Mama? I love you, but you’re just a little bit evil.
Monthly Archives: February 2006
He: Mama, what for dinner?
Me: Chicken noodle soup! Homemade!
He: Aww, why you hafta everytime make things I don’t like?
Me: No, this is great! If you’re sick, it’ll make you better, it’s like medicine!
He: Mama. I ate this soup one time and then I got a liiiiiiittle bit sicker.
Oh, right! I should have mentioned this sooner. Remember the Lost Wallet, With Housekey Attached? Well, um. It has been found, in a place I was sure I’d looked, but not thoroughly enough. In DrBob’s drawer.
We have a…a thing-with-drawers (in German it’s called a Kommode, *snork*) in the front hallway, with one drawer for each family member. For hats, scarves, mittens, that sort of thing. I did a cursory sweep through all of them, but failed to spot the black wallet in among DrBob’s all-black accessory collection, because I didn’t really expect it to be there, because everyone in the house knows which drawer is theirs. With one exception.
Yes, things do wind up in the wrong drawers, occasionally, but only – ONLY – on DrBob’s watch. For instance, if the Sniglet’s hat finds its way into my drawer, it happens on the day DrBob picked him up from kindergarten. We also have a shoe-shelf, and we all put things on it when we first come in, just to get our hands free for shucking jackets etc. We’re all supposed to clean our stuff off the shoe-shelf right away, but we don’t always. So Ignatz remembered leaving his wallet on the shoe-shelf, but didn’t know what happened to it after that. I did posit that it might have gotten swept up in one of DrBob’s cleaning jags, but DrBob, angry about the lost wallet, did not appreciate being accused, and hotly denied it.
However. Everybody knows which drawer is whose. Nobody ever puts anything in DrBob’s drawer, except for DrBob. When he gets on his cleaning jags, he just wants every loose item out of sight – he does not, um, agree with my filing system, so he just throws everything in the nearest handy out-of-sight place. Frankly, all the evidence points to him this time. Of course he will never, ever admit that he might have been responsible for this, which means he won’t apologize, which is unfortunate.
Do not let this lull you into thinking Ignatz doesn’t have a problem with disorganization. He does. He never did find his pencil-case, though he managed to replace it with this funny Japanese thing my SIL sent one Christmas when, she told me, she was absolutely without inspiration and just threw some stuff in a box (1: thanks, Shel, those presents turned out to be really useful. 2: here we have reason to be glad Ignatz the Pack Rat never ever throws anything away). He never did find those other two house keys he lost, either, or any number of hats and gloves.
So yes, he is disorganized. But the point I wanted to make is that, while I do believe Ignatz has ADHD, and therefore has challenges to overcome that other kids don’t, I also want you to notice that he lives in an environment that exacerbates his problems. Largely due to me, because I have organization problems myself, and I don’t want you to think I’m ducking my responsibility here. But incidents like this one really, really don’t help. Because if all the evidence points to DrBob, and he authoritatively denies his role in the latest crisis, then either Ignatz’s self-esteem will have to take a hit, or else his respect for his father. Neither way is good.
This time Ignatz gave his dad a big hug and a thank you for finding his missing wallet. Nice that he remembered to say thank you, since that’s a chronic problem. But I think that means he’s shouldering all the blame for this mistake. Again.
Go knit and find yourself some peace!
Arrgh. I re-designed the sweater for Ignatz and it’s much too small, since he decided to resume that whole growing-thing we thought he’d given up on. So now it’s a sweater for the Sniglet. I made the neck too tight and had to frog it – after I cut the yarn, so I’ll have to make a bigger neck with not-enough yarn, so more ends to tuck in, which is the single most hateful thing about knitting. See, even knitting can be stressful when I Get Like This.
Don’t worry though, I go through these phases. At some point it’ll all just go away and everything will be fine.
