A Series of Unfortunate Events

I have never had any desire whatsoever to home school, partly because I work full-time from home but mostly because public school provides me with 6 1/2 hours of uninterrupted daycare for my two ADHD squirrels.  However, based on recent events, I may reconsider my stance on homeschooling when it comes to Eli. 

Eli has always struggled with talking to much in class and being distracted by her friends.  Her grades, however, have been very good up until this school year.  Enter her third grade teacher, who is more of a 3Rs, learn by rote, sit in your seat and be still than some of the younger, more tactile learning teachers.  Eli is struggling...big time. 

I didn't want to be the helicopter parent, hovering and smothering.  After all, at some point, Eli needs to be responsible to get her own homework done and to make sure she has studied a sufficient amount for tests. I can't follow her to college and I think natural consequences can sometimes be more effective at instigating change than all the nagging in the world. 

However, after Eli's latest social studies test (that I helped her study for) came home with this score:

I got ready to lay into Eli.  Then I turned her test over and saw this handwritten note:

Not good.  I can deal with her getting a bad grade.  After all, she labeled the Atlantic Ocean as being in Colorado and said Canada was south of the USA.  Not sure if her ADHD meds are not high enough, she is getting distracted, she is not taking her time or checking her work, or what but I know she can memorize quickly and is a smart girl.  And if this note is an indication of how she feels about herself, I cannot stand by and watch. 

I also saw this in her book bag:

This was a "Passport to the Universe" that she completed in class.  When I got done snickering at the fact that she wrote she lived in the "northen-westrern" hemispheres on planet "Eartch", I noticed what she had crossed out and written over on the bottom. 

Furthermore, she was to create a cartoon in class and this is what came home:

I am dumbfounded.  I ended up going into class to observe the next day, calling her doctor, and talking to a friend who specializes in learning strategies for special needs kids.  She feels Eli, in addition to ADHD, has a sensory need to be working something over with her hands and that that will actually calm her brain and help her concentrate.  We are upping her dose of medication (to see if that helps) and I sent her to school with a squeezable stress ball and a note.  The teacher does not appear to be thrilled (since the ball rolled across the floor at one point) but she is willing to make the accommodation.  We'll see how it goes. 

In other strange news, I came downstairs to see that Kate had tied her doll to a post in our house.  Looks rather disturbing but she claims she put her doll in her "seat belt". 

I am without words...

Ladies Who Lunch

Last week, I volunteered to chauffeur my 70-year-old mother to see three of her sisters and two nieces.  I do this because my mom got a Tom Tom a couple of years ago and she would follow that thing into a lake if it told her to.  I sent her to B-town to get varnish one time and she wound up a 1/2 hour south of her destination on interstate.  Hence, I felt it would be best for all if I took her up to meet up with her family. 

My mom comes from a family of 11 kids.  One sibling died very young and the remaining children could not be more different.  Well, they are alike in some ways.  They are all very smart and witty and pragmatic but some are about as left-wing, tree-hugging, Barack supporting as you can get while others are Rush Limbaugh, Christian Coalition, outraged conservative as you can get.  They have collectively agreed that political discussions are off limits but they do like to needle each other from time to time. 

My favorite part is when they start discussing people they grew up with.  We used to look through my mom's yearbook and laugh at the funny names like "Charlie Sparrow" and "Crafton Meeker".  On this particular lunch date, I distinctly remember the names "Bobby Snicker" and someone named "Catfish" surfacing in the conversation.  I wanted to jump in and ask if he was named Catfish for how looked or how he smelled but didn't want to interrupt the entertainment that was fully in progress. 

I love all my aunts...no matter how different they are from one another or from me.  Sometimes I think I inherited more of their traits then I did my mom's.  My mom takes worrying to an Olympic sport level whereas I figure God is bigger than anything so no reason to sweat.  My mom is so careful to not say a cross word or offend anyone.  I stomp on toes (some unintentionally) more often than I care to admit and am generally a rather sarcastic broad.  But I am like my mom in that I will champion for the underdog and can type at the speed of light. 

