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. 

Well that's the pits.

John (aged 8) was really excited on Friday last week because he was going to spend the weekend with his cousin Dave, who's also an eight year old boy.

He came back to school on Monday with a new skill. 
His cousin taught him how to armpit fart!
(I know, I know... WOW!!!)

He exploded into our program space on Monday and said loudly to no one in particular, "Hey!! Look!!"

Then he stuck a hand in his armpit and made a loud farting noise with it.

Some of the kids who were already there were instantly trying to do it, too.

I asked them not to, explaining that, "Our armpits aren't exactly clean, and we don't need to be spreading that all over the room. John, please don't do that anymore. The rest of you? Same. Please don't do it here."

It wasn't more than a minute before he was doing it again, trying to be inconspicuous in the construction zone.

Armpit farts are NOT inconspicuous. 

So I said, "John. I've asked you not to do that here. Could you please stop?"

In answer, he pulled his right hand out of his left armpit and deeply sniffed his fingers.

"OH EM GEEEEE you guys!! It smells like B.O.!!!!"

I swear to you, at least six other kids (and not all of them boys, either) RAN for the carpet. 

"I wanna smell!! I wanna smell!!"

"JOHN! Go wash your hands please."

He got a bit of a swagger as he headed for the sink.

I followed him and caught up.

"Buddy, I know it's funny to you. That's fine. It's not a bad thing to do. It's just not something I want you doing here. Spreading sweat all over our toys and our tables isn't as clean as I'd like it to be. So save the armpit farting for when you're hanging out with your cousins, okay?"

He said he would.

So far he has said that four other times. Those are just the times I've caught him.

Sheesh. 

Kids.

Not John. But similar. Haha.

It's not 'Postive Reinforcement'. Dammit.

This is part of what one of our managers sent out to the site directors this week. 
It was buried in a bunch of stuff intended to encourage everyone as we roll on into the last month of the school year.

Sort of like 'we're in the home stretch, make sure you get your site inventory done, let me know if I can help you with anything, rah rah, go team!'

"Looking for positive reinforcement ideas? If students did a great job cleaning up after snack, celebrate with an outdoor picnic snack the next day. If students had great listening ears during team meeting, reward them with 10 extra minutes of recess. If students were focused and listening during face-to-names, maybe that earns them a second recess at 5:00 pm!"

Extra recess as a reward isn't positive anything. 
It's manipulative crap. 

And it's beyond me why we don't know better by now. 
I don't like this shit anyway, but it really bugs me when it comes from someone I like in most ways. This person has a sense of humor, is compassionate, cares about her job and the people she works with and although I don't know her outside of work, I've never heard her say a bad thing about anyone. She's consistently upbeat, reliable and supportive of us and our programs.

Okay, first, someone in a management position should know that sanitation/licensing says no, we aren't having snacks outside. We can't keep our surroundings free of things like bird shit.

Regarding the rewards thing, I can give sort of a pass to people who don't have kids and have never worked with them. Of course they don't get it. But think about it.

This is the last month of school. Kids are tired. 
They're being asked to do a lot more than their usual heavy load, too.

I think we lose sight of how much we are expecting from our young humans. 

We don't see them. 
We don't remember being them.

We (I include myself in this) rarely consider where little Hayden came from before he showed up this afternoon. 

Does he live in a home where he's cared for? Is he listened to and encouraged and appreciated for who he is? Does he have issues in his classroom with being able to pay attention or is he bothered by the noises his seat mate is making? Did he have time to eat his lunch? Did his teacher decide the best way to get him to stop wiggling was to take away his recess? 

Is he one of the check in kids with the daily boo boo sheet? (do click on that link. Please. I have talked about this more than once, but I figure the more people who learn about it and see why it's a crap idea, the better.)

Did he oversleep and have to rush to get ready for school this morning? Was his already-overworked mom or dad grumpy with him because he didn't hurry fast enough? Did he spill glue on his shirt and does he have texture or sensory issues so that spot of glue is driving him nuts all day? Does he have a loose tooth he can't leave alone? Is his nose stuffy or runny? Is he coming down with something or just getting over it?

Is he getting along with the classmate he argued with during the foursquare game at morning recess now that they're both at my program and getting ready to make something from magnatiles?

I don't know most of the answers to those questions at any given time, but I do know that when Hayden's shoulders are set a certain way as I look at him across the room, he hasn't had a great day and is likely to explode if someone looks at him wrong.

And even if all the things are perfect, a kid may be having an off day. 
I know I have them. I'll bet you do, too.

They're learning all the time while we coast along in our groove. 
They're growing. 
Their little brains are busy 24/7, and so are their bodies. It's go, go, go, constantly.

And on top of that learning all the time thing they do, the school year is winding down.
Oh! And end of year high stakes testing! When mine worry aloud about the tests, I tell them truthfully that the test isn't about them at all. 

"No one will ever show you your tests. They won't be using your test to help you do better in math or reading or anything. So all you can do is your best. No one can ask more than that. Do it and then forget about it." 

Also they're dealing with complete disruption in their routines. 
The end of school year concerts are happening. 
There are field trips and class parties.

So my young humans show up in various stages of being escalated, grumpy, tired, weepy, uncooperative with things like games and construction toys. They're hungry, too. A lot of them haven't eaten since 11 and probably didn't get enough time to eat, too much time waiting in line and then rushing so they can get outside.

Instead of 'how can we make kids do what we want' we should be asking what's best for these kids right now, today. What can we do to take some of the pressure off? How can we contribute to them having a good afternoon? How can we help them relax?

Here's the point, at least for people who do this work. Might work for everyone who deals with kids...
The more exercise they get, the more freedom they have to choose their own adventures, the easier our jobs get.

Read that again.

The more exercise they get, the more freedom they have to choose their own adventures, the easier our jobs get.

So feed them immediately upon arrival in program. 
Answer, "Yes." if they ask to finish the lunch their parent packed for them this morning. If they want seconds of the snack we're serving, yes to that, too.

