girlfiend

F goes to our local, neighborhood, public school. The pre-k program is run by the school district, but it is separate from the rest of the school, in that every school doesn’t have a pre-k and admission to the program is not based upon geography, it is based upon date of application and household income. It is a short walk from our house to the school which is your typical, Philadelphia K-8 public school, in an old (late 1800s) building with beautiful gothic arched doorways, marble hallways, and big heavy metal doors with bars over the windows. (Because of the way the district was gerrymandered after a fire many years ago, this school that we can walk to is not actually the school he will attend for K-8. That school is about a mile past the school he attends now.) The school is small. I believe there is only one class for each grade. Test scores are lousy compared to the two other schools in the neighborhood and the parent organization is a little dysfunctional and sparsely attended. But it’s fine at the school. I’ve been at events in the auditorium and the student body seems nice enough. I’ve walked through the school yard at recess and the kids play nicely together. I’m glad we’re lucky enough to live in the boundaries of the other school, but if we did not, I would consider keeping F at this one.

Anyway, to further prove that the Fiendling is only a complete pain in the ass for his loving parents, F was chosen to be the student of the month in his class for October. His teacher had lovely things to say about him. He never has a harsh word for anyone, he reads, spells and adds, he helps others learn how to do things, he is able to adjust his learning style when asked to. The list went on. I was thrilled for him. Unfortunately, as there is always an unfortunately, my proud parent moment was sullied by the wackjob principal at F’s school.This principal is not the school’s actual principal, she is the acting principal. The real principal is very sick. I believe he is currently in hospice care. The acting principal, who I’ll call Megan O’Sullivan, is not the Irish woman one would expect. She is an short, unprofessionally dressed, African American woman who, rumor has it, was relieved of her previous position when it was learned that she was getting her hair done during the school day. Ms. O’Sullivan, did not have the courtesy to return my call, when I called a few weeks ago to ask a question about a school wide motivational program called College Bound. Instead she had her secretary call and tell me I needed to ask someone else. This did not please me.

The Student of the Month Award recipients are invited with their parents to a special breakfast, an event instituted by the real principal. Ms. O’Sullivan sent a letter home inviting us to breakfast at 8.45 in the library. Rather than bring the small children to distract my focus from F, I had my dad come to the house to babysit. We got to the library a little late, around 8.55. A parent sat reading the newspaper. Another parent sat with her child. A third parent sat staring while her child sat at another table reading. No breakfast. No principal. F and I looked at books for a little bit, but at 9.05 I took F to his classroom to ask his teacher if I’d gotten the wrong time or day. She said, “This is embarrassing,” looked at the calendar, confirmed it was the right place and time, and called the office to see what was going on. The office informed her that Ms. O’Sullivan was now in the library, we must have just missed her. So I dragged poor F, who just wanted to stay and play with his classmates, back to the library. Guess what. No principal, No breakfast. The other parents were starting to mutter about how Mr. D, the real principal never kept people waiting, and how they didn’t take off from work to sit and wait, and blah, blah, blah. Morale in the student of the month breakfast was low.

A few minutes later Ms. O’Sullivan made an announcement over the school’s loudspeaker. She changed her mind and decided that instead of honoring the students of the month in the library she wanted going to honor them in the auditorium. She told all teachers to stop what they are doing and bring their classes to the auditorium. She said that she knows it’s a disruption, but it will only take 20 minutes. At this point I was seething. I brought F to the auditorium as the rest of the student body filed in. It is an old, loud, space, and poor F who doesn’t like noise to begin with and just wanted to be with his classmates, was sitting in a ball holding his ears.

After 10 minutes the half- assed, last-minute, “program” started with Ms. O’Sullivan saying, “Good Morning,” waiting for a response, then demanding the response be repeated in unison. Then she said, “The pre-kindergarten is still eating breakfast, so let’s start our program with the kindergarten.” Very loudly I said, “No. He’s right here. Start with the pre-k.” And she did. She read the lovely comments about my F and gave him his certificate, bookmark, and coupon for a free school t-shirt. I quickly ushered him out of the auditorium and back to class.

