Send him to us, Kick knows EVERYTHING about parenting.
Ha ha HAAAA! But you know Kick would decide that he was good wood, he’d just been messed up by bad parenting and it was too late, but not at all Kick’s fault. And he would be right. Continue reading
…is not good. How not good? Well, he doesn’t have to repeat sixth grade, but at his current trajectory he’ll have to repeat seventh.
And today was the fare-well thingy for the Sniglet’s kindergarten, with flowers and speeches and gifts and speeches and also some more speeches. And some talking.
Wow. Only 11:00 and already a crappy day.
Song du jour of the day: I Know It’s Over, by the Smiths. That’s my self-pity anthem, the song that is so over-the-top pathetic that I use it to remind myself to get a freaking grip already.
Scattered, blendery thoughts, having trouble settling them down. Since I have to put one word in front of the other, the only way I can think to describe all of this will give you an inaccurately linear impression of what’s going on in here, because my thoughts are really just a big sack of chaos today, and I want mindmapping software for this entry. Continue reading
Okay, to be fair, it’s not really a German thing, exactly, just this school. Well all right it is a German thing, in that it’s probably more likely to happen here, but there are Germans who can see that this is insane, without me having to explain it to them.
So the parking space next to ours is occupied by this brown mercedes. Always. Until recently it was covered in what would look like old Saran Wrap, if they made it in that size, and even though the Saran Wrap is gone, the car is always there. I don’t think anyone drives it. Nevertheless, I found a note on my windshield today that said “Leave enough space for the neighbor to get in their car!” (my translation).
I fumed about it while I drove the Sniglet to his grandparents’ house, and when I got back, I wrote on the same piece of paper, “I do leave enough space for the neighbor who uses her car. By the way, some people say ‘Please’.”
Oh my God. I’ve got the German officiousness. I need a Silkwood shower, quick!
Song du jour of the day: Get Off of My Cloud, by the Rolling Stones.
Ignatz has um, I call them “adventure-pants,” you know, with the lots of pockets and they zip off at the knee to turn into shorts and all that. I don’t know what other people call them. Anyway, they’re black, and the numerous zippers have little beige loops on them. They dangle and swing when he moves, and Lilu is utterly fascinated with them. During her freaky moods, she will hang by her claws on his leg and try to eat the zipper pulls, and he moves around the kitchen, getting juice or making a sandwich and completely ignoring the furious battle happening right there on his leg. But occasionally claws meet skin, so today he told her, “I’m not going to let you climb my leg and eat my dangly thing every day. Just this once.”
Oh, my. Oh, dear. Oh, no. Maybe.
Right, y’all know my kid has ADHD, and is also gifted. And these are real and true diagnoses from an actual clinical psychologist and a pediatrician, not just… whatever crap theory du jour Dr Phil is barfing up (in the case of the ADHD), and not just the my-child-is-so-special thing you hear from yuppie moms (re the giftedness). Continue reading