The kids who are there late in the afternoon are offered a second snack at 5:30.

As soon as they eat and we know the playground is clear of the other group(s) we are outside. Our usual time is a half hour, but the weather has been lovely and they're really enjoying their recess time. So we stay out a full hour most days. Even longer when we can. Sometimes the other group comes out while we're there so we go in, but they never come out during our designated time slot.

Stop making outside time, something they need as much as they need food and water, transactional. 

And stop encouraging people who work with children to be condescending and patronizing to them.

Please.

Employer Comparison.... Then

I didn't expect to love this work when I applied at Champions (a division of KinderCare) in 2004.

We needed a little extra cash.
I figured it would fit into my schedule, I could still homeschool my kids and get them to various activities and bonus... I knew how to babysit* already. 

They were only able to offer me 10 hours a week at first, which was great.
That was October. By mid-December, I was working 30 hours a week.
Lots of turnover in day care.
Haha, trust me. Not everyone is cut out for it.

*After I started the job, I realized how wrong I was about the whole babysitting thing. 
There are people doing the work who haven't figured that out (and run crappy programs because of it), and some who took the job thinking it would be easy, but they get sifted out like (most of) the weevils in a sack of flour. 

Show of hands... who hasn't found bugs in their food on occasion? 
There are bugs in the day care business, too.

It was a wonderful fit for me and I enjoyed it. 

It didn't (and still doesn't, 22 years later) feel like work most of the time.

I worked in four or five different programs at first. 

Monday Here and Tuesday There and on my way to Somewhere Else on Wednesday only to get a call en route and a request to be at Another Place Entirely.

Being sent to several different sites is part of the beginner game in this line of work. 
They send you where they need coverage to keep the adult/child ratio legal. It's not easy, you don't know the kids, you don't know where things are kept, you don't know the specific rules of the program. Mostly you're just a warm body to keep the program legal. 

Ha, strictly speaking, Champions wasn't as concerned about legal ratio as they should have been. 

Still aren't, I keep in touch with a few former co-workers. I have no way of knowing how often they run out of ratio now, but I can tell you for sure they do it, they don't report it, and although those rules exist for a reason they DO. NOT. CARE.

Champions is still concerned with only one thing. 
Revenue.

I could tell them at least four ways for their company to make a lot more money without having to invest a damn dime, not that I would bother. 

I'd rather see the company fall apart. 
Unfortunately it won't, but they do restructure every six years or so to get out from under a bunch of discrimination lawsuits. It's possible they don't like people who look physically handicapped. 

One case I know personally, the site director used a wheelchair and was written up for 'not hanging children's art high enough' on the walls. Did that dumb cow Sherri offer to help? Hell no. What a bitch.

Assholes.

Anyway.
When I first started this job, some programs were calmer than others. The program I was routinely sent to on Wednesdays was a screaming madhouse. If that had ended up being my daily placement after a few months, I would have quit. 

I sure wouldn't be where I am now. The site director was a nice enough person, but she was terrible at keeping kids occupied. It was loud and chaotic from the time school was out until I left when the numbers dropped to 15 kids.

But Sunshine, who directed the only site that didn't make me feel crazy, asked our manager if I could be placed at her program permanently when her assistant quit. 

That was the beginning of a five year partnership. 
I learned from the best, seriously. I did not agree with everything she did, she was more school oriented in some ways, but she respected the kids and treated them with kindness and an appreciation for their individual needs. 

The site had been open for a little over a month when I began working there, the school was brand new that fall. I helped her build the program from a sixteen-kid group to 39 daily. By the time I'd been there two years, there was already a full program and a fall waiting list when school was out in June.

I didn't want to be a site director, said no at least eight times I can remember over the years, but I finally caved and accepted a site director position in August, 2009.

I stayed there until August 2016 and seriously, I think I'd still be there if it hadn't been for the absolute shitbag of a manager we got stuck with. ( The above mentioned Sherri/shitty manager is Sherri Burks and not only is she a terrible manager, if you believe rumors (my own beliefs are dependent on who's telling me the story and I am still in touch with more than one person who knows and I DO believe every shitty thing I've heard about her) she was eventually fired. Of course it was only 10 years too late for a whole bunch of people. 

Champions is a company with nothing but money-grubbing butt sniffers (my son coined that phrase when he was seven years old, I don't remember the context but it's funny, dammit) in charge.  

It's a toxic work environment when one has to deal with the idiots from corporate, but I mostly got to do what I wanted in running my site and the school itself felt like a second home, so I put up with more crappy treatment than I probably should have. 

I don't regret working there so long or so hard because I worked for the kids, but the company was (and still is) so disrespectful to the people who do the actual work that I'm not unhappy to have gotten away from them, either.

One of the ways they were disrespectful to us besides absolute shit wages was coverage of adult to child ratios. 
When I began working there, if more than 15 kids were expected after school, two adults were scheduled to be on site. 

If the second adult showed up and there were 15 kids or fewer, that second adult was given the option to stay for two hours even though the number of children was below legal ratios or they could leave.

Meaning the person on site was there alone and could not use the bathroom or take any kind of a break during the four or five hour shift.

About a year later, the company started sending the second person home even if they'd have preferred to stay if they weren't needed for ratio. So you could make child care arrangements for your own kid, get dressed, drive to a school within 10 miles or so, go into the building and be told to leave.

Spending money to show up and not being paid for doing so. 
Just one more shitty little thing they did to people.

You KNOW the salaried managers and regional managers and corporate posterior-smoochers were being paid for mileage and oh, they also had a paid-for-by-the-company car to drive around and nitpick everyone's work. 
It probably goes without saying that none of them could have done my job.

They were well-paid to use dismissive phrases like, "All they're doing is playing."

Vicki was an idiot and a jerk. Learned about kids from a book. No empathy for them and very little emotional intelligence/compassion/understanding. Bah.

Okay, so I learned how to work with kids. 
I thought I knew how. 
I didn't.
 
Worked for Champions for 12 years, would be there still if it hadn't been for the worst manager I've ever seen. Still, 12 years of paid training is 12 years of paid training.

