MFA Mama

there's always got to be one

    For someone with "mama" as part of their blog name, I tend to be increasingly reticent when it comes to actually talking about (or particularly sharing any images of) my kids. Part of that is out of respect for their privacy and dignity as small people, and part of that is a nod to my ex-husband's (ex- and largely imaginary) lawyers.

   That said, sometimes a mama just has to brag.

   My boys have had a banner year. Middly went from "probably going to fail first grade" to "nothing below a B in any subject within his control* in the second grade," and Little Child as y'all are aware ditched the g-tube and has continued to not just eat by mouth but GROW and TRY NEW TEXTURES AND FLAVORS. Those are goals I personally set for them at the beginning of the year, and I promised them that if they met those goals they could do ANYTHING THEY WANTED with their hair when school was out. Sometimes when one of them was really struggling, he'd try and think of a way to get me to back out first ("what if I want a mohawk that's TWO DIFFERENT COLORS?") (to which I would say "you do your end, and I'll find out where to buy the dye for it and charge up the clippers"). Therefore:

Figure One: Devastatingly handsome smiles of sheer unbridled glee not pictured to preserve anonymity. Your loss.

   As for Big Child, this year he won the President's Award for Educational Excellence, but I am no more permitted to touch his hair any longer than I am the totally sweet Presidential Seal pin that came with that. Every six weeks his father takes him to a barbershop for "The Ivy League" of "Official Hair Styles for Men and Boys" fame, and that is that.

   I suppose there's always got to be one.

 

 

*   He does still have an "M" (stands for "Minimal Progress"--it's what they give the lower grades instead of an F here) in Handwriting, which I think is an awfully able-ist subject to even grade students on. HOWEVER! Just last week the school FINALLY listened to me and had him assessed by an OT, who determined that he DOES need help and modified his IEP accordingly, and therefore I do not give two shits for the "M" in Handwriting. My kid has a documented genetic condition that causes both hypotonia and hyperflexibility, as well as a learning disability that makes it very difficult for him to concentrate on complex tasks, and therefore grading his ability to control a pencil and form letters is about on par with grading a visually-impaired student's ability to recognize colors. SCREW your M, MFA Elementary School! Someday I will be able to buy that kid an iPad and he'll blow ALL of you away with it, and in the meantime YES YOU WILL provide him with services to make the best of his bendy little fingers' writing (dis)ability.

...and today forgot it entirely :(

   This morning I woke up before my (extra-early) alarm, and got to the office before dawn, and was kicking ass and taking names RIGHT UP UNTIL LUNCHTIME when I got The Call from the elementary school clinic: "Middly is complaining of a stomachache and headache, and has a temperature. Isn't this what happened when he ended up in the hospital?"

   Eff. Word.

   A quick call to the Lord of The Douche (a.k.a. the XY) was fruitless, and the across-the-street neighbors who have given Hotter an emergency ride to the elementary school with replacement pants in the past weren't home, so I packed up my work computer and hit the road, employing every four-letter word I know on the way (it's a twenty-five minute drive).

   While I am very relieved to report that this is NOTHING like what happened when he ended up in the hospital, the kid IS sick. He complained of nausea when we got home, so I dosed him up on Tylenol and Zofran, and he was able to keep some ramen down and is hydrated. So that's good.

   What's NOT good is that I had to cancel two meetings, and was already down four hours from Monday (when I worked a half-day from home while caring for Hotter after his oral surgery), and tomorrow is Friday so I don't have time to make up the hours before the end of the week. BALLS!

   So yeah, I'll be going in early again tomorrow, and Hotter is under strict orders to keep anyone who looks the least bit peaked home tomorrow, because GAHHH.

   How are all of YOU?

cottonmouth [ETA]

   So on Friday Middle Child's class went on a field trip to a local nature center. Among other things, they learned how to identify poisonous vs. non-poisonous snakes. I thought that was fabulous and took a moment to go over the ways to spot a poisonous snake with all three MFA Children (fat body, triangular head, patterns, etc.). Hotter thought I was being over-cautious given that we live in the suburbs, but there are woods behind our house and I am a big fan of safety.

   Flash forward to today after work, when I was clearing an overgrown patch of grass where the chicken pen used to be (I am digging trenches there and plan to plant corn in the extremely fertile soil the MFA Flock left behind). This is an area I'd allowed to go wild, because wild strawberries grow there and the bunnies like to eat those. There were also a lot of nice dandelions that I'd been picking (bare-handed) to make dandelion chips. I pulled up an old piece of tarp, and there underneath it was a tiny little coiled up baby snake. Oh! Another worm snake! Cute! But when I bent down for a closer look, I noticed a pattern. Oh. OH!