Also, DrBob is sick and increasingly grouchy. And the yard is full of (frozen, thawed, and now re-frozen) cat poop from the neighbor’s cat. And the house needs reorganizing, which means another trip to Ikea, but not until I get everything cleared out and…well, reorganized.
Hm. So all in all, I guess I’m glad that I never got an answer on my job application. Even though it looked like a pretty cool job. I really don’t have time for that right now. Of course, not getting a regular job means I should be picking up more freelance work here and there, which will leave me less time to find a regular job.
So now I’m watching the Finns slaughter the Russians (ice hockey – a rerun, no less) and while it doesn’t help me get my work done, a bit of vicarious violence is doing wonders for my mood.
DrBob had an article that needed proofreading, I got that done yesterday. 24 pages on self-fashioning via the Spanish colonial bureaucracy, urgh. He speaks um, somewhat disparagingly of historians these days, but I keep wishing he still was one. Then I might understand, oh, 10% of what I’m called on to proofread. Oh well, at least he’s not a linguist. Speaking of which, I’ve got a linguist who wants some proofreading done. I’m still thinking about it.
And DrBob’s just gone back to a website we translated awhile back and he found a few mistakes. So now he wants to go back over the whole thing, consisting of approximately one skillion jillion pages, which needs me. Um, isn’t he supposed to be working on that book which must be done by July or “It’s All Over” (whateverthehell “it” is)? Hellew, focus? Plus I’ve been here so long, doing this one specific thing – proofreading English texts written by Germans – I can’t tell anymore what sounds like good English and what is bad English that I’ve just gotten used to.
My brother sent me some inheritance-related paperwork ages ago that I still haven’t read. Apparently I have to deal with the IRS this year, because I had taxable income. Yay.
It’s snowing again. I’ve had this cold for weeks, and am now being attacked by several months’ worth of PMS, for no reason that I can think of.
Oh, I took Ignatz to Munich last Thursday! Exhausting, but productive. He went and started growing again, bizarrely – I think he was a size 128 for about three years – so he suddenly needed a buncha new shirts, right on the heels of my deciding that I’m not going to buy quick-disintegrating catalog crap anymore, which means going to an actual store. Of which – dig this – there aren’t any in this town! Wah! Not one kids’ clothing store, unless you count the used-stuff store, which apparently chooses their open hours via the dartboard method every day. Besides, as my readers with sons already know, between age 6 and 13 or so they totally trash their clothes, so nothing survives to be resold, and the used-stuff stores only have girl clothes in these sizes. So anyway. Due to a very annoying local tradition called Mad Thursday, Dorfener kids – and no other kids, anywhere in Germany – had the day off school. Woot! So that’s done. Oh right, and we saw a movie too. Um, Zathura. A science fiction story about why you have to be nice to your little brother.
Training the intern at work has been um, wearing. She’s nice, and she’s smart, if a bit nervous, and she’s not making any serious mistakes. But the job is so complicated that the only way to teach it is to have her do it while I watch over her shoulder and explain each new situation as it arises. Which, it turns out, is basically a recipe for a splitting headache that is now going into day 3 (yes I have taken something for it, lots of something. In fact, hot stock tip here: Advil).
Mrs Next Door wants to give up her English conversation class and asks if I would like to take over. Four students, one hour a week, €20 per class, so I would have to teach…er, about 35 classes, I think, to make up what I paid for the TESL course which I have never yet used. I should do it just for that, so the course will not have been a total waste. At the moment, though, I don’t feel like it would be wise to take on yet another thing. If I got a pet rock, it would probably die of neglect in a day or two. I have a few days to decide whether I want to teach the class, and should probably not make the decision in my current, crappy mood.
I have lots of other things to be crabby about too, but this has gotten long enough. Even I find me tedious at this point.
Nearly every girl figure-skater has included this move in at least one of her routines this Olympics. Excuse me, why are they all doing this? Is it graceful? Is it attractive? No! Every one of them looks like a dog at a fire hydrant.