Sparks and Butterflies...

But aside from that, she's still completely normal

Bully

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We’re on the way home from school just like every day in existence.  We’re talking about how there’s a school rally the next day, and that the kids have to dress a certain way.  School spirit.  rah.rah.

All of a sudden this comes out of Joseph’s mouth, “My archnemesis has to be on stage!  With a guitar! And he has a RASH!”  Perhaps the “Bwahahaha” I heard was just in my head.

First I found out who this Archnemesis was (totally his word by the way.)  Jimmy Bartek*.  Who pairs up with Michael* to call Joseph Stupid (which he attempted to spell out, because we don’t call each other stupid) and make fun of him.

I then had the correct parental lecture that sometimes people feel really awful and the only way to make themselves feel better is by making others feel bad and BLAH BLAH BLAH.

But then I said, “But he has to get on stage?  With a rash?”

“Uh Huh!”

“That, my son, is called Karma…  Or the Biblical term is Reaping What You Sow.  But you are NOT allowed to make fun of him up there.  Be the better man.”

“And don’t give someone else power over me.  I learned that from my daddy.”

Maybe we’re doing something right.  But I can’t help hoping that Bully Jimmy Bartek’s rash spreads before the rally.

*Not the child’s real name.  Would rather not be sued thank you.

My First Embarrassed Child

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Carline.  Waiting.  And waiting.  Joseph has a tendency to be late.  I don’t know if his teacher really let’s him out late or he’s a dawdler.  But then again she let’s them out one by one and his last name begins with “W.”

Now, he’s messing with some other kid.  I holler out the  window, “Come on JoJo!”

And the earth stopped spinning on it’s axis there at Small Town Elementary.  I could see the flush creep up Joseph’s neck, and over his face.

“ooooOOOOooooo JOJO!  What sweeeEEEeeeet nickname, JOJO!”

Joseph yells at me, “Do.Not.Call.Me.JOJO?!”  He should have had a WTF? cartoon balloon over his head as well.

He got in the truck.  He immediately started to roll up the window to block out the taunting.  I made him put his seatbelt on first.

On the way home I told him, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know that JoJo was off limits in front of your friends.  Totally my bad.”

“OK.”

He’s 8.  Does this mean he’s a Tween now?

By the way – I thoroughly enjoyed embarrassing him.  Does that part get better too?

Channeling a Teenager

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Yesterday morning, I was admonishing Logan to Hop To!  Get those teeth brushed!  Get that face washed!

“Moooom.  Sometimes I wait a little bit to stretch.”

Which would have been cute.  Except lately he’s channeling a 13 year old girl in everything he says.  It’s not WHAT he says.  What he says is all fine and appropriate to the conversation and not disrespectful.  It’s the tone.  Every thing he says is punctuated and you can see, “Like, Gah! mom.  Eyeroll” in a cartoon bubble over his head.

He’s six.

Friday Wound Check

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There’s no real reason for today’s title.  Except that I need to take Logan to the ER today for a wound check.  I like how it sounds – like he’s been through a war or something.  Anyway, I’ll be doing that today after school.

I also have a meeting to Discuss Things with Joseph’s teacher/counselor/Special Ed teacher…  I raised a stink about his therapist putting anything into his IEP, you see.  Because his mental health issues have never been in his IEP – that’s always been the other half of the whole therapuetic package, as opposed to part of the educational portion.  So essentially, I don’t want it in the IEP under my authority, because that’s basically ME saying for the state to spend X amount of dollars on his mental health care.  While yes, I think it’s still necessary, and has been incredibly beneficial to him, I don’t have that kind of authority.  And frankly, I don’t want a bill for years of therapy down the road.

When I raised the red flag, it took a bunch of emails and phone calls for them to realize that no, I’m not backing out of therapy, and no I’m not throwing a monkey wrench into his progress.  “If our services are no longer needed, all you have to do is say so.”  NO!  I’m saying I don’t have the authority to spend the state’s money!  Talk to his social worker!  He does have that authority!  Everyone finally got it.  Except that then the school, and the people who do his therapy realized that no one has heard from the social worker for a year and a half.  Which is…  Odd.  But they’re finally working on figuring that portion out.  In the meantime, we’re updating his IEP.  Which, of course, requires a meeting.  Even though they have the wording.  But it requires yet another meeting.  To discuss things.  Even though there’s nothing to discuss, except for the fact that they need to add the words they already have to the IEP already on their computer.

That’s the one thing I really hate about the education process for my son…  All the fricken meetings.  I absolutely get the IEP update meeting held once a year at the end of the year.  Beyond that, people, I only need parent/teacher conferences.  guarantee you all this meeting will be about is for me to sign the changes into place on the IEP.  Come on.  They could have left it with the secretary at the front for me to sign.

I hate meetings.

Only Us

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You know…  People think I’m exagerrating when I say weird crap happens to us.  I’m not.

Like how every time my parents go out of town, something happens.  Or anytime I want a vacation, something happens.  It’s true.

So, let’s see.  This week – all I wanted is a vacation, before I started concentrating on my home, and my business.  I sound like a barking seal, so I’ve spent most of this week heavilly medicated.  Joseph’s IEP blew up with the state so I have a big meeting on Friday to try to fix it.  And last but not least (it is only Thursday) stitches.

This is the last week at after school care (my vacation remember?)  If there’s a problem with after school care, they usually call my husband first, rather than me, because Poe is the one who goes and gets them.  Fine.  Yesterday, Poe called me.  It’s always bad when someone leads with “He’s OK, but…”  Turns out that Logan was running on the playground, tripped over another kid, and landed face first on the asphalt.  Could he please be picked up so that we can determine if he needs stitches?  So I rush to get ready, and rush to go get him.  And yeah, the open wound on his chin looks like it might still need stitches, especially since they can’t get it to stop bleeding.

First stop – Pediatrician’s office.  But it’s 12pm.  And therefore closed for lunch for another hour and a half.  So, I took him to the hospital instead.  $75 copay later, and two stitches.  He was very very brave.  He cried though all the numbing injections, but he didn’t thrash around and need the papoose like we did when his eye needed stitches.  I didn’t even cry!  And I was holding his hands, and because of the angle, I saw every.little.thing.  And I didn’t pass out.  Because of his heart, he’s also on the pink antibiotics as well.  Can’t have an infection, you see.  Still have to figure out how get a wound check done tomorrow, and still go to the meeting for Joseph.

The doctor said he could go to school today.  I just can’t send him.  He’s 6 and in Kindergarten.  All I can think about is him running and falling on his stitches.  Besides, I’ve had stitches.  It’s going to hurt today, and he doesn’t need to be at school getting through that.  I’ll send him tomorrow – against my better judgement – ’cause it’ll be his last day at afer school care, and he’s going to want to say goodbye to his friends.

He’s still asleep this morning, which tells me that this is a good decision.  Normally, he’d have been out of bed an hour ago trying not to bug me but bugging me anyway.  I might snag a picture later for posterity.  Boys like documentation of their boy wounds.

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