   So naturally I grabbed the little sumbitch (chill, y'all, I was wearing thick leather gardening gloves--there is no way in hell that little baby cottonmouth could've nailed me through those, and I grabbed it right behind the head), because mama loves a visual aid (and if I'd struck at it in tall grass with a shovel I might've missed and it could've escaped and grown up to bite one of my kids):

Figure One: Look, kids! A Water Moccasin!

   We all studied the snake, which I have since ID'd as a Water Moccasin, and then I grabbed my trusty sledgehammer, The Fraulein, and took the pretzel jar containing the snake to the driveway. I felt kind of weird about the whole thing. I mean, killing a chicken because we're hungry and planning to eat it is one thing, but we didn't stand to gain anything from this snake's death and it hadn't actually hurt anyone. I dumped it out of the pretzel jar, and immediately it assumed a belligerent, coiled-up stance as if to strike. ALRIGHTY THEN!

Figure Two: The Fraulein: 1, Water Moccasin: 0

   So yeah, I didn't relish dispatching that little snake, but I also didn't like the idea of having it for a neighbor, and gas prices being what they are the thing had to go (in the past I've been known to relocate unwanted snakes, but this week our finances don't have room for mercy toward venomous reptiles). And then I went and put my adrenaline rush to use digging a trench to plant some corn in.

   And how was YOUR day?   

ETA: I forgot to mention that yes, I mowed the wild strawberries and dandelions in the area in case there were more...I didn't see any, and there was only the one scrap of cut-up tarp there that would've been a good place to hide so I think we're good. But I'll keep my eyes open!

words with perverts

   I've always said my kids and I don't have much of a sense of community, but last night? A truly touching and special moment occurred between me and my boys and the innernet! I was sitting at the table playing Words With Friends and keeping the littles company while they cut a whitepages phonebook into spaghetti-strips for the worm box, and Big Child came and hung over my shoulder trying to come up with a word for me. Middly and Little Child got up, too, and wanted to see the board, so we all had a look. 

   "Since the game is called Words With Friends, the person you are playing with is your friend, right," asked Big Child, The Literal. I took a breath to say that I often play random strangers because I am addicted to Words With Friends a big fat slut on the innernet, just ask Daddy everyone's friend but then noticed that yes, actually my opponent was someone I "met" online as a blog reader years and years ago, am now Facespace friends with, and who my kids have an awareness of and HEYYYY! "Yep, that's _______," I said. "You know your favorite jammies, Little Child, and your snow boots, Middly? Her son is the big kid who broke 'em in for ya and she is the one who sent me that heavy package full of stuff for you guys."

   "Coool!"

   I think my kids have had a kind of binary view of the innernet. It is made up of our friends who send us stickers and hand-me-downs, homemade hand-balm that soothes eczema and birthday cards, gift cards that have fed us celebratory dinners and good knock-knock jokes, and then there are The Perverts.

   The Perverts are why Big Child wasn't allowed to subscribe to Lego Universe, even if he used his birthday money from the XY's family (because the subscription version had a chat feature, which means The Perverts could get at you!). They're also to blame for people not being allowed to link their DSis and Xboxes and Wiis to the (encrypted, password-protected) wireless router. "What do The Perverts DO, Mommy? I wouldn't give anyone our address or anything! They can't like, reach through the innernet and get me!" They're perverts, I say. They are clever and nasty and good at manipulating kids, and I am not taking any chances with them. When you're eighteen and you get your own innernet you'll see what I mean. The MFA Children seem to think The Perverts are perhaps mythical figures Hotter and I have made up to avoid sharing the innernet or something, but they largely accept it.

   "Heeeey, wait. Your friend just played TITS. IS YOUR FRIEND A PERVERT?"

***************************************************************************

   In the spirit of community amongst friendly perverts, a giveaway of a fabulous product made by a reader:

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   This is the stuff I carry in my work bag and use every day. It really helps keep my cuticles from disintegrating entirely in the winter between food service and virus season and animals and children...that's a lot of hand-washing. If you don't win some you should totally buy some, and that is my unsolicited and honest review of the stuff. I am very happy one of you gets to try it!

the one with the stomach bug

   I was sick today, which pretty much killed my plans to DO ALL THE THINGS. Middle Child is FIRED for bringing this into the house. Now accepting applications for the position of emo middle child!

   In a way I'm almost glad I was getting deathly ill, because all last night I had the most intricate, baroque, fucked up nightmares...like the kind where you can't move or tell if you're actually awake afterward, or whether you actually managed to make a sound or not (Hotter reports that I was talking in my sleep, so I guess I did). Fevers are weird. Anyway, I've had issues with those kinds of bad dreams being a regular occurence for long periods at various points in my life, and so it was kind of a relief to be able to say "aha, the fever was just baking weird things out of my brain" as opposed to worrying that the nightmares were coming back to stay a spell.