Sherri apparently was pissed off that I quit and didn't let her know at the end of the school year. 

I didn't know at the end of the school year that I was leaving, actually.
Even though they treated me like crap once that ignorant cow took over, I figured I'd stay and outlast her.

But then I found a job that seemed like a better fit and wrote her a great resignation letter.
Not that she learned anything from it.

I'd still like to kick her in the taco.

Sadly, the ability to kick that high is probably lost to me forever. Doesn't matter, I won't get an opportunity to kick her any time soon.

I didn't get the new job until mid August that year, but I knew in plenty of time to give her at least three week's notice. I didn't bother doing that, instead I gave only 10 days.  I did that for my families, not for the company, I sent letters to them all. I figured word would get back to her that I was leaving, so I did the courtesy of letting her know via email.

In hindsight, I should have just not shown up on the first day of school. Since she blacklisted me after that anyway. 
"Not eligible for rehire".

I heard from more than one of my families that the program 'went to hell' after I left.
Not surprised.

About a year ago a reporter from a national news organization saw a post from me on social media regarding my experiences working for the KinderCare conglomerate. 

I strongly recommended to a person that working for someone besides KC was a good idea. I stated that there were many wonderful people doing the actual work, but that KC is a toxic corporation in my opinion and most people would be treated with more respect elsewhere.

I gave the reporter some information, taking care to keep it factual, and connected her with other people I'd worked with. Some of them still work there, some are no longer with the organization.

I've never seen an article about everything, but to be fair, I haven't looked, either.

Huh. Guess I should go surf the internet.

Okay, I'm back.

I didn't find anything with the reporter's byline, but I sure found a lot of stuff about toxic KinderCare centers.

Thing is, a lot of the people who work there actually care about kids. 
But management doesn't give a shit.

One more tidbit about them.

One summer, Brashley did a stupid and insisted on roller skating with the kids. She said she fell in the bathroom, ( still don't believe it)  so she had to go to a doctor. 

He put her on half a percocet twice a day, so she was bleating about taking mind-altering drugs and how she couldn't possibly work with kids. She ended up working at KinderCare corporate (another fucking waste of money, that place).

She was there doing filing when Jeanne and her cohorts, Asbury-who-we-all-called-Assberry and Vicky learned after writing a letter to the state that they didn't have to pay us for all of our training hours. 
And not required to pay for the courses we took (you can find them online and have them count toward your yearly training hours requirements) at all.

Something else that had made us feel a tiny bit more respected was being taken away.

Jeanne and Assberry high-fived each other when they got their response email from the state.

They were thrilled that they wouldn't have to pay us for our yearly required trainings.

Assholes.

I called Rob Martin on that one, though. 
Told him that if I wasn't worth an extra couple hundred bucks a year with all that I contributed, that maybe I shouldn't be working there.

After that, our trainings were still paid for, but we weren't paid for the hours we spent taking them unless it was a corporate sponsored session.

I'll say it again.

Assholes. 

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.

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::: 

Time Off/Mom's Off, Too. And where's Steve?

Friday was a 'teacher work day'. 
My district had no school.

After having two weeks off for Christmas etc, we worked a week, then a four day week, then we got a four day weekend, which will be followed by a four day week. I could get used to that!

It's been rrreallly windy out here in the mouth of the Columbia River Gorge. I've mentioned before that wind isn't my friend. 

I'm no scientist, but my theory, which makes sense to me, is that the static electricity generated by the relentless wind affects the electrical field in my body. We're really nothing but batteries, and it seems reasonable that the reason I hurt so much when it's windy is because of the whole electrical me problem.

I've been doing normal weekend things. Looking at Pinterest for still more ideas for my kids at work. Grocery shopping. Sleeping in. Freezing, because the wind makes it colder out there AND in here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So a little back story. About 15 years ago, my parents sent out their annual Christmas letter. There were several paragraphs about my brother Steve and his wife/their boys. Several more about Jim and his wife/kids.

Then she went on to talk about the things she and my dad did during the year and ended by wishing everyone a happy new year.

My family... husband, kids and all we'd done during the year just didn't happen, I guess.
Eric was pissed off. 
I honestly wasn't upset, I actually laughed about it.

I know it's awful. I do. But it struck me funny and I've never been able to muster the righteous anger my husband (and my biggest fan) has felt about it ever since.

It gets brought up on occasion, usually when there's been another slight from my mom. She really seems to care about me the most when she can show me to someone else, either verbally or in person. Like a possession. 

Showing me off was a way of life until I escaped. They had me up on the stage in church at age 3, singing.

They pointed out my musical talents, the prize I won for an essay in the 8th grade, assorted other things they could use to look like better parents, at least in their eyes. They weren't proud of me, they were proud of themselves for manufacturing me.

My parents were collectors of  what they perceived to be unusual people. 
For example it wasn't, "This is my friend Enid," it was, "This is Enid. She's my Mennonite friend!"

Another prideful 'look at the person I've collected!' moment...

"Sandra is our antique dealer. She's from Great Britain! She has the most delightful accent!" 

Sandra was the person who got the family heirloom wooden rocking chair that was brought to Oregon by my paternal great-grandfather's family over the Oregon Trail in a  covered wagon. It had been in the family for over a hundred years. Hand carved and beautiful. Dad sold it to the delightful accent person for twenty five bucks. Miss Delightful Accent probably made a lot of money on that deal. I told him that next time he felt the urge to sell a family heirloom, at least phone me for a competing bid. I told him I would have given him a hundred bucks for it. 

He did that 'heh heh' laugh he always did when minimizing my feelings and continued to sell things that had been in the family for generations. He reminded me that it was 'just a thing' and that it didn't really matter.

Guess he had gambling debts to pay off.

Not the original chair, that one was much more elaborate and old.

Okay so yeah, they were collectors, Mom more than Dad. She never told me about anyone she knew without telling me whatever was 'special' about them.