So, without further ado, I give you:

My Aunt Dot - Designer Dottie - always in the designer labels and with perfectly manicured hands.  I used to pretend I had Aunt Dot nails and would rub my ring finger and thumb together like she used to do.  We got her hand-me-downs when I was growing up and opening the package from her always caused a delicious scent of her perfume to waft through the air. 

My Aunt Jan - Feisty Jan - she had to be feisty with that many older siblings!  She's a writer and master gardener and likes to bait my mom...like any little sister should do. 

My Mom - you can read about her above.  If I ever take up stand-up comedy, I will owe a lot of stories to being raised with the mother I have.  Much love, Mom, if you are reading this. 

My Aunt Ada - the Motherly Ada.  She was the oldest girl in family and no one has a cross word about Ada.  She always has this regal bearing about her - may have something to do with the fact that she was the tallest of all her sisters. 

I don't have a great ending for this blog post.  So I will just sign off instead...

Lipsuckers, Looking Good, and Leggings

Weird title, but that's what happens when you don't post for a while. 

First off, my kids cashed in their "Fun 4 a Day" coupons with SuperAunt Dena and got to make Halloween cookies, play video games, and go out to eat at Steak 'n' Shake.  The highlight, no doubt, was the fabulous "Fun Fang" lip-shaped suckers they got.  Dena posted this picture to Facebook and I just want to note that Husband was responsible for hair duties.  I was blissfully unaware several hours away at a corporate meeting. Dena probably needed several hours of downtime after squirrel wrangling for several hours. 

Next came Elisabeth and Kate telling me the new way to show appreciation for someone (Facebook followers, you will need to click on "View Original Post" to see this video)

Finally, Kate was invited to her friend Mya's birthday party last night.  The invitation said to dress-up so who should she pick to emulate?  Hannah Montana (no surprises there) so we pieced together a t-shirt, hot pink miniskirt, lime green leggings, a Hannah Montana wig that we used last year when she was Tinkerbell for Halloween, sunglasses, and random jewelry.  She came home with vampire fangs that have multi-colored strobe lights in them and slobbered them up so heavily that we can't shut the strobe lights off.  So we had flashing "dentures" all night in bed with her. 

And, as an added bonus, I give you Kate singing her song that she made up.  I can't catch all the words but it is something like (again, Facebook followers will need to click on "View Original Post" to see video):

"Okay, Okay, I will obey" as the running theme...along with mention of doing her chores and doing what I say. 

Music to my ears!

Turnips & Blowtorches

I was trying to corral the wild Squirrels one afternoon after school when my email account dinged to let me know I had a new message. The school librarian wrote to tell me:

“I wanted to tell you about something that happened in computer lab today. The kids were using the search engine (ask.com) to ask questions about animals. It turned into something else since children get naturally curious about other things. Kids started asking questions about the tallest people, smallest people, richest people etc. I guess Elisabeth asked "who is the hottest person in the world?" One of the links that came up had the word "sex" in it. I overheard some girls whispering about it later. We talked again about the importance of being safe on the Internet and even if these websites are blocked at school, we always have to be careful about what we type etc.”

The librarian went on to tell me that she didn’t want the story blown out of proportion. My first thought, as I nearly swallowed my tongue, was “EVER HEARD OF FILTERING SOFTWARE, LOCAL SCHOOL DISTRICT?” Then I decided to ask Elisabeth…very nonchalantly…about the situation. The conversation went like this:

Me: “Soooo…did you find something interesting in your Internet search today?”

Eli (blank look…then, a guilty head dip with a scurrying glance right and left): “It wasn’t me…it was Haley.”

Me: “So an interesting word didn’t come up on your computer.”

Eli (realizing her mama is no fool, looks sheepishly down at her toes): “Oh yeah…a bad word came up.”

Me: “What does the word mean?”

Eli: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Then how did you know it was a bad word.”

Eli: “Olivia told me. But I already forgot what she said.”

Yeah, I am not so hip on this peer sex education thing. Granted, I’ve been remiss in my responsibilities to delve into the whole explanation. Mostly, I have been putting off because I feel highly unqualified to be addressing this subject. Seriously, I have the sexual I.Q. of a turnip.

