I was interested in the story) 
"Bad Bunny. I read about it, too, so I could understand what he said and what it was about."

::shocked Pikachu face:::

"What??!! It was VERY inappropriate!! My family didn't watch that, we watched the Christian halftime show!"

This was said with an incredibly superior air.

Of course I had to ask.

"What was the Christian halftime show?"

"Oh, it was Kid Rock! We don't allow bad things on our television!"

I didn't say anything. Nope. 
But considering some of the garbage that has spewed from that particular artist, I'm going to say that he's not a Christian, at least not one that fits any definition of one that I've ever heard.

I won't post lyrics to any of his crap (you can't spell crap without r-a-p) but if you don't mind being disgusted and grossed out, you can look up Cool Daddy Cool. 


And the performance from Bad Bunny wasn't anything I liked, either. Just not my thing.

I appreciated getting the meaning of the story, and there was a lot of history and things I didn't know, but in case you missed it (haha) I don't like rap, I'm uninterested in seeing a bunch of crotch-grabbing and had little interest beyond curiosity over what all the hype was about. It was a smooth production, and if you like that sort of thing, was well done.

But I was struck by the child's disgust over perceived wrongness in the performance of Bad Bunny (that she didn't even watch) and her unquestioning acceptance of another rap performer who isn't much different.

Except of course Bad Bunny has brown skin.

Once again I really dislike the indoctrination of children into religion. 
Any religion, not just Christianity.
But specifically, white Jesus.
If he existed, he wasn't a white man with long, silky hair and bassett hound eyes. He just wasn't.

Chances are good that particular child will learn to question things, and sooner rather than later, she's pretty smart.

I recall so many instances of growing up with my own sanctimommy and her long, long list of things I wasn't allowed to read or think about or talk about as I grew up. She's still convinced that her religion is the only religion and that pretty much everyone else is going to hell.

I was fully indoctrinated and immersed in religion through my formative years, too.

Which team wins is very important to White Jesus!!
Would you like to own this print or another sporty Jesus? 
Click on the pic and order your own manly Jesus pic!!

   

Meaningful Moments

Last week there were occasions at work that caused me to say, "This is why I do this." 

There is at least one moment daily that elicits that reaction from me. Am I sappy and sentimental? Yup. It's not usually anything big, or would probably not appear so to casual observers. 

But I really do get a moment of affirmation every day. In the middle of the chaotic noise and activity and busy-ness, those moments stand out.

Take Wednesday of last week. 
Oh the weather outside was frightful. 
(everybody sing along)

We used the gym for our running around time. The kids weren't thrilled, they prefer to go out, but when there's an inch of water on the playground, we don't go out. I grabbed my speaker and my laptop and we went to the gym.

Limbo, Macarena, Cha Cha Slide. Then we did their favorite and they all danced to the YMCA. Not all of them danced, some were playing soccer at one end of the gym. But I looked at the line of kids smiling and clapping along and dancing and having so much fun together and felt my heart melt a bit. I admit it. Sappy. The music teacher was on her way out of the building while we were having our impromptu dance party and she stopped to dance, too. The kids loved it.

On Thursday evening the PTA held a school-wide family event.
::sigh::
You all know what that means, right?

We had to move our program to the library after snack time. We had planned to use the gym because it was another wet day, but the PTA was setting up in the gym within 8 seconds after the dismissal bell. So my already-wired-because-the-routine-was-disrupted kids weren't able to do any running around.

I bring regular things with us to the library, art supplies, zoobs, a few games. 
And stuff we don't have out every day, too. 
Dollhouse stuff, the red not-solo plastic cups, the marble run.

I also brought something we'd never had out before, a foosball table. It's small because I don't have enough storage space for a larger, more sturdy model. But they were excited and enjoyed it.

At the end of the day, Andre's father picked up the boys. Kieran headed out to the hallway immediately, the PTA was serving pizza. Dad told Andre that it was his last day in the program. He looked so sad. I told him, "I will miss you, Andre. You better say hi to me if we pass in the hall! And please stop by and tell me a joke now and then, will you?"

He looked pleased at that. His father looked at me and said, "You've been just wonderful. Thank you so much."

I thanked him for trusting me with his kids. Told him I am pleased I got to know them.

I admit things will be calmer without Andre, he's a lot of extra work. But he deserved a place where he felt welcome and was supported. He found a place in the group, and I know several of the smalls will miss him. Yes, he was often inappropriately loud, obnoxious and difficult to redirect. He also has a kind heart, a great sense of humor and an interesting way of looking at most things.

I'm glad I've found a decent company to work for now. I am well-supported (mostly) and able to appreciate those moments as they happen.

The company has been respectful to me and they care about the kids in our programs. 
Do they get everything right? 
Well, who does? 
It is a good place to work, though, and I love my school.

There's a lot of busy-ness in our afternoons. It's never boring. There is constant noise and activity and depending on the mix of kids, arguments and loud conversations and messes and craft projects and more arguments and like I said recently, full contact origami. Add phone calls and parents coming to the door to pick up kids. A whirlwind. 

It's about to become a little more busy, too. The after school classes the school offered last year are going to start again.

They're planning to serve snacks to those kids in our space in the cafeteria. We'll be setting up in half the space but I don't think it will be as hectic. They plan on using the floor for the kids to sit and eat instead of setting up tables. The larger group will be eating in the gym.

I guess we aren't having the rodent problems that we had last year, they've finally removed all the trap boxes from my storage room.

Anyway, it ought to be interesting.

If you're in the neighborhood, stop by. We're having a family open house night this week on Thursday. You could do a craft or play a game with us!

Huh.

Well, the move has happened. 

My brother and his wife did almost all the actual work of getting Mom packed up and moved out of her house and into assisted living. Matt went last weekend and helped with the process, but most of the work had already been done. My other brother, the one who lives in the same town Mom has spent the last 52 years in, did some of the hauling trash to the dump, too.

So Mom's in assisted living now. She sounded more coherent when I talked to her this week than she has in some time. She has made a friend already, and is participating in some activities offered to the residents of her new place.

I hope she is happy and comfortable there. I don't wish her discomfort or unhappiness. I hope she has a peaceful existence until she passes away. I have a feeling that she isn't going to be around much longer, although I am not basing that on anything concrete, just a feeling.

I know that she would hate the idea of lingering in a confused state.
Her mother had dementia and lived in a care facility for SIXTEEN YEARS. Her body was fine. Her brain? Nope.

One of the things my brother and his wife have done is deal with all the bills and stuff for Mom. I don't believe they're stealing or doing anything they shouldn't, by the way. I'm not the least concerned. The parents never had a lot of money, and there's not a lot of money left at the end of Mom's life, either. Once her house sells (if it does) Steve says he's putting most of the money in a high-yield account of some sort and then using the rest for her care. After she dies, he plans to split whatever's left three ways between the three of us "kids". 

I told him he could keep mine, but he said that he feels strongly that it's the right thing to do. 

Watch. It will be something like 250 bucks 20 years from now. Haha.

But while they were figuring out all the expenses and what Dad owed here and there, they discovered that he'd been using his credit cards for cash advances and gambling the money away. He had over 50 thousand dollars in gambling debt, mostly online poker.

Mom had no idea. She still doesn't, Steve said he saw no reason to tell her. I agree, what purpose would it serve?

He consulted an attorney when the credit card companies suddenly were asking for money, and he told Steve that because they were outside the amount of time in which they could legally demand payment from the estate, they had to just write the debt off.

It was definitely a surprise to find this out.

Fifty grand.
Wow.