Tag Archives: children

Yeah sure, I’ll talk to him

I got a call from one of my kid’s teachers today. It was the same story I’ve heard many times before. This time it went something like this:

Teacher: “Your son has been told numerous times to come into the class and put away his books. He consistently fails to do it in time; he’s too busy talking.”

Me: “Yes, he told me he had 5 points deducted because he had his book in his lap.”

Teacher: “Yes, it’s supposed to be inside his desk or at his feet.”

Me: “Oh, ok.”

Teacher: “I give them all a couple of minutes to put away their things in the beginning of class, but your son never pays attention to the time.”

So that’s when I tell them in the shortest length possible, I know. I know he’s unable to do anything in the exact time alloted. He daydreams, he fidgets, he creates things with paperclips etc…but never what you ask him to do right that second. Then I apologize and tell them I’ll talk to him. His story is entirely different, but there are still enough similarities to see and sympathize with the frustration he’s feeling.

We can go on and on that it must be our parenting; he must listen and instantly obey. But…he’s not going to. The reason I know this is because his father is the same way.  He doesn’t even hear half of the things going on around him. He, like my son, can observe the tiniest object in  a place no one would ever look and remember its exact placement, but realize the person in front of him is on fire — no way. They could both instantly recognize a tree has lost 3.5 leaves from a certain branch they walked by the other day, but if you asked them to hand you a pair of scissors they will forget by the time they reach the drawer. Meanwhile they’re contemplating where those 3.5 leaves could have gone. And if they did go somewhere it was probably some far off land…

You know, the far off land where only “artsy” people’s minds wander. I imagine it looks something like The Yellow Submarine movie or a Van Gogh painting.

I know it must be annoying if you’re a teacher. I know it is as a mother and as a wife. It’s annoying to me because I am so firmly planted in this world… I’m a complete and total stressed out mess. There is no wandering to a far off land; I’m too busy worrying about the dirt that’s right under my feet.

And you know what? I’ll never be an artist. I’ll never “see” what these people see. I’ll never live in their far off land. And you know what? That Sucks for me.

The more time goes by the more I realize, public school doesn’t teach you anything but the basics and if you’re “special” in any sort of way it’s just something  hopefully you can deal with and still come out of with at least a speck of self-esteem.  Basically, school — you suck.


Traveling and Becoming a Divorce Statistic

My husband who I’ve mentioned here and also a little here, has been extremely lucky. Not only has he been lucky with his choice of spouse (jackpot!) but also in his choice of profession. He’s had the opportunity to travel the world, while I’ve been left at home to take care of the children and eat bon-bons – no, I’m not bitter in the least. Why would I be bitter, as you can see in the following pictures it was probably too much for anyone to bear… 



New Zealand




Rio de Janeiro


I told him if he went to Venice or Paris without me — we were done. 



Last Straw. Rough draft of divorce papers were written. I almost felt pity because he did have to take a gondola ride with a bunch of guys. Almost. 

There was no doubt in my mind that I was going on the next trip. So where did I begin? Well, Peru seemed the likely choice.  So off I went with 3 kids to meet up with my husband and begin our own adventure. 


Luckily this was before our credit cards were labeled, “We are too big to fail, but because you are so tiny we insist you will.” Due to a complicated second passport issue we were unable to reach Machu Picchu; but it was beautiful and awesome nonetheless. Plus it gave my family hysterical “bathroom” stories about Lima. Hey, no one said we were couth. 

Paragliding in Lima, the white one is attached to my teenage son.



I shredded the divorce papers, all was as it should be.


Next up — Pairree, or Paris if you want to be that way…


Maybe I shouldn’t start a post with such a mundane subject. But read on and you will see this subject is neither mundane nor trivial. Plus, I promised in the beginning I could do a whole post on socks.  

First,  if there is a hell, mine will certainly involve socks.  I have 3 males in my house and although they are of varying ages they have all been blessed with large feet (so even though they are all over the age spectrum – their shoe size is almost the same). I often quote that “I am in tube sock hell”. Except due to the weather, fashion trends or what have you, I’m actually in black “no show” sock hell. And. NONE. of. them. match.  

Matchin' ain't happenin'


Second, you would not believe the dirty, no crunchy, socks that litter every crevice of my home. It is, I believe, part of  the male anatomy to shed their socks every couple of hours. It is also a necessary evil to continue to purchase black no see-um socks every couple of weeks because none of my children can find clean socks.  

My bathroom -- wait, why are they in here?


Third, I won’t even delve into my youngest female child and her massive issues with socks. I talked it about here. Yes, this is another form of hell which we regularly participate in first thing in the morning. (At least her socks are not black.)  

The hallway


The Dining Room -- ewww and please forgive the dirt on the floor. The house cleaner is on sabbatical.


Take that preachers, priests, priestesses and the like:  the way to true fire and brimstone begins with SOCKS.