"Chris is the person who married Harry and they lived up Canyon Creek until the fire, they lost everything."

After her local chapter of Jesus Jumping Hens (aka Women's Aglow) had a guest speaker, "I met a new friend who lives in Portland! Her name is Bernice." Then she lowered her voice and said in a confidential tone, "Of course she's black as the ace of spades."

My parents were both racists, although I didn't realize it until I was out and on my own. 
By the time I recognized that the way they were talking was racism, it was an automatic thing for me to evaluate people based on who they were, not what they looked like, but of course I had escaped from religion, which tried to teach me that anyone different was wrong or bad. 

Mom was stunned when she saw some of my high school photos with several friends that were taken after I got away from her home. 
"That girl is a negro!" she said, pointing to my old friend Angie in a couple group photos.
"Um..."
"Well, couldn't you find white friends?"
Several of the kids in the pic were different colors.
I didn't think it was important.

I still didn't realize the word racist applied. 
I had a sheltered existence. 
At the time, there were NO people with brown skin in any shade in Grant County, Oregon.

I called my mom this afternoon.
Our current conversations are usually about 10 minutes during which she repeats the same three or four topics 10 times apiece. I don't mind, I understand she's having cognitive issues.

So her phone rang on the other end six times and went to voice mail. Since she's not mentally able to check her voice mail anymore, I just hung up, figuring I'd call later.

I went to the bathroom and came back to find that she had called me six times in those two minutes.

So I called her back.

"Oh hi," she said. "Did you just call me?" 
(Um, yeah, that's why MY NAME showed up on your phone??)

"Yes."

"Oh. I was hoping it was Steve."
(Great, you scrawny old bat. Thanks. I don't know why I bother. Really.)

Then she said she'd brought her lunch from the cafeteria and eaten in her room because, "Some of the people here are just crazy."

I asked her if she'd been going to any of the activities, and she said, "I need to go take my tray back to the kitchen. Talk to you tomorrow or the next day!"

And then she hung up.

Guess she really wanted to talk to Steve.

Yeah, but first you have to get there.

Do you ever ask yourself what the hell is going on in your head or is that just me?


A couple months ago, my employer's training specialist (referred to as Miss Duck by one of the smalls he's worked with) asked me if I'd like to contribute to a training session about rewards/trinkets/a token economy not being such a great thing.  

Yes. 

Yes I will contribute. 
To have an opportunity to help change minds and change how we take care of our kids? Heck yes. 

I said yes even when I thought I would have to get up and talk to a bunch of people who'd find my point of view crazy. I don't enjoy public speaking no matter how passionate I am about the topic. 

As for tokens and trinkets, you probably already know how I feel about it if you've been here for any length of time. I used to think it was a relatively harmless practice to reward institutionalized children with little baubles and tokens. 
I don't think that way anymore.

When I was in the office I met with Miss Duck and he said that he'd like to use some of the things I'd written and shared with him as part of the training. I wouldn't have to get up and speak at all. 

But he wanted my writing(s) in what I found to be an odd manner... he wanted an outline. 
He'd seen the essays, but wanted an outline.

I said yes, but when I sat down later to actually do that outline, I was floundering. I don't do outlines. I never have. I don't know HOW to do them!

I figure out what's in my mind and just... write it. 

Sometimes the writing process takes days. I'll hold a topic or idea in my brain and look at it in different ways, considering what I want to say and why I want to say it and then sit down and let it just pour out. (Another 'what's in your head'??? moment)

So trying to condense all my thoughts about the topic was making me crazy. I wondered if there was a website where I could paste in some text and have the computer turn it into an outline, but wasn't able to find one.

I messaged Tami (if you don't know about Tami, she writes for a living and has done so for many years and is ridiculously generous) and asked her if there was some website I could utilize.

She volunteered to write the outline for me, all I had to do was paste my writing into an email and send it to her. And just like magic, all my hard work was condensed and returned to me via email. Poof.

I sent it to Miss Duck mid-November. The training was scheduled for December 5th.

At this company, there are many training sessions scheduled throughout the year. We accumulate far more hours of professional development training than any other employer I've worked for. 

It's always paid training, too. 

We all show up at the main office and cram into what's referred to as the training annex. 

There's usually a chair reserved for me in the back corner of the room, a helpful thing. I can't sit on the folding chairs for any length of time, they make my legs hurt. So someone puts a nice office chair in the corner for me, a post-it note that has my name on it and even if I show up late, I have a spot to sit. 

Bonus, no choosing which is my best side. 
Haha.
You know about that, right?

 (Huh... what's etiquette here? Should I put my butt in people's faces as I make my way to an empty seat, or are boobs the correct choice?)

::sigh::: 

Manners are hard.

But because my employer is respectful of my needs, I can go through the door of the room, hang a left and not have those awkward choices.

And while I make light of a lot of things and am pretty good at occasional sarcasm, this employer has treated me wonderfully and I love working for them. 
Making sure I have a place to sit may seem a small thing, but it's not. 
It's a big deal.

I wasn't exactly looking forward to training, because it meant having to leave my house early in the day and spend the whole day on the other side of town, not having enough time to rest before my shift and, indelicate as it sounds, having to wear a damn bra for the whole friggin' day is NO FUN. It's the first thing that I ditch when I come home.

I contributed to this session, though, and wanted to be there for it.

Of course, there are always things that happen when you least expect 'em.
Right?

On my way home Wednesday evening, as I took the freeway exit closest to my house, my car started making a really weird noise. 
Please do not expect me to reproduce that noise. 
Actually, don't expect me to reproduce at all... that ship has sailed.

The exit is about 2 miles from my house, so I drove the rest of the way home.  

I told Eric the car was making an unusual noise. 
After some brief investigation, he said that I was OUT OF OIL!!!!!!

Not a normal thing, we've had the car a long time and it's not been an oil burner.

So he said he'd take my car to be checked out on Thursday, but of course there's that pesky commute I do every week day. 
28 miles each way.

Rather than have him drive me to work in his car and then come back home and then have him take my car to deal with and then drive to pick me up and go home again, I rented a car.

