Went up to St. Louis with my family to borrow mother-in-law’s car and house-sit for my sister while they went to Hawaii for ten days.  On the way up, my husband thought it would be fun to feed our dog beef jerky.  Shortly after arriving at mother-in-law’s house, I washed vomit off dog, daughter’s shoe and car’s carpet.  After I finished, I scolded husband.

Helped mother-in-law move some more of her stuff from her apartment.  We wanted to go to the zoo, but the weatherman called for thundershowers.  It was sunny most of the day and my daughter deemed it “A whole day wasted.”

House sat for ten days.  Best part was going to the zoo; Sarah didn’t care if it was hot enough to fry an egg on the side walk, damn it, she was going!  That night Mike and I took advantage of my sister’s whirlpool tub.  Normally Mike’s not a “soaker,” but this time he stayed in for almost an hour. I almost fell asleep in the water.

Took Sarah to the Magic House.  She had a blast; a museum where you’re encouraged to touch things!  She made her hair stand on end by touching an electro static ball.  She made music by dropping balls down a ramp of wooden pegs.  She got to climb a two story beanstalk.  Afterwards we went to Ted Drewes’.

Tried to visit with Mom while we were up, but she was suffering from a Urinary Tract Infection.  She spent most of the time sleeping, so we went back to my sister’s.

Saw Pirates of the Caribbean 4; can honestly say it was worth the admission price.  Penelope Cruz is too pretty to be a pirate.  She didn’t look world weary.  She did however  look pregnant (just look at her breasts.)   Her character and Jack Sparrow shared the same eyeliner.   Afterwards we had dinner at IHOP and had the blandest food since my last hospital visit.

Missed the 100 Mile Yard Sale that is held Memorial Day weekend.  Also missed Artscape Weekend; it features work of local artists, musicians and craftsmen.    Sarah said that next year we’re not missing either event, even if we have two broken legs and have to commando crawl to get there.

June:

Spent the first couple of days home cleaning house and doing laundry.

The cat hasn’t yet forgiven us for leaving her alone for a week.  She had plenty of food and water, but she really wanted our company and for someone to open the front door so she could chase birds.  The first couple of days we were home, she yelled at us.

Will return mother-in-law’s car this weekend.

Sarah’s bored, most of the neighborhood kids have disappeared.  Nobody to play with, except a kid from the “weird” family.  They probably think the same thing about us.

The youngest of the “weird kids” whacked Sarah in the side with a broken fishing pole. Result:  a four inch long welt.   Showed the kids’ parents what Junior did and it was as productive as talking to a lamp post.  Hope the kid got a whuppin’.

I developed a case of contact dermatitis.  It’s red, raised, bumpy and itches like crazy.  It’s not in one particular spot; it’s on my knuckles, fronts of the forearms, inner thighs, outside of the breasts, bra line, it’s also on underwear seam lines and around the waist.  Oh, and I had a huge blotch on my belly that resembled the outline of Australia.  For two days Sarah kept trying to lift my shirt to see the “Aussies.”

Today an irritant landed in my eye.  It felt like someone was rubbing a push-pin along the top of my eyeball.  I told my husband that all I needed was a hump on my back and a hairy mole and I’d look like Igor’s prom date.

June:

The first part of June we stayed home.  Feels good to sleep in your own bed.

Mike developed the rash I had.  When I described it to my Dad, he said “It sounds like roseola; a form of measles.”  I thought, “just great.”  But when I looked up roseola on MayoClinic.com, the rashes they pictured didn’t look anything like what we had.  Mike is going to take a baking soda bath today.

We visited my parents last weekend.  It was a Father’s day/birthday barbeque for my Dad.  I didn’t enjoy myself; Mike and I got into a horrible argument and I spent most of the day scowling among the company or crying in the basement.

My Grandmother’s air conditioner broke down during a heat wave.  Naturally it happened Friday afternoon and the a/c repair people couldn’t get out until Monday morning.  Dad, Steve (my brother) and I tried to help by taking box fans to her trailer.  After we left, Grandma put them back in their boxes and said to Mom “They didn’t help at all.”  Grandma has dementia.  Mom is at her wit’s end taking care of her.

I suggested–silly me, using logic–that I go to the store and buy a window air conditioner.  Seriously, this is what I heard:  “But we don’t know if it’s a 110 or a 220.”  I also heard:  “But we don’t know if it will fit in the window.”   And:  “But we don’t have anything to brace it up with.”  But, but but.  That’s what you sit on, and if my well-meaning parents would get theirs in gear, maybe something could be done about the fucking heat!

Sorry about the “f” bomb.  But they drive me crazy sometimes.  What’s to an a/c window unit?  You plug it in the wall!

I spent part of the weekend trying to talk Mom down from her out of her depression.  I told her and Dad, “You and Steve are doing the best you can.  A staff of twenty couldn’t do better.  Instead of trying to make Grandma happy, just try to make her safe and comfortable.  Maybe if you do that, it’ll take some of the stress off your back.”    I know that Grandma’s going, you can see it in her eyes.  The Lola light isn’t there any more.

Spent the other part of the weekend being Mom’s sounding board.  She has so many issues with her own mother that will never be solved, because she was raised to not confront your parents.  And that’s why so many of her generation drink.  Only Mom can make herself happy.

Sarah had fun; she spent the night at her cousins’.  Then she took a nap on the way home.

