Daily Archives: 3 July 2006

status report

Today was the Sniglet’s day to check out this Transitional First Grade (a.k.a. Schulkindergarten) thing, get a feel for the space and the routine, meet his teachers, that sort of thing. I left him there for two hours, and when I went to pick him up he said it was his second-best day, after the Playmobil Funpark trip. I am really very pleased, because without his cooperation this could go really badly.

Oh, update on the plum-flinging story: Chuckie did confess his part in the action to his parents, and they gave him a good telling-off, which is appropriate to the crime and his age, so that turned out all right, and Ignatz’s resentment is assuaged.

And I’m sort of done with the quarter: that is, if I give up now, I still pass the class. I feel like a total heel for not seeing it all the way through, but the teacher wants to get on with his life, and I have too much else to do right now. I feel really, really bad about it, though. I am generally a pretty conscientious student, and I never feel okay about giving less than my best. But my best is needed for DrBob’s book now, and most of my hours belong to my job until next month. So sigh. And drat. But okay.

Question: Germany plays Italy in the semi-final tomorrow. Should I come home and watch it with my husband on our itty-bitty tv screen? Or should I stay in Munich, watch it on a big screen in an apartment full of his friends (without him, because it’s a school night and someone has to be home)? Bearing in mind that it will end around 11:30, which is too late to catch the last train home, so I would have to sleep on the futon in his office on Ludwigstrasse, which will be the primary shouting ground for the city’s riotously happy Germans or Italians, as the case may be. Hm. Tough choice.

Song du jour of the day: Arclight. By The Fat Lady Sings. Dreadful name for a band, I know, but I can’t not love their music. Sorry.

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Suburban drama

Well, I wrote a long post, but who has time to read about some stupid suburban kid nuisance. Upshot: Ignatz and (names changed to protect the guilty) his friend Tommy (age 10), Tommy’s little brother and the boy next door (Dil and Chuckie, both 4) threw plums at the row of houses across the footpath. Chuckie told on the others while leaving his own part of the story out. I hope it’s because he’s four, and he’ll grow some honor later.

We glared at Ignatz until he gave us the story, which is that he and Tommy found Dil and Chuckie throwing the plums and decided to join in. “You take behavior cues from four-year-olds?” I said. We went to tell Tommy and Dil’s parents about it, and Mrs Pickles immediately sidled up to me and says, “did anyone see them? Maybe the people who own the houses don’t know yet. We can say it was some other kids.” Jeeeez. Mr Pickles made reference to the kinds of things we did at that age, and DrBob pointed out that when we did, the ‘rents walloped us, didn’t they?

So the big kids had to help clean it up the next day, and Dil’s got no computer time for a week (because we can’t have him scampering around on a ladder). While they were cleaning, Mrs Pickles was going door-to-door giving everyone her “I can’t watch them every minute” speech. JEEEEeeeez. We sent Ignatz over to help, but since they didn’t tell us when they were going to do it, he came in at the end and got off pretty lightly. Lesson learned? I hope so, but I doubt it. Also, the soap and the scrubbing and the steam-blaster-thingy um… didn’t do the job, not really. There are still blotches on the houses. There are still three sets of parents who now have some serious social ammo, should I ever try to cross them in any way.

There is a possibility that the house we buy will be the one we live in now – in some ways, it would be the sensible choice. But at the moment, I’m not too keen on staying in this neighborhood.

Song du jour of the day: Alphaville. Forever Young.