1.It’s no wonder schools are failing when principals can’t get it together to actually schedule an awards program instead of pulling the entire school out of their classrooms

2, How disrespectful of the parents, students, and teachers in the building. Especially the teachers. I would have been furious to have been called out of my classroom to an impromptu assembly when there was another awards ceremony, the College Bound (I won’t even get into that) for high achieving students the following week. Did I mention that? The “breakfast” was on a Thursday. The College Bound assembly, where F was also receiving an award, was the following Tuesday. Both events were on the calendar. If she wanted to honor the student of the month kids in front of the whole school why couldn’t she wait 3 more school days?

3, I noticed the breakfast coming in to the school as we were heading to the auditorium. Clearly she forgot about the stupid breakfast and tried to make up for it with the assembly. An assembly that disrupted parents, students and teachers.

4. I had a babysitter but other parents were going in to work late for the breakfast. They were taking time off from work for a breakfast honoring their child. A breakfast that did not materialize for 45 minutes after it was scheduled to begin. Parents want to participate, they want to be at school for their child. But how can they when the principal isn’t prepared for a scheduled event? This was the second school event that she screwed up. The first was October’s College Bound assembly where she started the assembly by saying she wouldn’t be able to give out all of the awards because she scheduled something else for the same time. She scheduled something else for the same time as the College Bound assembly, a program that is supposed to motivate students to achieve. She told the students that their success wasn’t as important as the other thing she scheduled, which, as rumor has it, may have been a hair appointment.

5. I was all set to have F go to our public school as planned. (not this one) But now I’m scrambling to fill out private school applications and schedule private school visits and testing etc. because I’m so disappointed by his public education so far.

I would like to thank Clifford the Big Red Dog for anesthetizing my children. This is the first time in two hours that one of more of them has not been in tears.

I would also like to thank the brisket recipe for calling for a half cup of red wine, allowing me to drink the other half cup. It has been a long day.

Feast or famine with the blog posts around here. Pun intended.

Working my way through two roasted pumpkins. Two batches of muffins- pumpkin cheese and pumpkin chocolate chip. I prefer the pumpkin cheese, F only likes the chocolate chip.

Dueling bread machine breads today. I have two hand me down bread machines now, two different breadman models, so I’m making two loaves of pan de mie to see which machine makes the better loaf. I set them both for a 1 1/2 lb loaf of white bread. One machine has a longer cycle than the other. I should do another test with whole wheat.

Last night I cooked a meal that everyone in the family ate. There were no noodles involved. Shocking, I know. Somehow, everyone ate and enjoyed a Thai green curry. The boys needed the chicken and veggies on the side, and T wouldn’t touch most of the vegetables, sticking with the chicken. F said the broccoli was too spicy, but ate it and more anyway. I was so grateful not have to make someone toast before bed.

For the first time in 5 years I’m not cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I’m a little sad about it.

dinners for the week:
Chicken and cheese quesadillas with black beans, corn and rice
Spaghetti with meat sauce, roasted kohlrabi
brisket, mashed potatoes, broccoli
leftover brisket, stuffed acorn squash
homemade pizza

Preschool bakesale tomorrow to pay for a field trip. Should I make cookies? Brownies? Cupcakes? rice krispy/cocoa pebble treats?

I should unload the groceries from the car now that the two small children are fed.

No one gives a shit about your brand new mommy blog. Your 3 weeks worth of posts that you’re emailing about, posting on facebook, and shoving down everyone’s throats are boring. No one cares that you’re one of the idiots that actually purchased a time out chair and a timer to go with it. No one is impressed by your list of best books for children. We’ve all read those books to our own children and if we were to pass that list on to our friends we most certainly would not give you credit for a list that you compiled from other people’s Amazon lists. It’s especially annoying that you are asking for credit for your list, as though everyone who clicks on your daily links out of boredom is going to laud you as an expert in children’s literature. Speaking of Amazon lists, we don’t give a shit about your holiday toy guide either. Thanks for taking all of the magazine picks (that you haven’t tried for yourself) and compiling them in one Amazon list and taking the credit for yourself. And your parenting advice is annoying. How about some anecdotes with your didacticism, a little something to entertain while you shove your advice down our throats.

Sorry, had to get that off of my chest. I turned off her facebook updates and I’m still getting this shit. Time to unfriend.

