Two Weeks of Grade One and One Eye Patch...I WIN!

We're finishing up our second week of first grade and so far I have to admit that I think we may survive it.

Maybe.

We've finally solved the great "Where the hell is all your lunch money going?!" mystery from kindergarten. Bonus came home one afternoon and said, "Momma, why haven't you ever made me sausage on a stick wrapped with a pancake?!"

Me: "Because I care about your arteries. Where did you have such a thing?!"

Bonus: "At school."

Me: "They served you meat on a stick, wrapped in a pancake for lunch?"

Bonus: "No, breakfast."

*LIGHT BULB*

The kid has been eating breakfast at home, riding the bus to school, eating breakfast in the cafeteria, having snack, eating lunch, having another snack, then coming home STARVING. I swear I am not going to be able to afford to feed him much longer...or we need to get the 'lunch money protection program' up and running again. (Last year, he came home with a Ziploc baggie with three dollars in it and his name written on the outside in a woman's handwriting. When I asked where the money came from, he shrugged his shoulders and slipped it back in his pocket. I decided that somethings, like magazines under the bed in teenage boy's room, were better left alone.)

So, for all those neighbors who watched my kid get off the bus almost daily with what we lovingly call "The Sticker of Shame" (a sticker on his shirt that says "I need lunch money") almost DAILY, this is why. See?! It's not only my crappy parenting!

Speaking of crappy parenting...yesterday morning was a fun one. We were walking out of the garage just as the bus was pulling up. Fortunately, the bus stop is at the end of our street, so I yelled to Sheshe to hold the bus. She yelled back, "You've got a runner!" and I turned just in time to see Bonus stealthy backing up into the garage. I was stuck between that, 'Do you scar your child for life and force them to run for the bus KNOWING they will always remember this moment and will forever hate you for it?!' and 'Would you survive the embarrassment of having to sprint for the bus yourself there, little Missy?!' But yes, I did it. I drug a crying child to the bus and put him on it. Normally, I would have just waved the bus on and driven him, but we were running late because of him, so I decided he should learn the lesson of 'now means NOW' and if it meant running for the bus...then so be it.

However, today I made up for that by driving him. More importantly, when we were late today, (hush) I walked him into the office and when the secretary looked at me and said, "You know, he has a minute until the bell, if he runs....." I cut her off mid-sentence and said, "No ma'am, we will take the tardy," and I walked him to class.

Because I don't always suck at this job.

I say that, but then Deuce just walked in like this:



So maybe this day isn't going in the 'win' column after all....


*Yes, Deuce is FINE....He just likes to play with bandages. No, it did not hurt coming off. No, I do not know why he has the sad panda look but I PROMISE he is fine. Honestly, the look goes quite well with the eye patch and I'm really hoping for a career path here....

Dare to Repeat It

Last month, my neighborhood book club read Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood by Alexandra Fuller. I had a busy month and had missed the previous meeting, so I hadn't read the book. I went to the meeting regardless because I wanted back in the loop (and let's be frank, it's an opportunity to have some adult conversation with some well-educated women, rather than the usual blather from two irrational bosses.)

At one point in the evening, the conversation turned to whether our past dictates our future. Granted, it wasn't as clear-cut as this, but in the essence of privacy I'm going to paraphrase. The mother in the story had become an alcoholic and the concern was that the daughter was doomed to have the same fate. Being the smart ass Southern Belle that I am, I raised my Riedel, holding approximately half a bottle of cabernet, and toasting the air proudly stated, "Being raised by an alcoholic mother, does not make one an alcoholic mother."

The room politely chuckled, used to my quips by now, and moved on, but something about that night stuck with me. In many ways, we spend our lives struggling to be the polar opposites of our parents. There are the occasional situations where children are raised by The Brady's and that's just swell, but honestly wolves would have a better sense of humor...

Like most, I have spent the better part of my adult life and most of my adolescence, striving to be a better person than my mother. The more time that passes since her death, the softer I've become toward her memory and the pain of the inferred inadequacies lessens. I will always catch myself and wonder if I am destined to be 'just like her' as some would claim. I look in the mirror and contemplate the similarities in our faces. There will always be a part of her living in me and I am tempering my rebellion towards it.

The irony of life is just when you feel certain that you have a handle on your life, reality has a way of seeking out your arrogance in the form of a phone call from the power company that employees your husband to let HIM know that your power will be shut off TOMORROW because your dumbass wife doesn't know the difference in the gas company and the power company and has been paying the wrong bill SINCE MARCH and therefore will have no POWER....eventhoughyouworkhere,sir.

And it's times like that when you raise your Riedel, take a big swig and toast the air toward heaven; because, yes mom, I dare to repeat it...but it will not become me.

The Green Mile (or the last day before First Grade)

Bonus' first day of first grade was Friday. In anticipation of this BIG! DAY!, I had asked him what he wanted to do all week so that we could spend the day before focused on doing whatever he wanted to do on his last day of being a 'little boy'.

"I want to make Jello and do something that doesn't suck."

*blink, blink*

So I took him to the planetarium and bought him gelato.

What?! He's a smart kid. He likes science stuff. His brother is still fascinated by the shiny so I figured he'd like seeing stars and crap. Gelato kinda rhymes with Jello and no one has to complain about the whole 'waiting for it to set up' part. Done. Sold.

In all it was awesome! Well, until I embarrassed the family when we were watching the moon phases in a time-lapse thing and they asked home much time had passed and like a dumb ass I yelled out "A YEAR!" and it had been a month. Before I could pat Deuce on the back and say, "It's okay, sweetie. Good guess!" Bonus put his arm around me and said, "It's okay, Momma. Good guess."

Sigh.