After the accident in 2022, the rental car my insurance gave me was provided through Enterprise. They were helpful and professional then, and were again this time.

They aren't open on the weekends in the closest location, so I reserved it until Monday because I wasn't sure how long it would take for my car to be ready. 

Turns out just getting oil put in worked out okay, the car seems fine,  so I was able to drive the car to work on Friday. 

But since I wasn't going to need the car all weekend, I wanted to take it back instead of paying the daily rate through Monday. 
Reasonably priced is still a price. 
Actual money.

By the time I'd stopped at the gas station to make sure the tank was full,  returned the car and dropped Eric off here at home, it was 10:20. I made it to the office a little after 11.

And I missed the damn trinket training.

That last hour of training, while not completely boring, wasn't really worth the time I spent rushing around trying to get there, and between being a little stressed out over the damn car stuff, even though it was resolved, (driving a rental makes me nervous, it seems like there are a lot of not-so-safe drivers out there and the rental had a Nevada license plate, which made me look like a tourist) not getting enough sleep, and wearing the damn bra all damn day... well, no.

Then there's the whole afternoon program of girl drama, emotionally overloaded-because-the-holidaze-are-here everyone else, and the craft carnage and did I mention I was tired and maybe a little stressed out?

But on the good side, the car is okay. 
The temporary replacement ended up costing us less than 40 bucks for the rental and for the gas refill. 

Enterprise was great. I don't usually leave reviews because why bother? 
But they were so good and so professional I ended up leaving a good one.

When I went to the grocery store today and opened my wallet to pay for our food, I saw the business card the guy gave me. His name is Bryan, not Brian, which I messed up on the review.

So I figured out how to find the reviews I've left, found today's and corrected the spelling error.

Do you ever ask yourself what the hell is going on in your head or is that just me?

It's just a word.

Y'all know how I feel about profanity. There are times in my life (outside work!!) that I use profanity as punctuation. I don't greet the general public with inappropriate words. If I went to church, I wouldn't swear there, either.

But there's a time and a place, right? 

The most likely time for you to hear me using those words is if you're in my car on the freeway. There are a lot of people in a hurry out there, and sometimes they attempt to take me out. I am not fond of this.

But I don't say those things at work, either.
That's why, when I drop something or have some other little calamity at work, I say, "Aw, sugar!"

During snack yesterday, Bailey walked over to my table, where I was still signing in the last few stragglers.
"Daniel said the f word!" she told me. 

So I said I'd be there in a moment, put two more bracelets on two more kids, and walked over to the snack table. Daniel was blushing as he saw me headed that way.

I don't blow a fuse over swearing. It's very much age-appropriate for kids to try out words that they think are shocking. They love doing over-the-top behaviors. Testing boundaries, as the experts say.

So I said mildly, "Daniel, are you keeping your language appropriate while you're here?"

Three kids immediately chimed in.

"No!!" in a chorus.

Bailey helpfully reminded me, "Remember? I told you he said the 'f' word!"

Daniel gave her a dirty look, said nothing.

"Daniel, that word isn't appropriate while you're here."

"It's just a word," he said, sticking out his chin and folding his arms. "I can say any word I want, my mom said." 

"That's true, you can. But there's a time and a place for those kinds of words, and our program isn't that time or place. We have big kids, little kids and adults here, and none of us need to be hearing that."

"It's just a word," he said again, looking nervous but defiant.

So I tried, "Let's give it the principal test. If your principal were standing here at the end of this table, is that a word you'd say in front of her?"

"Well," he said, "I have never talked to her about it before, so I don't know."

"Yeah, you know," I said. 

Not the first time I've encountered a junior attorney. I doubt it will be the last. "I can zip in to her office and ask her to come visit, if you'd like. You could ask her in person if that's something she'd like us to be saying at school."

"We're not AT school," he reminded me smugly. "This is the AFTER school program!"

"Ah but we're in the school building and I've agreed to follow school rules when we're here. I can still go get her so you can say that word to her and see how she likes it. You already know that inappropriate words don't belong here. I don't think we need more discussion about this. Let's stop with the swearing while we're here, okay?"

He reluctantly agreed, "Okay."

But he couldn't leave it at that. He added again as I started to walk away, "It's just a word."

I ignored it, he just wanted to have a power struggle, something I try to avoid.

It wasn't even three minutes later when another child came to tell me that, "Daniel said the f word!"

I went to the construction area where he was sitting with a bunch of other kids and we had the same discussion, although abbreviated. I wasn't going to play the game and do another talk, I'd already said it was enough.

"Daniel. We've had this discussion already. If you're not able to keep your words suitable for the entire group, you won't be playing with the other kids in the group. So if I have to talk with you about this again, you're going to be playing alone for the afternoon. It's your choice. Choose your words carefully, okay?"

I didn't wait for an answer. I walked away.

Daniel was my last kid.

When Dad arrived to pick up, I met him at the door told him that I'd had a discussion with his son more than once about the same word, and while I avoid telling kids they're saying something 'bad' I do explain why it's not appropriate for our group and that the f word is one of those that I do have to talk to parents about.

He briefly shared that his wife 'felt differently' about the words and that he did not use language like that. He expressed disapproval of his son's words and excuses for them and said he'd be talking with him about it.

I didn't expect the discussion to happen while I was standing there, but it did. 

And although I thought Daniel had blushed earlier when I was talking to him, it was nothing compared to the deep red, almost purple tinge to his complexion when his dad spoke to him about his use of words.

Kids and their shenanigans.
It's always something.

I'm sorry!

I have this adorable little K girl, Kaia.

She's not usually with me for very long in the afternoon, one of her parents is there within half an hour most days.

She's sweet and intelligent, shows a lot of maturity in her thinking and interactions with other kids. It's unfortunate for her that she isn't there long enough to participate in our craft activities, but she seems pleased to see a parent at pickup time.