(Note to dudes here…you may want to turn back now. After reading on, you would probably have the urge to gouge out an eyeball. Or both. Just giving you fair warning.)

Not that I don’t want creativity in sexual side of my life. It’s just that when I try, I end up nearly beheaded by a ceiling fan (that really happened). Or like the time when I decided to attend one of those parties that are supposed to talk about massage oil and lotions. Only this party turned out to have a lot of things I had never seen before. Turns out the “beaded necklaces” at this party were not meant to hang around your neck.

And then the party demonstrator asked for volunteers to try a new “stimulating lotion” for Ladytown. I thought I would be a sport and give it a whirl. She had me go to the bathroom to apply said product. I came back out…not feeling a whole lot…and then SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THINGS PURE I felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to my nether regions. The party demonstrator is all smiles, extolling the virtues of this wonderful product to the other participants as I am doubled over, sweat pouring down my face, gasping for my last breath, wondering how in the SAM HILL this was supposed to be stimulating. It was like a Brazilian bikini wax on STEROIDS.

Finally, when the demonstrator realized that everyone was chortling at my distress and not listening to her, she gasped, clutched a hand to her chest, and wheezed, “Please feel free to remove it if it is not pleasant.”

So much for trying to get my freak on and surprise Husband. Of course, he would have been surprised to find third degree burns “down there”.

Perhaps I will skip that story as Eli and I delve into the human sexuality lessons coming up. Some things just need to be kept between us turnips.

Not Another Head Case(worker)

On Wednesday, my Squirrels were beyond excited to go see their former foster care caseworker Kim.  Now, I know, there are lots of horror stories about caseworkers out there - not giving correct information about a child or never returning phone calls or acting calloused about the needs of foster parents.  And certainly, when I look at the caseworker case loads and the absolute junk they have to wade through, you can see where there would be an exceptionally high burn out factor.

But my kiddos won the foster care lottery when they got Kim for a caseworker.  And that means I did to.  She genuinely loves my little Squirrels and has kept tabs on them even after the adoption was finalized.  She was great for getting me information and resources to be able to advocate for my kids.  One time, I had forgotten to let her know we were going to be traveling out of state with the girls - which, while they are still wards of the state, requires written consent from the guardian ad litem (the attorney who represents the girls in court but who never ever really sees them).  Kim rushed to have that approved the same day so we could take the girls to see my nephew play in the state football tournament. 

Kim had not seen the girls since they were adopted in June of 2009 and was amazed by how big they had gotten.  The girls were able to tell her about school and soccer and show her how they can both read now.  After big hugs and updates on their baby sister (adopted by another family), we agreed to meet again each year.  Kim was a part of their lives for three years - longer than I have been at this point - and I feel it it so important to continue their connection to her for as long as she's willing. 

I guess all this is to say that who you have as a caseworker in foster care makes ALL the difference and we'd be delighted if Kim brought us our next kids as well.  And my girls have much love for this wonderful woman who made their time in foster care a lot more bearable.

Jiggle Belly Sumo Run

Well, wet your pencil tips and lean in for the earth-shattering scoop, my loyal followers.  This Charter Member of the Exercise Haters Club has officially enrolled to run a 5k in the Jingle Bell Run in the local big town. 

I don't know if it is the impending 15 year class reunion that has me finally motivated, my "Wattle" picture, the fact that I nearly died by skirt asphyxiation, or the sad truth that I snuck into an Eddie Bauer store to find out if I could rock a skinny aviator pant and found out that either they have shrunken their pant sizes or I have gone up YET ANOTHER SIZE but whatever the case is/was...I am now running. 

Running is a more flattering term than what I am actually doing...which is slowly pounding along the highway, breathing like a heifer in labor, knees wrenching in pain, hearing going out in my left ear, iPod blaring loud enough to not hear myself breathing like a heifer, while my Buddha belly and bazerkers collide into each other like two over-eager sumo wrestlers.  It's not pretty.  Running was a lot more fun before I hit puberty.  Scratch that.  Running has never been fun but it was at least more tolerable before I had to haul a couple of sandbags along with me. 