   Hotter took good care of me, bringing me Zofran and ramen and riding herd on the children so I could rest. I was very grateful to have him, because if I'd been on my own today would have been very, very ugly. So in a way maybe this was at least partly a good thing, my being felled by the Middly-virus, in that it reminded me how lucky I actually am?

   Tomorrow if I am capable of being away from my own bathroom I need to go into work, even if I'm not feeling 100%, because it's my boss's first day back after being out of the office for an extended period and I have another Big Meeting. I'm sure it'll go fine; after the absolute success of the last one I'm not worried, I just hope I'm not distractingly ill. 

   How are all of YOU?

blah day

*   Today I had to go into the office late because our pharmacy doesn't open until an hour after I typically start my workday and I had to get a prescription for someone at home before leaving for the day. This made me cranky, and I realized that I am officially an old person, because I seriously did some fist-shaking over the damn pharmacy not opening at 6 a.m. Hello, I am MFA Mama and I am apparently in my eighties!

*   Work today...ehhh. It was a productive day, which was good. The main guy helping me with IT for my project is really nice, and we were able to solve a major problem that was holding up progress on my work-project, so that was a happy thing. My co-workers all asked after Middly, which was sweet of them. I don't know what my problem was though, because I had this overwhelming feeling of "GET ME OUT OF HERE" all day long...this may have been because it was GORGEOUS outside and I wanted to start digging in my garden. 

*   Speaking of which, I ordered all of my seeds this morning while I was waiting for the dadgum pharmacy to open, and also some kelp meal, some worm castings, and a new hoe. What's NOT to love about a new hoe, AMIRITE? I ordered my stuff from here, and I am very, very excited about it. They have organic seeds! THEY HAVE TRIAMBLE SQUASH SEEDS! Also, hoes shaped like squids. You know I got that one, because come on: SQUID!

*   Also ordered today? Hotter's Valentine's Day gift. He's going to love it. He's going to cry real tears of gratitude, and I'm going to have to tell him to pull it together and be a man. I can't wait.

*   BUNNIES! Has (pronounced "Hoss") is the sweetest thing. He's super-cute and likes to be held and petted; I swear he purrs. Pfeffer, a.k.a. "Pfeffer the Heifer," is less cute. She pretty much just eats and gives you the pink side-eye. One of her ears is kind of messed up (the one with the rabbitry tattoo on it--the tattoo goes ALL THE WAY THROUGH HER EAR which I don't think it is supposed to do), and I guess maybe she was struggling when the guy did the tattooing and injured the cartilage or something? She doesn't seem to be in any pain from it, but the one ear is permanently at a rakish angle. It makes her look cranky. Pfeffer doesn't care if you pet her. She don't give a shit! She's like the honey-bunny. Naturally, she is Hotter's favorite.

WFH

   That was my work gchat status for much of the day today. Because while I got up and out the door on time, and arrived at the office in a good mood and tackled my project with renewed enthusiasm after yesterday's fabulous meeting, I had to pick up and leave after only a little over two hours.

   Middle Child woke up puking, puked up the Zofran Hotter gave him, and wouldn't take another dose or let anything near his mouth. Hotter messaged me at work to wave the white flag, and initially I was all "the kid can't be dehydrated yet, what am I going to do that you're not," but then he came back with "I think he needs his mom."

   Ooof.

   Fortunately, my new job is portable and my new managers are some seriously nice people, and I was able to bring my work laptop home. I knew I'd made the right choice when a pitiful little voice greeted me with "fanks for coming home Mommy, I'm rillwy sick." I put The Fear of Mom into Middly by presenting it as "you need this medicine to help you feel better and if you won't take it at home with your mouth I'll have to take you to the hospital to take it with a needle so how about we try one more time," crushed the Zofran to a powder that I mixed with sugar and water, and got it into Middly with a syringe. Less than an hour later he was sitting up and eating ramen and I was dialed in and working from home. YAY!

   In the end I only lost an hour out of my workday, and the best news of all is that Middly hasn't thrown up again and never did run a fever, so I think he'll be okay to go to school tomorrow (it's Pajama Day, which he would have hated to miss) (also, the last time he threw up was riiight before the school-day started, so technically he will have been twenty-four hours vomit-free when he walks into his classroom).

   I love a happy ending!

bad day

   Yesterday wasn't done hurting me after I published my last post, because one of my bedtime pills stuck in my hiatal hernia on the way down.