This afternoon while I was still checking kids in, she came and stood by me. 
"Bailey slapped my face," she said.
"What?!?"
Bailey was right behind her wearing a sheepish look.
"I said I was sorry!" she blurted.

I asked her why she had slapped Kaia.
Kaia answered, "She asked me if I brought a stuffy today and I said no and she slapped me!"

Every month or so at least one class has a pajama day. They wear their pajamas to school for the day as a reward. They can bring a stuffed animal, too. Fridays are also stuffy day in my program. They can bring their own or use one of ours from the big bin of them. Kaia was in pajamas, which is probably why Bailey asked her the question.

I asked, "Bailey, there are so many ways to communicate with our friends, slapping someone is mean. I'm so disappointed that you felt like you could slap Kaia."

She repeated, "But I said I was sorry!"

"Bailey. If I slapped your face and then said I was sorry right away, would your face still hurt?"

She did that grin she does when she's been caught.

"I guess my face would still hurt."

"Yep. Saying sorry doesn't really help in a situation like this."

She walked away and sat next to Kaia on the chairs in the reading area. I heard her apologize, and it sounded sincere. Kaia was fine. You know, except for being slapped across the face by an older kid who had NO reason to do so.

So I had to talk to her parent at pick up. I don't like doing that, I hate the idea that after being away from each other all day long, a parent's first contact with their child is about an issue where their behavior has been less-than-stellar, and Bailey has had a few issues lately.

Last week she said a word that starts with f. 
It was not 'fudge'. 
Also an automatic talk to the parent moment.

She has ADHD, and is impulsive. Has trouble coming in from our recess time or being quiet on the few occasions I ask them for attention.

When called on it, she gets that same sheepish look and says she's sorry but her subsequent actions say otherwise.

I'm keeping my eye on her, though. Hoping for no more slapping, at least.
The f word? That's actually less of a worry than physical aggression.

::sigh:::

Never boring. Never boring.

Daycare Go-Round Some More..

I started this post on Tuesday. And it sat here until time for me to go to bed on Wednesday. So the tenses may be a little mixed up. I'm too tired to try to rewrite it.
So if you're a fan of time travel, have I got a story for you!!


Andre wasn't with us this afternoon, the family has caught the bug that's been going around and he stayed home from school. 

Since I was already sick all weekend, I'm hoping that he has the same bug, by the way. 
That I won't catch some other damn bug.
Although I'm grateful to parents who keep their kids home when they're sick. If everyone could do that, there would be a lot less being spread in school. 

Steffie coughed in my face today. 
Not once. Or twice. Or even three times. 
Nope, it was more like seven.

::sigh:::

Yes, I reminded her. 
But she's a kindergartner and even when she does remember to bring her arm up to cover the cough, I still feel a blast of warm air if she's close.

We had our weekly conference time today. We sit at a table together and talk about issues that are going on that need to change as well as upcoming activities and art projects.

Because Andre wasn't there, I wanted to talk with the other kids about how if someone is getting you to do things that aren't okay, they're not really your friend. 

And, since being honest and authentic is the best way to get the same thing from the kids, I told them that we can't see everything that goes on. That even though we want to see everything and help them with situations, sometimes we miss stuff. 

So we agreed as a group that it's okay to ask for adult help, and that one of our jobs is to make sure we DO help when it's needed. We discussed keeping our hands in our own space, leaving other people's things alone ("If it's not yours, don't touch it!") and taking care of the equipment we bring outdoors with us. 

I keep track of things going on, write them down, and then discuss several things at once. We sit at a table or two tables and talk together. I know I've mentioned before that I won't willingly put a bunch of kids on the floor on a rug and loom over them. We sit down as partners.

I don't ever call anyone out. We discuss in broad terms, it's not productive to make one kid feel bad and definitely mean to do it in a group of their peers. I'm not trying to make an example of anyone, I'm trying to set an example.

When we were discussing various types of behaviors, James said, "And you will tell our parents, won't you?"

"No. Your behavior is your responsibility, not your mom or dad's. If you are doing things you shouldn't do and a conversation with your parents happens, you get to be the one who explains what you did."

James was in fine form today. I got out Model Magic for the kids, we hadn't done it in awhile and they seem to enjoy it now and then. 

So William (my assistant) was sitting at the table with the kids, working on his own project when I went to take my break.

I didn't see the situation, but what happened was that James asked William where he got the orange clay he was sculpting with. I buy primary colors in a class pack from Crayola. So if you want orange or green or purple or blue green or whatever, you have to mix your own. William told James how to make orange, James said, "You make it for me." 

William said that James could make it himself, and went to our back room to get a cup so one of the kids could get a drink. When he got up and left the table, James reached across the table and smashed the thing William had been working on. Not nice.

I don't know what was said at the time, William wasn't sure how to handle the situation so he sort of just went on with his day. When I learned what had happened, I called James over to me and we had a conversation about it. First he claimed he didn't know why he'd done it, then finally he confessed that he didn't like being told he had to mix his own colors and didn't think it was 'fair'.

He was wound up quite a bit this afternoon, really. Zipping around the room like a puppy with the zoomies. I lost count of the times I said, "James! Slow your roll, Buddy!"

He would temporarily slow down but be right back at it 30 seconds later. He has zero impulse control.

I had to talk to him several times about keeping his hands off other people, too. He just gets grabby and pushy. Because of the lack of impulse control, it's really hard for him to stop a behavior. Difficult for the adults in his life to redirect him.

Most of the kids are gone by 5:30. I had three left. Shelly, Michael and James. They'd made some paper airplanes and were flying them in the open area next to the cafeteria.
Shelly has a huge imagination, and often makes up games where she and her friends are super heroes or dragons or video game characters.

It was superheroes tonight. They were all trying to figure out what their own personal super power was while they were throwing airplanes.

I had to ask all three of them to please throw the airplanes in the same direction, they had thought it was funny to throw them at each other.

Michael figured out his super power. He said, "I'm invincible!"
And for no reason at all, James spit in his face.

I was so pissed. Michael was, too. But in a huge show of restraint, he just said, "HEY! That's REALLY MEAN! GET AWAY FROM ME!!"

