Games are great. They challenge your mind. They offer up a chance at friendly competition. They make me want to shoot someone in the face.
Over the holidays a group of my friends decided to play a game called Things. How you play the game:
One person in your group asks a question...for example, what shouldn't you cook for dinner? Then everyone else writes down an answer, folds up that answer and hands it to the person who asked the question. That person then reads all of the answers. Then one by one everyone except the reader gets a chance to guess at who answered what to the question. If someone guesses your answer, you are out. If you guess someone elses answer, you get a point. He with the most points wins. And the reader alternates between the players.
So there we were. All playing nicely. The question is thrown out there:
What would you like to find in your horoscope?
I realize pretty quick that I should answer with something I wouldn't care to find in my horoscope so that no one will guess my answer. So I write down...sports scores.
Just like I planned, no one guessed and I ended up winning that round with 7 points. When it came out that I had written that answer, the others caught on. It was like, oh...you answered the opposite of what you normally would so no one would guess your answer...smart!
So for the next round...I figured...I'm going to guess like me. You know, to throw everyone off.
So the question came out. What shouldn't you say to a teacher?
So I write down, you suck at life.
So the reader has the answers and she reads them all off. And then someone yells out my answer and says, that was probably Terrina. So the next person to guess went ahead and took a guess. Um, Terrina said...you suck at life. And there it was. I was out of that round. And pissed.
From then on I referred to that person as a cheater. I made it CLEAR that I was utterly annoyed. Truth be told, I'm a terrible sport. I don't play games I can't win, or at least place high in. And if I have to lose, I don't so much mind .... IF I LOSE FAIR AND SQUARE. I don't like losing because someone cheated.
On with the story.
So round three. The question is, What shouldn't you call your children?
I wrote Sinners.
The reader reads the answers...and what do you think happens? The same guy says...Ha, Sinners...that was Terrina.
THAT WAS IT!!
I threw down my remaining pieces of paper and excused myself from the game. And by excused myself I mean I stomped out cussing and screaming and telling everyone they were assholes. Did I mention my daughter was in the room? Yeah, I'm a mess.
And the poorest of sports apparently.
and a bad mom.
Bottom line: I shouldn't be allowed to play games.
Showing posts with label being Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being Mom. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Currently Chasing: The upgrade
I got the new Iphone4! It was time for an upgrade. Or was it?
It's white. I bought a cover for it at the very first Kiosk I saw, and then of course saw a hundred different cases I'd rather have. That always happens. But for now, I'm sticking with the one I originally bought. I've been realizing lately that in life there is always going to be something 'just around the bend' that seems flashier than what you've already got...but you just spent $20 bucks on something you just a second ago thought was the best thing ever...so why are we always so quick to jump at what we think is an upgrade.
Everything fit fine on my other phone. My 3Gs wasn't perfect - it would often tell me there was no SIM card installed and I would have to take off my earring and use the back of it to get the SIM card out, then I would blow on it and stick it back in the slot (that worked for my phone just as well as it works for most things) - but overall, my phone was fine. It made it to Afghanistan and back and I even got $150 bucks on the trade in. That phone was a trooper. But I traded it away, got my new white Iphone4 and that was that. So now I can do cool things like face time, which means I can see the person I'm calling, and I can use the the front facing camera as a mirror if I'm in a pinch. It's all part of the upgrade.
My BF wasn't due for an 'upgrade' until December, but took a look at my pretty-fly-for-a-white phone and decided he had to have one. So we head back to the mall. He gets $180 for his old phone, decides he likes the black better than the white, gets a fancy new case and before you know it we are both owners of a phone that barely gets signal in our either of our homes. Perfection.
So he has it connected to his itunes so he could reinstall of his apps, photos, notes and what not.
"I really hope all of my apps make it over," he said.
"They will," I reassured him.
"Did all of your stuff make it over?" he asked.
"Yes, but I had to delete most of my pictures because my music takes up so much space," I said.
"How much music do you have?" he asked.
"About 1200 songs," I said.
"Geezus! I only have like 100 songs," he responds.
"I like to listen to music," I said.
"No, you like spending money," he replied.
Boy was he right. He told me I should put the music into folders and only put the music I actually listen to on my Iphone and keep the rest in easily transferrable folders that I can add here and there if I need to. I told him I would think about doing that since it sounded a whole lot like organization and in the words of Cee-Lo...Fuck you oo oo.