I don’t know how it has been six months already. I don’t know how my sweet, squishy, sleepy newborn has turned into a giant baby who sits, grabs, squeals, babbles, stands holding onto a couch or table, chews and gives sloppy wet baby kisses. She wants to play more than sit, she loves her brothers and plays games with them, and since she doesn’t quite know how to reach out for someone yet, she uses both arms and legs to try to “swim” over to B.

She’s in the middle of the giant, developmental stretch that lasts from 4 months to 9 months, and she’s probably teething too, so the sleep has been pretty lousy. She went from going to bed at 7, waking up at 5 to eat, then sleeping again until 9 to going to bed at 11, waking randomly to cry and eat 2 or 3 times throughout the night, and getting up when it is the least convenient for me to nurse her/diaper her/dress her. But last night she went to sleep at 11 and slept until the boys woke her up a little after 6, so I trust that she like her brother T will be a good sleeper once she gets through all of the shit. At least she doesn’t take after F who never slept through the night, ever.

I’ve been a little smarter this time around, too. Instead of moving her to her own room where I’d have to get up several times throughout the night to tend to her, she still sleeps in ours in the borrowed cosleeper beside the bed. Last night, since I know she wants to be a good sleeper despite it all, when she didn’t want to go to sleep I just put her to bed beside me and she slept all night (unlike F who would have used me as a pacifier.) I had a mole on my chest removed, so I don’t have to deal with another baby trying to pick it off, and I bought a nursing necklace for me to wear so she can tug at it instead of trying to pull out my hair, non-baby safe necklace, or chunks of skin.

She blows bubbles and sticks out her tongue. She smiles at everyone who talks to her. She is pleasant and easy-going and seems to have a very similar temperament to T, which is the kind of baby temperament you want. (Not that F wasn’t a good baby. He was a sweet, wonderful baby. He just never slept and was attached to my boob around the clock for more than a year. But this post is about Miss N, not T or my sweet F.)

So, six months. Six. I can’t believe it.

T’s speech therapist is a fucking idiot. My cell phone was in my coat pocket so I didn’t hear the text alert that she was waiting outside. Or the text alert that she was leaving 40 minutes later. Keep in mind the first text message was received 40 minutes after she was supposed to get here.

1. Why can’t the bitch ever be on time?
2. Why doesn’t she knock on the door? There is still a note on the broken doorbell to knock, but does she really need the reminder after 6+ months?
3. Why didn’t she call? Clearly she has my phone number if can text. Why would you wait outside for 40 fucking minutes without knocking or calling?

Idiot.

I know I’ve mentioned T’s language explosion. He went from nothing to talking in what seems like no time at all. Along with the actual words he’s had a developmental spurt. He doesn’t simply push the trains along the track now; he narrates the stories. Last night in the bath he started yelling “Help! Help,” and crying, “Thomas fell into the water! Get Sir Topham Hatt to help.” Now I have two competing Thomas episodes going on at any given moment. Three if you count the TV. At two and half it doesn’t sound that impressive. The talking and narratives, I mean. But considering that a few months ago he was still just barely saying mama and dada, we are both so proud and pleased and relieved. We knew he was smart, but the speech delay was troubling.

One of T’s favorite phrases is hot dog bun. I’m not sure why. He generally doesn’t eat hot dog buns, handing them to me so he can concentrate on the actual hot dog. But he likes to say it, often using it as a way to express displeasure or disagree. For example, F will say something like, “No, T. That’s my train. Give it to me.” T will respond with “hot dog bun.” Or F will say, “Look T, it’s an elephant.” T will reply, “No. Hot dog bun.” “Mom, T says it’s a hot dog bun, but it’s an elephant.” “NOooooooo. Hot dog bun.”

Halloween was the best yet. The Fiendling is now old enough to really get it, and loved walking around the neighborhood saying, “Trick or Treat,” and “Thank you. Happy Halloween” at every house. He was excited to see all of the costumes and the candy and decorations. “Look, mama! I got a chocolate bar! I LOVE chocolate bars!” He was so much fun. Most of the time he’s not that much fun. He’s been whiny and disagreeable and all sorts of other words I shouldn’t use to describe my kid. But on Halloween he was at his best, and I had the best time with him. T liked it too, but mostly just for the lollipops he double fisted all night.