I printed out a 9-week training schedule online and emailed my sister Renee - my resident superstar sister who not only runs but bikes and swims and triathlons and generally has always been in fantastic shape since forever even though she finally hit the big 4-0 this year.  Totally puts me to shame.  She said I could join her Trooper team and might even get to run with Big Local Christian Radio Personality. 

I borrow a phrase from my other triathlete sister Susan when I say I am a COMPLETER, not a COMPETER.  In fact, Eli went running with me yesterday and completely smoked me.  In my defense, she hasn't developed any "sandbags" yet.  And she's African-American, which I am pretty sure means she had an advantage at birth whereas my Germanic background meant I inherited genes to be able to drink beer and dance the clog at Oktoberfest. 

Even though my running is pathetic, I at least hope I've got the fitness fashion down...feeling very sleek in my UnderArmour and new running shoes that were custom selected after my feet and stride/gait were measured, scanned, analyzed, etc.  The running shoes have words like "Titanium" and ""Maui Blue" and "Lightning" on the shoebox...as if I were an Iron Woman Triathlete competing in Hawaii. 

I'll settle for making it through 3.2 miles in freezing weather wearing a Santa hat and hope I live to tell about it.  So far, four weeks into training, I have lost a grand total of...zero pounds.  With that kind of motivation, how can I not look forward to the Jingle Bell Run?  Or in my case, the Jiggle Belly Run?

Recession Proof Doll Mania

This past weekend, 8 little squirrels had the time of their lives on a one-day whirlwind trip up north. What started out as a plan for my girls to get to the go to the American Girl store to fix their poor little Bitty Twins' hair that they had completely ghetto-fied (evidently curly doll hair, lots of brushing, and various and sundry colored elastic bands throughout do not a great doll hair-do make!) compounded to add in sisters Renee and Susan plus my mom and six additional girls. That's right...if you are counting, eight girls under the age of 10 were awoken at O Dark Thirty to board the train.

They excitedly clutched their dolls and snacked on the 2 1/2 hour ride up there. It looked like a game of Musical Chairs on the Rails as they changed seats more often than I could blink. The conductors on the train were great, asking about the dolls and giving fake tickets to the dolls so they could ride back on the train. At one point, Kate asked the conductor if he was a police man, which caused him to smirk.

We arrived in the Big City and Susan proceeded to get us onto the right bus to get to the American Girl store.

And then all chaos broke loose. I thought perhaps going after school had started and on a rainy day would mean the store would be less crowded. I thought wrong. I thought since the country is in a recession, unemployment is up, and people are watching their spending, they would not be packed into a non-essential store like American Girl. I thought wrong. Every possible shape of mom (and a few dads) and girl were in there. Some were hauling several dolls plus matching outfits (and human sized outfits to match) up to the register with a determined look. These dolls run $95 - $114 apiece! And the matching girl/doll pajamas are $54. A single outfit for a doll costs $26 - $34. I love my kids but seriously! They wouldn't even have an American Girl doll if their aunts hadn't taken pity on them and bought them for them for Christmas. I held my girls to getting their dolls' hair fixed and one outfit. I admit, I was tempted to purchase more but I realized I would blink and my girls would be in junior high, convinced that their mom was SO uncool and that these expensive dolls (and their outfits) would be relegated to storage.

On to a brief stop at the Disney store and a 2 mile walk back to the train station. On the way home, the girls again played Musical Chairs combined with inadvertently dropping most of their snacks on the ground. If they had been Hansel and Gretel, I could have found them anywhere based on the train of smashed pretzels and chips left behind.

Other than a brief incident where Grace and Elisabeth accidentally opened the train bathroom door to reveal a Man in Green doing his "bidness" (and I just happened to be sitting in his direct line of sight so I got an eyeful) and another elderly gentlemen doing who knows what in the bathroom that caused a smell so bad, we ducked our heads inside our shirts like turtles and gasped for air (mental note to self: next time, don't sit next to the bathrooms), we arrived worn out and determined that next time, we'd do this trip with less kids and more caffeine!