So I start to doze off and he says something about rubbing his back. I'm so tired at this point, and I have to wake up for work bright and early, so I groggily say something like, "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that."
He pulls out his Iphone, pushes a few buttons, presses it up to my ear and hits play. All of a sudden meatloaf is blaring from his Itunes library.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. You have like three fucking songs on your Iphone and that is one of them?"
"I like that song," he said.
So we listen to the song...once it's over I begin to doze again...but then with insane alertness I say:
"Have you ever just thought about being a grown up? When I was younger I used to think my mother had every answer. She just seemed so all knowing. Now I know she was just a scared 19-year-old girl who married her step brother. (different story for a different time.) My mom paid bills and took care of me and I mean, I thought she was a grown up, but she wasn't. She probably didn't feel like a grown up for quite a few years after I was born. And when I see bills arrive in my mail, I pay them with money that I earn at a job. And I own a house and I'm a grown up. But I don't feel like one. And my daugther thinks I have all the answers and I don't? For fucks sake I'm still walking around looking for my upgrades!"
I pause there, and wait for his response.
"My fucking fruit Ninja didn't transfer over," he says frustrated.
"I'm so glad I'm pouring my soul out to you and you are mad because you can't virtually slice fruit with your fucking finger."
I ended up laughing about it then, and I'm still laughing about it now...but in that moment I could only think one thing.
Upgrade.
It's white. I bought a cover for it at the very first Kiosk I saw, and then of course saw a hundred different cases I'd rather have. That always happens. But for now, I'm sticking with the one I originally bought. I've been realizing lately that in life there is always going to be something 'just around the bend' that seems flashier than what you've already got...but you just spent $20 bucks on something you just a second ago thought was the best thing ever...so why are we always so quick to jump at what we think is an upgrade.
Everything fit fine on my other phone. My 3Gs wasn't perfect - it would often tell me there was no SIM card installed and I would have to take off my earring and use the back of it to get the SIM card out, then I would blow on it and stick it back in the slot (that worked for my phone just as well as it works for most things) - but overall, my phone was fine. It made it to Afghanistan and back and I even got $150 bucks on the trade in. That phone was a trooper. But I traded it away, got my new white Iphone4 and that was that. So now I can do cool things like face time, which means I can see the person I'm calling, and I can use the the front facing camera as a mirror if I'm in a pinch. It's all part of the upgrade.
My BF wasn't due for an 'upgrade' until December, but took a look at my pretty-fly-for-a-white phone and decided he had to have one. So we head back to the mall. He gets $180 for his old phone, decides he likes the black better than the white, gets a fancy new case and before you know it we are both owners of a phone that barely gets signal in our either of our homes. Perfection.
So he has it connected to his itunes so he could reinstall of his apps, photos, notes and what not.
"I really hope all of my apps make it over," he said.
"They will," I reassured him.
"Did all of your stuff make it over?" he asked.
"Yes, but I had to delete most of my pictures because my music takes up so much space," I said.
"How much music do you have?" he asked.
"About 1200 songs," I said.
"Geezus! I only have like 100 songs," he responds.
"I like to listen to music," I said.
"No, you like spending money," he replied.
Boy was he right. He told me I should put the music into folders and only put the music I actually listen to on my Iphone and keep the rest in easily transferrable folders that I can add here and there if I need to. I told him I would think about doing that since it sounded a whole lot like organization and in the words of Cee-Lo...Fuck you oo oo.
So I start to doze off and he says something about rubbing his back. I'm so tired at this point, and I have to wake up for work bright and early, so I groggily say something like, "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that."
He pulls out his Iphone, pushes a few buttons, presses it up to my ear and hits play. All of a sudden meatloaf is blaring from his Itunes library.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask. You have like three fucking songs on your Iphone and that is one of them?"
"I like that song," he said.
So we listen to the song...once it's over I begin to doze again...but then with insane alertness I say:
"Have you ever just thought about being a grown up? When I was younger I used to think my mother had every answer. She just seemed so all knowing. Now I know she was just a scared 19-year-old girl who married her step brother. (different story for a different time.) My mom paid bills and took care of me and I mean, I thought she was a grown up, but she wasn't. She probably didn't feel like a grown up for quite a few years after I was born. And when I see bills arrive in my mail, I pay them with money that I earn at a job. And I own a house and I'm a grown up. But I don't feel like one. And my daugther thinks I have all the answers and I don't? For fucks sake I'm still walking around looking for my upgrades!"