He went to the sinks to wash his face while I sat down with James. It was about 5:40, and I told him that for the rest of the day, he was to play alone. The toys were still available to him, but his friends were not.

Michael wasn't feeling terribly friendly anyway.

I don't like having to tell a parent when something like that happens. Yeah, it's not my fault that someone spit on a kid, but I still feel responsible. As if I failed to protect the child. Dad wasn't angry with me, he made sure Michael was fine, I told him he'd be getting an incident report, and they left. Shelly left about five minutes later.

James was the last kid, which made it easier to connect with his mom.
Mom is one of those people whose voice gets softer when she's angry/disappointed in her child's behavior.

James had a hard time telling her what he'd done, but he got the words out. She said they'd be talking about it more when she got him home.

He was very subdued, he wants to make his mom proud of him and he beats himself up when he falls short.

Today I got a text from her saying that his consequence at home was that he is not allowed to use his LEGO for a week. She wanted to know if I could also not allow him to use it in program.

I had to call a manager to ask. We're not allowed to punish a child. Apparently though, since it's what his parent wants, we are allowed to 'reinforce the parental choice of consequences'. 

So James doesn't get LEGO until next week.

There's lots more stuff going on. 
And that whole really tired thing? 
Means I need to go to bed. I'm still not feeling 100%, although it seems my fever is really gone.

Want to come and hang out in my after school universe?
It's not boring.

In One Week

When I put the title at the top, I missed the 'w' and so it said, In One eek. 

Which isn't completely wrong.

The honeymoon is over.
Andre isn't always nice. 
Yes, he has some special needs.
Lots of people do. But he has some meanness, too. 

Haha, so do I, really. 
So do we all. 
But it's hard in a day care setting to deal with it, sometimes.
I have +20 other kids to talk to, be with, guide etc.

In one week....

I've caught Andre grabbing from the pile of parts in front of a kid who has carefully picked out the stuff he'll need to make the LEGO car or space ship and snagging the pieces he wants. Most of the time he doesn't really want them, or at least doesn't build anything with them, he just doesn't want someone else to have them.

Constant 'teasing' of the smaller kids. Taking other toys. 
Calling them 'pipsqueak' as in, "What are you looking at, Pipsqueak?" 

"He has a name, Andre. He's John. There isn't any reason to call him that nickname."

When they were checking in on Thursday, he crowded the little boy who was on the cafeteria bench ahead of him in line for snacks. There was a good three feet of space open, Andre chose to scoot all the way over next to Tristan. Tristan asked him to move, he ignored it. So then I told him to move, using the same phrasing I always use, "Andre, personal space, please. You're in Tristan's space."

"No I'm not. He's in the way."

"Buddy, you know I can see you, right? Move over. This isn't acceptable."
"I DON'T CARE!"

But he did move. 
Sort of. 
Still physically intimidating a small child. 

On Thursday afternoon, we lined up to go outside. 
The kids spilled out the big double doors like a bunch of marbles rolling downhill. 
Shelly was standing with her back to the rest of the kids, waiting to get into our ball bin to grab the sidewalk chalk. 

Andre ran past her, slapped her in the middle of the back and ran off. I saw it, caught up with him and told him that it's unacceptable to hit other people and that I don't want to see that happen again.
"I don't care!" And he was off.

We were on the playground. I have two assistants, both part time. One is TQ (teacher qualified) meaning that under our license, she can be left alone with kids or can be the person in charge if I need to use the restroom or leave the group for some reason.

Andre left his favorite fidget in program the day Wednesday, and since he is usually picked up while we are still outdoors, I wanted to make sure he had it when he left.

So on Thursday afternoon I told my two assistants that I was going in to get Andre's fidget, and to please have the kids line up and come in. I reminded them that we had 19 kids (we count them constantly) and went indoors to get the fidget out of the cabinet in our back room.

In the three minutes between the time I went into the building and lining up for roll call, Andre, who is a very large kid, took James, who is our smallest kid, around the back side of the play structure and SPANKED HIM.

The new assistant (she's been there like five days now) didn't tell me what had happened until after Andre had been picked up. She put a stop to it, made sure James was okay, and they brought the kids in and did hand washing. Andre's dad showed up to get him right on schedule.

It was at least an hour between the time he left and the time she actually told me what had happened ("Oh, by the way." she said). 
Which means I didn't talk to Andre's dad or the little guy's mom, either, as he was picked up early.

::sigh::

I really do prefer speaking to parents in person, even though they get a written report after.

So I filled out incident reports, one for each child.

I'm guessing those incident reports have reached the respective parents by now.

Interesting thing about those. On Andre's report, I talked about what Andre had done, mentioning him by name. Did not say James anywhere on his report.

And when I filled out the one for James, I did not use Andre's name. His mom said that she'd talked with him and that some of the other kids were teasing him about his clothes and making fun of him for being small.
Obviously neither one of those things is acceptable.

Yes, when parents ask their kids about this stuff, names are mentioned. I have no control over that. But due to confidentiality laws and company policy (same policy in every day care I've worked) the other child or children's names can't be mentioned by me.

And then, because we use Child Pilot (and it sucks, but not as badly as some of the other ones we've tried) as our check in and out system as well as keeping track of a myriad of other day care stuff, the system ate my reports. Well, technically it stuffed the reports in the app's electronic digestive tract where they just sat, like a greasy chicken thigh in my digestive tract.

I didn't find that out until Friday, when we had training at the main office instead of program that afternoon, school was out. I met with my manager person to discuss our upcoming conference with Andre's family. 

They seem to be decent people, and I know they're weary from dealing with so many issues with their son. It's not someone's fault, it's just how it is. He's a human with a lot of stuff going on in his brain. He doesn't have the benefit of years of experience in dealing with it all and gets overwhelmed. 

I still would like to see him succeed in the program, get along with other kids, and be able to attend just like everyone else does. 

