I have spent my week frantically working to catch up on…everything? Nothing? Somehow I am vaguely quivering with the notion that I have forgotten…something? Everything?
It has been quite a week, let me tell you. I spent most of it sneezing, due to the cold I had. Yesterday I woke up NOT feeling like the dog had slept on my face, so I assumed I was getting better. But today I woke up coughing.
I brought my pillow downstairs from my bedroom today and told Alex that when he gets home from work I will almost certainly be asleep on it.
Before that happens, I present to you…My Week! (Now with 30% more ellipses.)
Here’s something: Alex won. I finally gave up yesterday and tossed the pumpkins. Except for one, which I relocated to the back porch so we can still watch the squirrels snack on it, but the neighbors can’t watch Wild America, Team Stimey Edition.
Let’s see, what else happened this week? Oh! Quinn got into his first fist fight. My kids have these great friends who live just around the corner and every morning when we are waiting for the bus, they run around and play with each other. Well, on Wednesday, Quinn and his kindergarten buddy decided to fist fight for fun.
The words, “You guys, I don’t want want you to hit,” had just come out of my mouth when the other kid landed a lucky punch on Quinn’s nose and Quinn started crying. Then his nose started bleeding.
Then his nose started bleeding more.
Then he started to retch.
Then he started to throw up a delightful mix of blood and vomit all over his little buddy’s driveway while the other parents looked on—including the horrified dad of Quinn’s friend.
Honestly, I think sometimes it’s easier to be the parent of the kid who got hurt, especially in a no-blame situation where both kids were being idiots.
Naturally, as soon as Quinn stabilized, I walked him home, cleaned him up, and let him calm down for a while before I ultimately sent him to school. I also calmed down the other kid’s mom who called, frantically worried that her son had broken Quinn’s nose.
The fun part of this story, however, is that now that ANY KIND OF ROUGH PLAY AT THE BUS STOP BEFORE SCHOOL IS ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN, Quinn has started, for lack of a better word, performing at the bus stop.
Yesterday and today he spent our time at the bus stop prancing around and making funny noises. He hid behind a post and waved at the kids with one arm, then the other, then both. He’s started taking pratfalls, rolling around on the grass with his limbs all a-flailing, all to the delighted laughter of four or five other little kids waiting for the bus. It is hysterical.
Hmmmm, oh, Sam reached unforeseen levels of anxiety over a situation at school that is kind of unfair. I’ve mostly worked it out with the teacher, but basically I just had to tell Sam, “Dude, I agree with you. And it sucks. Tell me when it happens and I’ll try to deal with it.”
See, there’s a situation that all the kids in a class were getting a consequence for something that only some of the kids were doing, which is a whole can of worms because then the non-misbehaving kids are annoyed at the misbehaving kids when really they should be RAGING AGAINST THE MACHINE, but the machine never gets blamed does it? Not until college, at least.
Awesomely, Alex was all, “They can’t do that if he did nothing. It’s a basic tenet of due process.” Yeah. Tell it to the Fourth Circuit. I don’t think Sam is suing for violation of his rights.
Jack’s been on a pretty even keel. I did write about him and how he knows he has autism over at Hopeful Parents. (Well, he doesn’t have autism at Hopeful Parents. He has autism everywhere. I write about it at Hopeful Parents. Can you believe that I used to be a copy editor?)
I post over there on the 15th of every month and that is one of those things that I always feel like I am forgetting. I spend probably half of every month worried that I am going to forget to write there. Like, the 5th approaches and I’m all, “Oh, crap. Gotta think of a good idea.” And then the 10th approaches and I’m all, “Oh, crap. Don’t forget you have to write something for Hopeful Parents.” And then suddenly it’s the 15th at 10 p.m. and someone reminds me on twitter that I haven’t written anything and I’m all, “OH, CRAP. Brain dump.”
Something that did happen is that I made Jack a sandwich after school on Tuesday. He will occasionally make his own sandwich and has started cutting it into a triangle. When he asked me for a triangle sandwich, I attempted to waste the least amount of bread possible.
This was not acceptable to Jack.
Detente was eventually achieved.
In Stimey news, I was reintroduced to one of my childhood traumas this week. Marita and Kate and I were on twitter discussing zombies and zombies at Christmas and then somehow something started up about velociraptors, which rapidly devolved into something about zombiraptors, and I ended up reading a forum page on which someone brought up the short story Leiningen Versus the Ants by Carl Stephenson.
For the non-twitterers out there, this will either convince you that Twitter is the most awesome thing in the world and you have to jump on it immediately or I just drove another nail into the “Why the hell do people waste time on Twitter” coffin.
Anyway, Leiningen Versus the Ants is basically about a man who wages war against a sea of invading, deadly ants. My sister was assigned to read that story in 7th grade English class, I think. Naturally, my 5th grade self read it as well. I don’t know what it was about the story, but it TERRIFIED me.
I would sit in my bed at night and position myself so that I could see the patch of light in the hallway to make sure that the ants weren’t flooding down the stairs.
Clearly I was not a very smart 5th grader because it’s not like that army of ants would show up unannounced. There would obviously be news reports like, “Well, the ants are in Peru now.” Then six months later, “The ants have achieved Mexico.” Then in another four months, “The ants are continuing their march toward their ultimate goal of Jean’s bedroom. No one tell her, okay?”
It is, to date, the scariest story I have ever read. And I read a lot of scary stories. (Why, just last night I read Bunnicula to my kids.) If you read it and you don’t think it’s scary, please keep in mind that I was a young(ish) child with a big imagination, a lack of critical thinking skills, and, evidently, a high level of anxiety.
I leave you now in hopes that you will conduct your Friday with joy and dignity. I am going to go sit at my back window and wait for the squirrels.