I pause there, and wait for his response.
"My fucking fruit Ninja didn't transfer over," he says frustrated.
"I'm so glad I'm pouring my soul out to you and you are mad because you can't virtually slice fruit with your fucking finger."
I ended up laughing about it then, and I'm still laughing about it now...but in that moment I could only think one thing.
Upgrade.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Currently Chasing: Not Flannel!
My friend Mike is a card. If you don’t believe me, ask the flannel thong in my recent care package. Flannel PJs I understand, but a flannel thong. He asked me for my size, but in all honesty, I thought he was kidding – until I received the package, and pulled out this string thing with a triangle shaped flannel patch attached to it. Yep, this will surely keep me warm in this 22 degree weather. Thanks Mike, nothing says warrior like a lumberjack style thong…
That package is one of the last ones I’ll be receiving here…it’s about that time. I can’t believe I’ve already been here almost six months. But when I think back, time has really flown. People who were single when I left are engaged or even married now. People have moved, transferred, gotten pregnant and had babies. Six months didn’t feel like THAT long. However, when I talk to my daughter on the phone, she sounds like a grownup. I’ve been away. And I’m looking forward to being back. A new year! So many things I plan on doing this year.
1. Take my daughter on a Disney Cruise. The moment I get back she is flying in and we are heading to Florida. I’m excited and anxious. I’ve always told her we would go on an actual vacation, and we are.
2. I’m going to become a certified Zumba instructor. I’m flying to New York and my friend Danielle and I are driving to Rochester to spend the day getting certified. It’s going to be incredible.
3. I’m running a half marathon. I’ve run 5Ks here and I’m running a 10k at the end of January…and in October, my friend Sonya and I are driving to Long Island to run about 13 miles in the DIVA half marathon.
4. Reconnect with my friends. Before I left I was on auto pilot. Already disconnecting myself from my life so I could prepare for ‘WAR.’ I was not the person they had grown to love, and I’m looking forward to once again becoming ‘me.’
5. Getting my hair done! Don’t get me wrong. I’ve actually had some pretty incredible luck out here. I’ve gotten two haircuts and highlights, and that has worked out well. But I’m ready for Kathy to take me back to fabulous! More blond and a cut I’ve been eye balling for a while now.
6. My lesbian pedicures! Yep, there is a nail salon in Maryland where you order your pedicure from a menu. They serve you wine, cheese and fruit while they spend no less than an hour making love to your feet! And they finish it off with a neck and back massage. You are wondering about the lesbian part right? Well they make you take your shirt off so they can really massage you…and trust me, you won’t mind.
So this year is full of things to do and plenty of time to do it all. I’m excited about what 2011 holds. I’m ready for anything…except a flannel thong.
That package is one of the last ones I’ll be receiving here…it’s about that time. I can’t believe I’ve already been here almost six months. But when I think back, time has really flown. People who were single when I left are engaged or even married now. People have moved, transferred, gotten pregnant and had babies. Six months didn’t feel like THAT long. However, when I talk to my daughter on the phone, she sounds like a grownup. I’ve been away. And I’m looking forward to being back. A new year! So many things I plan on doing this year.
1. Take my daughter on a Disney Cruise. The moment I get back she is flying in and we are heading to Florida. I’m excited and anxious. I’ve always told her we would go on an actual vacation, and we are.
2. I’m going to become a certified Zumba instructor. I’m flying to New York and my friend Danielle and I are driving to Rochester to spend the day getting certified. It’s going to be incredible.
3. I’m running a half marathon. I’ve run 5Ks here and I’m running a 10k at the end of January…and in October, my friend Sonya and I are driving to Long Island to run about 13 miles in the DIVA half marathon.
4. Reconnect with my friends. Before I left I was on auto pilot. Already disconnecting myself from my life so I could prepare for ‘WAR.’ I was not the person they had grown to love, and I’m looking forward to once again becoming ‘me.’