There was no school on Monday (today), it was a teacher work day. 
Glad there wasn't any school, I've been sick all damn weekend. Started getting a headache on Friday afternoon, on Saturday managed to do the grocery shopping with Eric and wash a couple loads of laundry before I wilted melted down and went to sleep for the night.

Sunday was one of those days when I wasn't appreciating the fever, although I know it's supposed to be a good thing to let it burn the little germies out, I took some Excedrin to cut the fever because it was making me feel so crappy.

Tomorrow it's back the the same stuff, different day.
I'm concerned about Andre and his issues, and hope we can help him manage to fit in. 
My experience tells me that it's not going to be easy. 

All I can do is the best I can, I guess. 
He deserves my best efforts, they all do.
I confess to having a soft spot for the kids with extra. 
If I don't work to support them, then what's the point?

It would be helpful if I feel better tomorrow, that's for sure. I function better when I'm not SICK, dammit!!!!
::sigh::

Stop the day care go-round! I want to get off!!! Part 1

Holy cow, I feel like I've been water skiing behind a truck on the freeway. Zipping in and out of traffic, bottoms grinding off my skis, in constant danger of being flung off to the left or the right, breaking traffic rules and screaming all the way.

I wonder why I'm so tired these days. 
Hm.

In no particular order, here are some of the things that happened over the last couple weeks. 

This may end up being a few posts, now that I've started writing, though. I have the advantage of knowing what's waaaay at the bottom of this page.

My little after school universe is a busy place.

I have two new kids, brothers. 
The older one has some issues. 
Actual diagnosis unimportant, and I couldn't share it here anyway.

But he's younger emotionally than his chronological age. 
It doesn't make him feel better that he's a very large kid. 
Not particularly heavy, maybe a little, but he's very tall. He makes my kindergartners look like elves, although they're kind of elfin already.

I can't call him a bully because I don't think he's a mean kid. But his interactions with the other kids take the form of teasing because he's socially awkward. This means he doesn't know when to stop, too.

He's only been with me for a total of 10 days, so we're still in the 'figuring Andre out' stages. 

Andre for Andre the Giant. Who was big guy with a kind heart from all the reports I've heard. 

This kid wants to do well and make friends, he just doesn't know how. His brother, Kieran, is quiet and kind of blends in so far, which I appreciate. I'm already overworked. Ha.

The other day, a couple of the smaller kids came to me and said that Andre had taken some parts from a thing they built from Zoobs. 

"He won't give it back, he says it's his!"

So I walked toward the construction area. I could see him looking at me angrily and blushing, although I'm not sure if the blush was embarrassment or anger. Maybe a bit of both.

"Andre, did you take parts from someone else's project?

"They're mine."

"How are they yours?"

"I had them yesterday." Same angry face, narrowed eyes and a deeper blush.

"Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not how it works here. At the end of the day, our projects are taken apart and go back into the bins. We start over every day. If we built and kept all the things we build, we wouldn't have anything left to build with. Please give the parts back to Jonah."

In response he folded his big hands over the item, gave me the most venomous look imaginable (if looks could kill and all that) and set his lips in a thin line.

I kept my tone even and my face expressionless.
"Andre, your choices are to either give the parts back or find a different activity for now."

More glaring. 
He leaned over his creature and drew it even closer to his crossed legs.

I repeated, "Andre, your choices are to either give the parts back or find a different activity for now."

He glared even harder (I'd have thought it wasn't possible, but what do I know?) and then snapped the two small pieces off and threw them as hard as he could, right into the side of Jonah's head. Got up, threw the rest of his project on the carpet and stomped away.

Huh. Guess he was upset. It does no good to try to redirect a kid when they're angry and have melted down, so I left him alone. I don't know everything and all children are different, but when someone's pissed like that, it's a waste of time to try to engage.

(Jonah was fine, I checked right away.)

We went outside a bit later. He got a piece of sidewalk chalk from the bag in our ball cart and focused on drawing something on the pavement over by the basketball hoops.

Just before his dad showed up, he crossed the blacktop and stopped about four feet away. 

"I think there's something you need to see," he told me. "It's right over there." He pointed toward where he'd been sitting and drawing with chalk.

I was putting a bandage on someone's knee (little invisible ouchie) and said I could in a minute, but, "Could you describe it, Andre?"

"Well, it says, 'I hate Mental's Daycare' and it's signed Kieran." he said.

"Huh. Well, I wonder who wrote that!" I told him. "Could it have been the kid I saw sitting there with the chalk?"

He was gleeful. "Maybe," he said. "Probably someone who was mad."

"Yeah, sometimes people get angry."

His dad was driving into the parking lot, so I never did go see that terrible message of hate that he signed his brother's name to. 

I had to talk with his dad, of course. If there's an altercation that involves physical aggression to another child, it's an automatic thing.

So they left. I made a mental note to myself to catch up with Andre the next day and chat with him when he wasn't escalated and irrational.

I did, too. 

After I had everyone signed in, I crossed the room to where he was sitting all alone at a table with the bin of Zoobs.

I sat down a couple feet away from him on the same bench. 
"Hey, Andre. What was your favorite thing that happened today?"

A better opening than 'how are you' or 'what did you learn in school'. Those are too open ended.

He said that he had put together a new LEGO set that he got for his birthday. He described it for me a bit. Then he said, "Did you see that bad message on the playground yet?"

"Oh, you mean the one that SOME KID WITH CHALK wrote yesterday afternoon? The kid who looks like you?"

He grinned a little. 
Then he said, "I'm sorry."

"Oh Buddy, nothing to be sorry for. You're allowed to have feelings. If you hate it here, you can say so. We all have thoughts about things we like and don't like."

I waited a moment, then said, "Do you really hate it here?"

He considered. 
"No. Not really. I think maybe I was just mad?"

"Yeah, that's probably it. All of us say inappropriate things when we're mad, I think. It's okay, though. It's just chalk. It was okay for you to write your feelings down."

I have enjoyed not needing to write many incident reports for my program. I have a suspicion I'm about to start doing at least one a week.

Never boring.