   I spent the night mostly awake in searing agony. I got up several times, to take TUMS, to take naproxen (yes, I know, horrid for the stomach actually but it was 2:30 a.m. and I was desperate), to eat yogurt...nothing helped. It's not quite as bad as the last time this happened, I think because it wasn't motherfucking Clindamycin in the capsule in question, but it's close. Hopefully the GI bleeding won't be as bad this time, because last time I did have a few dizzy spells.

   I almost didn't go to work this morning. Hotter literally nudged me, moaning, off the bed with his foot, and before you hate all over him (keep reading, he gets his later I promise) it was a good thing I went in because I managed to finagle another temp job out of PseudoCorp that'll keep things afloat for another two months.

   Then comes the part that pushed me over the edge, and I wish I could tell y'all about it, especially since nobody at work was being an asshole (quite the contrary, actually), but I am too paranoid about what Eyeballs Who Dislike Me would try to make of it and who they would try to make it to so I can't. So instead I'll just say that everyone involved in my new position seems positively lovely and I really look forward to showing them my gratitude for the job by rocking it.

   I went home, and Hotter made a fabulous Bambi Stroganoff for dinner, and then the children were acting out because they need more attention, but I was tired and bitter and in an unbelievable amount of pain, and we proceeded to have a horrible evening. EVERYBODY demonstrated the absolute worst facets of their personalities. EVERYONE. And then I sent the grounded children to bed crying with admonitions that I just couldn't. Take. One. More. Thing. and then Hotter accidentally wiped a hunk of raw chicken ALL OVER THE KITCHEN in the process of preparing the dogs' food and I LOST IT. I have issues with raw chicken. It is gross. He knows this, and chose to berate me for using hot soapy water to clean it up when there was hand sanitizer closer to the scene of the crime against my sensibilities, and that, gentle readers, is when I as a grown-ass woman of nearly thirty-three years old beaned my husband with a large, wilted carrot.

   Do I really have to say anything more about my mental state than that? I assaulted the person who loves me most with a wilted root vegetable. Shiiiiit.

   In the midst of my subsequent bawling, Middle Child got out of bed and apologized for his role in the evening and told me not to cry, that he knew I was doing my best, and oh, y'all. My kids deserve a better mother.

   Tomorrow is my birthday. I can't afford to take the day off, even if it's just to go to the doctor, because I don't have the co-pay. Honestly I kinda hope I get lucky and bleed out in my sleep, because it's the happiest ending I can think of right now, but chances are I'll wake up feeling like death itself and a torrent of shit will rain down on me from the sky the moment I walk out the front door.

   And you?

and then Hotter and I both died laughing

Big Child: [tells long and obviously untrue* tale of how he and Middle Child came to be fighting and found themselves called before an unamused MFA Mama] 
Middle Child: (holding a hand up and waving it at Big Child as if to deflect his lies) NO, NO, NO! Dass NOT a cool story, bro!

 

*   Big Child is the worst liar I have ever met, INCLUDING myself (which is really saying something, because god I suck at lying). I don't know why he even tries. It's hard to even get appropriately mad at him sometimes because it's so bad it's like ANOTHER disability to add to his list.

autoparent

   I never want to bake anything EVER AGAIN.

   Gingerbread houses didn't get made yesterday, because people's behavior did not MERIT gingerbread houses, which meant that they HAD to get done today. When I woke at 6 a.m. unable to breathe and then had to boil and cool water for my neti pot (stupid amoebas ruin everything!), which left me Awake For The Day, I would have paid good money to not have to make effing gingerbread houses. I took some decongestants, and drank some caffeine, and crawled back into bed to let it all kick in while the children ran roughshod over Hotter. He was trying desperately to get everyone medicated for minimal assholery (the mentally ill dog tranqed, the older boys pilled) and keep them quiet, but it sounded like a losing battle. Hotter's shushings and the boys' shrieks were like yodelers on opposite mountaintops out there, interspersed with the pre-tranq morning stylings of a whining Bumpus-hound.

   Finally, I heard Hotter reach the end of his rope with the human miscreants. "THAT IS IT. I AM GOING TO EAT EVERY LAST PIECE OF CANDY IN THIS HOUSE SO THAT THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR ANYBODY'S GINGERBREAD HOUSE! I have told you and told you to be quiet so your mother can rest, and you don't listen--" and at that point Middle Child's little voice cut in on him.

   "And you're tired of it!"

   After a minute I heard Hotter gasp "yes, Middly, I am," through his laughter.

   "Do you hear dat? TIRED OF IT!" Middly thundered, presumably addressing the other two.

   I guess this means Hotter is obsolete?