5. Getting my hair done! Don’t get me wrong. I’ve actually had some pretty incredible luck out here. I’ve gotten two haircuts and highlights, and that has worked out well. But I’m ready for Kathy to take me back to fabulous! More blond and a cut I’ve been eye balling for a while now.
6. My lesbian pedicures! Yep, there is a nail salon in Maryland where you order your pedicure from a menu. They serve you wine, cheese and fruit while they spend no less than an hour making love to your feet! And they finish it off with a neck and back massage. You are wondering about the lesbian part right? Well they make you take your shirt off so they can really massage you…and trust me, you won’t mind.
So this year is full of things to do and plenty of time to do it all. I’m excited about what 2011 holds. I’m ready for anything…except a flannel thong.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Currently Chasing: A Boob Job
I used to be obsessed with a Tummy Tuck. I would talk about it, research it, look at before and after pictures and talk to people who had the procedure done. I wanted to know everything. I even went to a doctor and had him look me up and down and tell me what he could do for me.
But then one day while I was talking about it with a friend of mine, my daughter overheard. She said, mom, what is wrong with your stomach? How come you don’t like it? I told her there were lines on it called stretch marks and I didn’t like them. She asked me how they got there…I told her I got them from having her inside me. She thought about it for a minute and then said, so you don’t like the lines that I gave you?
The shear fact that she turned these hideous stretch marks into evidence of one of my greatest accomplishments floored me. But the look on her face was priceless. She was concerned that I wanted to ‘erase’ what she worked for nine months to give me. So I stopped thinking so much about the Tummy Tuck and eventually it was out of my mind.
The other day someone took a picture of me … and for once I wasn’t complaining that I looked fat. I wasn’t getting pissed at myself for not sucking in well enough. I wasn’t hitting delete a hundred times and cropping like a crazy person to just keep the focus on the cute face…I was actually ‘dare I say’ happy with the photo. Except for one thing. My BOOBS!
It seems like with a little weight loss comes the reality that not all of it is weight you WANT to lose. Some of it is weight you’d like to keep … But you don’t get to pick and choose where you lose, and unfortunately my chest has suffered a loss.
 |
| This was just a year ago! There it was, in all its GLORY - My cleavage! |
Meanwhile my roommate is running around with a full rack. Every time I turn around she is reminding me that she needs to put on two sports bras due to her voluptuous womanhood. She’ll look at a picture of herself and say things like “Oh my God…my boobs look huge.” I’ve got news, they don’t just look huge…they’ve got a damn zip code.
So lately I’ve been thinking..what if I just ‘enhanced’ a bit? Would it be so bad? A friend of mine said … well, think about it. Once they are fake, they are just that…fake. But so are my highlights…and my lips aren’t really paradise pink…and I wasn’t born with sparkle eye shadow on my eyes. And last time I checked…nails weren’t actually made out of acrylic. And oh yeah..i’m not really this tall…It’s the shoes. So much of what we do already is … fake.
I’m not saying I want double Ds. I would be happy with single Cs. I’m only asking for what I’ve already had. And it may ‘naturally’ offset my ass a bit and cause a little more proportion…
So I’m pretty sure I want a boob job. That is unless my daughter decides to make me feel bad about changing her infant sippy cups. Come on kid, something’s gotta give.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Currently Chasing: My Own Parking Spot
So news flash: It's been snowing. It's the only time in my life when I've been dissapointed the more each inch reveals itself.
So I decide that it's in my best interest to go out and start shoveling...a little here, a little there...eventually making it easier on me in the long run. And so I do.
I dig my car out of it's confines and now it sits. I want to drive to the mall. I want to drive to the grocery store. (I mean, I bought a gallon of ice cream in prep for the storm, but that sucker has long since been demo'd.) I need more ice cream. I need more ramen noodles. I need more cereal. I need!
Here's the deal. I can't move my car. You see, even though I own my home, what I don't own, is a parking spot of my own. And for that reason I am trapped! I don't want to give up my parking spot and I know it will happen! These people are vultures.
Earlier today my neighbor left. He put up a barrier in front of the spot he dug out. An SUV sat on his horn for thirty straight minutes until my neighbors wife came out and removed the barrier. He could have gotten out of his fucking gas guzzler and moved the fucking thing himself. But he wanted to make sure we all suffered...Twice! Once during the initial digging out of the spot, and the second being victims of his rant and rave!
Life is too short people. Just be nice! A friend of mine was in traffic the other day. A girl was trying to merge. My friend, known mostly for her anger and sarcasm, basically told the woman to eat a dick. The women in turn got very very calm. She looked at my friend and said, please be nice. My friend was put in check and she knew it. She let the kind angel in the Honda merge. Hell, she let every stranger, including the ones who had mustaches, merge.
It's time for manners. I mean, if you read the last blog (including comments)...then you know, we all get checked from time to time. I want to feed my daughter. She deserves more for dinner than little smokeys marinated in texas pete. She deserves the best. Hamburger Helper for God's sake. And dare I say it...some mint and chip.
So I'm going to take a chance. I'm going to leave my spot. And I'm not even going to put a chair there to block it. I'm going to go on faith that the people around me will take pity on a single mom just trying to make it in this cold cruel world. And if faith doesn't work, then I'm posting my daughter in that spot holding a sign that simply says...please, be nice. YOU FUCKING BITCHES!
So I decide that it's in my best interest to go out and start shoveling...a little here, a little there...eventually making it easier on me in the long run. And so I do.
I dig my car out of it's confines and now it sits. I want to drive to the mall. I want to drive to the grocery store. (I mean, I bought a gallon of ice cream in prep for the storm, but that sucker has long since been demo'd.) I need more ice cream. I need more ramen noodles. I need more cereal. I need!
Here's the deal. I can't move my car. You see, even though I own my home, what I don't own, is a parking spot of my own. And for that reason I am trapped! I don't want to give up my parking spot and I know it will happen! These people are vultures.
Earlier today my neighbor left. He put up a barrier in front of the spot he dug out. An SUV sat on his horn for thirty straight minutes until my neighbors wife came out and removed the barrier. He could have gotten out of his fucking gas guzzler and moved the fucking thing himself. But he wanted to make sure we all suffered...Twice! Once during the initial digging out of the spot, and the second being victims of his rant and rave!
Life is too short people. Just be nice! A friend of mine was in traffic the other day. A girl was trying to merge. My friend, known mostly for her anger and sarcasm, basically told the woman to eat a dick. The women in turn got very very calm. She looked at my friend and said, please be nice. My friend was put in check and she knew it. She let the kind angel in the Honda merge. Hell, she let every stranger, including the ones who had mustaches, merge.
It's time for manners. I mean, if you read the last blog (including comments)...then you know, we all get checked from time to time. I want to feed my daughter. She deserves more for dinner than little smokeys marinated in texas pete. She deserves the best. Hamburger Helper for God's sake. And dare I say it...some mint and chip.
So I'm going to take a chance. I'm going to leave my spot. And I'm not even going to put a chair there to block it. I'm going to go on faith that the people around me will take pity on a single mom just trying to make it in this cold cruel world. And if faith doesn't work, then I'm posting my daughter in that spot holding a sign that simply says...please, be nice. YOU FUCKING BITCHES!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Currently Chasing: Belief
I took my daughter to see the movie The Tooth Fairy this weekend. It was a good feel good movie about believing.
You see, a few weeks ago her tooth fell out. Right before we got ready to go to bed she said, "Oh wait, my tooth."
Well, I didn't have any cash on me. So I did what I've come to find out no parent ever does. I told her the TRUTH. I said, "It's time you know, the tooth fairy doesn't really exist. The tooth fairy is just me."
She said, "You have all my teeth?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you give me money?"
"Yes," I said.
"Are you still going to give me money?"
"Yes," I said.
"Okay then," she said. "The thought of a fairy slipping into the house was a little creepy anyway." And then she fell asleep.
A few days later we were driving in the car an playing the question game. She would ask me a question and then I would ask her one back.
So I asked, "If you could ask God any question, what would it be?
She said, "I'd ask him if he believes in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus."
I asked her why.
She said, "Well, it seems like no one believes in those guys simply because they can't see them. But no one can see God either. So I just wonder if he believes in things he can't see."
And there you go, the wisdom of an 8 year old. And then I take her to see this movie, the theme of which is about letting children imagine and believe, and put that together with the events of the past month and I'm a jaded, bitter adult with no imagination.
I mean, why shouldn't I believe in the tooth fairy? I believe in Love, and I've never actually seen that either.
You see, a few weeks ago her tooth fell out. Right before we got ready to go to bed she said, "Oh wait, my tooth."
Well, I didn't have any cash on me. So I did what I've come to find out no parent ever does. I told her the TRUTH. I said, "It's time you know, the tooth fairy doesn't really exist. The tooth fairy is just me."
She said, "You have all my teeth?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you give me money?"
"Yes," I said.
"Are you still going to give me money?"
"Yes," I said.
"Okay then," she said. "The thought of a fairy slipping into the house was a little creepy anyway." And then she fell asleep.
A few days later we were driving in the car an playing the question game. She would ask me a question and then I would ask her one back.
So I asked, "If you could ask God any question, what would it be?
She said, "I'd ask him if he believes in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus."
I asked her why.
She said, "Well, it seems like no one believes in those guys simply because they can't see them. But no one can see God either. So I just wonder if he believes in things he can't see."
And there you go, the wisdom of an 8 year old. And then I take her to see this movie, the theme of which is about letting children imagine and believe, and put that together with the events of the past month and I'm a jaded, bitter adult with no imagination.
I mean, why shouldn't I believe in the tooth fairy? I believe in Love, and I've never actually seen that either.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Currently Chasing: A Normal Childhood
I watch discovery channel. I've flipped through the pages of National Geographic. I'm cultured. I know in some countries it is necessary to breast feed a child for an insane amount of time. If you cannot afford food, and your body is producing some for free, and it is the only way your child is going to get fed, well then, extreme times calls for extreme measures.
But if you are just a self proclaimed naturalist who feels the need to breast feed your 4-year-old...well, I think there is a show on dateline you may want to watch.
At some point it is just not as natural as it starts out being. I mean, sure I breast fed my daughter. But I only did it for about six months…not six damn years.
I know it's a part of life. It's healthy for the baby, it's nature's way. But I went to a Yoga Class for mothers once and the teacher's son walked up to her and said, I'm hungry. She said ok. He sat down, lifted her shirt, and began drinking. He was fucking old enough to ask for a drink! Get the kid a Capri sun! I mean seriously!
A doctor at the hospital I worked at was still breast feeding her 5-year-old. She said, "People find it strange, but he is my son and I want to start him off with the best chance at a healthy life." Do you really? Then get your tit out of his face before he starts needing a shrink.
My daughter is 8. I don't think she feels like she was cheated out of something special because at 5 years old she drank her milk from a carton.
But if you are just a self proclaimed naturalist who feels the need to breast feed your 4-year-old...well, I think there is a show on dateline you may want to watch.
At some point it is just not as natural as it starts out being. I mean, sure I breast fed my daughter. But I only did it for about six months…not six damn years.
I know it's a part of life. It's healthy for the baby, it's nature's way. But I went to a Yoga Class for mothers once and the teacher's son walked up to her and said, I'm hungry. She said ok. He sat down, lifted her shirt, and began drinking. He was fucking old enough to ask for a drink! Get the kid a Capri sun! I mean seriously!
A doctor at the hospital I worked at was still breast feeding her 5-year-old. She said, "People find it strange, but he is my son and I want to start him off with the best chance at a healthy life." Do you really? Then get your tit out of his face before he starts needing a shrink.
My daughter is 8. I don't think she feels like she was cheated out of something special because at 5 years old she drank her milk from a carton.
Friday, June 19, 2009
You want me to use a paddle?
(Original Post: November 15, 2006 - Wednesday)
The other day my daughter stuck her tongue out. She pushed it way out there and the teacher was pissed. Then she did it again. She was told to stop, yet, for good measure, she stuck it out there one more time. Well, that was that. The teacher pulled her into the office and had a talk with her. They told her to go into 'timeout.' She refused. They told her to sit down and be still, she refused. They called her father. He read her the riot act. She promised to oblige. But didn't.So they called me. I mean really? What am I going to do? Get on the phone with her and in my meanest voice tell her to knock it off? Well, actually the school had something different in mind. They asked me to make my way to the building. This was a serious infraction and she needed to be 'punished.'So off I go. When I get there she is in the office. The principal talks to me about her behavior. About how they will not tolerate a child disobeying. About how awful it is to stick your tongue out. He suggests to me that I punish my daughter in private, and then send her out to apologize to the teacher. Then he does something I still cannot believe. He says, "Here is what we recommend." He opens a drawer and pulls out a paddle. He holds it firmly. He then proceeds to bend over a chair. He says, "We have the child bend over a chair, like so. And then we ask the parent to paddle them, three times, hard." Meanwhile he is spanking himself with this paddle, three times, hard. It's disturbing. If you have to go back and reread this paragraph, then do it. I'll wait.So then he hands me the paddle and he walks out. I'm frozen. I look at my daughter. She looks at me. We are in a daze. Finally I say, well, you heard the man...bend over the chair. She gets a horrified look on her face. The problem is, I know when she emerges from this room they fully expect her to be in tears. They want me to paddle her, three times, hard. She bends over the chair and I manage one very weak attempt at a spanking. The second time is a bit harder. She perks up a bit and tells me that it hurt. I don't see the point in doing it a third time. I send her out to say sorry. It is then that he chooses to give us both a lecture on the purposes of a tongue. It is for eating and talking and ... he leaves himself open for a third thing...but think about it. There is really no third thing...but he can't just end the sentence because inflection has ended up and we are not at the natural end of a sentence. So he says, It is for eating and talking and ... other things.OTHER THINGS?! What other things...that's what I want to know. What the heck is he talking about. He feels the vibe is strange, and mumbles something to my little one about growing up and working and how coworkers will not like it if she sticks her tongue out. I'm just trying to get the F out of there. A few days later a note was sent home with her. It spells out that she has thrown a temper tantrum twice and if it happens a third time they will call me to come in and paddle her. There it was again, in black and white. Paddle. Did I mention this is a private Christian school?Now, whenever I ask how her day was she says, 'I didn't Sin, so that's good, right mommy?"I wonder what age she will be when she seeks out her first therapist.
The other day my daughter stuck her tongue out. She pushed it way out there and the teacher was pissed. Then she did it again. She was told to stop, yet, for good measure, she stuck it out there one more time. Well, that was that. The teacher pulled her into the office and had a talk with her. They told her to go into 'timeout.' She refused. They told her to sit down and be still, she refused. They called her father. He read her the riot act. She promised to oblige. But didn't.So they called me. I mean really? What am I going to do? Get on the phone with her and in my meanest voice tell her to knock it off? Well, actually the school had something different in mind. They asked me to make my way to the building. This was a serious infraction and she needed to be 'punished.'So off I go. When I get there she is in the office. The principal talks to me about her behavior. About how they will not tolerate a child disobeying. About how awful it is to stick your tongue out. He suggests to me that I punish my daughter in private, and then send her out to apologize to the teacher. Then he does something I still cannot believe. He says, "Here is what we recommend." He opens a drawer and pulls out a paddle. He holds it firmly. He then proceeds to bend over a chair. He says, "We have the child bend over a chair, like so. And then we ask the parent to paddle them, three times, hard." Meanwhile he is spanking himself with this paddle, three times, hard. It's disturbing. If you have to go back and reread this paragraph, then do it. I'll wait.So then he hands me the paddle and he walks out. I'm frozen. I look at my daughter. She looks at me. We are in a daze. Finally I say, well, you heard the man...bend over the chair. She gets a horrified look on her face. The problem is, I know when she emerges from this room they fully expect her to be in tears. They want me to paddle her, three times, hard. She bends over the chair and I manage one very weak attempt at a spanking. The second time is a bit harder. She perks up a bit and tells me that it hurt. I don't see the point in doing it a third time. I send her out to say sorry. It is then that he chooses to give us both a lecture on the purposes of a tongue. It is for eating and talking and ... he leaves himself open for a third thing...but think about it. There is really no third thing...but he can't just end the sentence because inflection has ended up and we are not at the natural end of a sentence. So he says, It is for eating and talking and ... other things.OTHER THINGS?! What other things...that's what I want to know. What the heck is he talking about. He feels the vibe is strange, and mumbles something to my little one about growing up and working and how coworkers will not like it if she sticks her tongue out. I'm just trying to get the F out of there. A few days later a note was sent home with her. It spells out that she has thrown a temper tantrum twice and if it happens a third time they will call me to come in and paddle her. There it was again, in black and white. Paddle. Did I mention this is a private Christian school?Now, whenever I ask how her day was she says, 'I didn't Sin, so that's good, right mommy?"I wonder what age she will be when she seeks out her first therapist.
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