We were supposed to take my mother-in-law’s car back to her today, but we couldn’t get our act together this morning.  The plan is to take it back tomorrow and then go to the St. Louis Science Center.  We’ll see how it goes.  So instead of a long road trip, today we took a short one to the Bollinger County Museum.  Lots of dinosaur bones; one room was full of replicas that Sarah and my husband could handle.  I liked how they took an old three story building (used to be a university) and turned it into something useful again.

While we were up for the party last weekend, Sarah had a chance to watch t.v. (ours blew up during the last lightning storm.)  Two and a half hours of Doctor Who.  At first I thought she was suffering from “talking flicker box” withdrawl.  Turns out, she has a slight crush on Ten, or David Tennant, I’m not quite sure.  Anyway, I did the smart when she told me:  I didn’t panic.    I also didn’t tease her about it or tell her that she’s too young.  Check that, I didn’t say “YOU’RE TOO YOUNG!”  That would be like shooting off a starter pistol.  Instead I offered to find pictures of the good Doctor and print them off the internet.  It’s cheaper to go that route, instead of getting merchandise from either the Who site or Tennant’s website.  Yikes!  The shipping was more than the product!

Happy July Fourth!  The only patriotic thing we did today was attend the fireworks display at our local park.  It took twenty minutes and it took an hour to get out of the parking lot.  Maybe they had to cut it short because the city couldn’t afford anything longer.  Fine, but at least have a recording of Morgan Freeman reading the Preamble of the Constitution.

For two days we worked on Sarah’s clubhouse; we’ve been promising it to her for a year now.  But she didn’t just sit back and watch Mom and Dad put it together.  She hoisted and painted and got as sweaty as we did.  She also ruined a pair of pants and shirt with latex paint, just like we did.  We’re not done with it yet, we still have to put the walls up.  Mike wanted to put up one wall at a time; I told him that the walls should go up all at once.  That’s according to my limited knowledge of barn raising, from watching “Witness.”  He took my advice as gospel.

Several months ago Sarah asked if she could have a clubhouse, and wanting to be good parents, we agreed.  Well I’m happy to announce that Sarah’s clubhouse is done.  It only took several months of salvaging 2×4′s, two weekends of working in nearly 100 degree heat, at least six trips to Lowe’s and one purchase charged on the card.  Since I don’t have pictures to post, you’ll have to use your imagination.  First, it doesn’t look like it’ll pass code.  Or quality control.  The seams don’t exactly match.  There’s a gap between the top of one wall and the roof big enough to slip a pizza box through.  It has a “me and my older brother and a couple of his friends helped out” look.  But she loves it.  She wants to paint it “police box blue.”

Gave Sarah some advice about men.  You know how it is when you talk to kids, you start out on one subject and it segues into other subjects.  I told her “never stay with a man who hits you.”  Of course she looked at me like “why would I?” (That’s a whole other subject.)  I told her that in all the years I’ve been with Daddy, he’s never laid a finger on me.  I got a good one with Daddy.

Started a new Avon rule:  when I have a suitcase full of brochures to deliver, I’m going to leave Sarah at home on a Saturday night with Daddy so I can get it done.  When I’m alone I can get it done in a couple of hours, with Sarah along it takes from “put away your cereal bowl” to “let’s go home for dinner.”

July:

Put up with the heat.  Put up with each other whining about the heat.

Finally fixed gaps in windows (transom windows–the crank type.)   Used a special aluminum tape that looks like foil.  Drawbacks:  it looks like Ma & Pa Kettle fixed the windows.  Positive:  it works!  I was on the ladder trying to put the first piece of tape up and felt cold air leaking out of the window.  Why did we wait so long?  Because we’re not as smart as we think we are, and probably lazy too.  I used a whole roll on two windows and felt a difference in one day.  Have to buy more, have one other window to fix.

My youngest niece, Nicole,  came down for a three day visit.  She’s eight, Sarah’s nine.  The first day they were a blur of play, stopping only to say “can we have a snack/drink?”  They collapsed sometime after midnight and woke up around eight the following morning.  On the second day Nicole’s older sister Rachel came over for a visit, then after she left, Nicole had a panic attack.  It was pathetic; sobbing until she hiccuped, a lower lip that fluttered in and out.  Finally I broke down and called Rachel to come get her.  (don’t look at me like that, what would you do with Boo-Boo Kitty face crying at you?)  Back story:  Nicole’s mom spent a few weeks in the hospital last year and has been afraid of Mom dying ever since.   Nicole came over the following morning and tried to pull the same routine at bedtime.  This time I stood firm and said “No, you can’t stay with your sister.”  (Because her Mom chewed me out.  I didn’t call her to tell her that Nicole would be at Rachel’s for the evening.)  I did, however, let Nicole talk to her Mom and Dad, who thankfully backed me up.

Also, took the kids to a safari park.  I stepped in shit, got jumped by a herd of goats and punched in the ear by a camel.  Honestly!   If it had been a Mel Brooks movie, I would have punched him back.

Today I took the two kids to the local water park.  Sarah was game to try the big slides.  Nicole was game for the lazy river.  Tonight her parents took her home and now it’s quiet.  Peace, it’s wonderful.

Mike has decided to “stop farting around and get a better paying job”.  Before you judge:  Mike’s not a lazy person.  He has a job, but it’s not enough.  Why get a better job?  Because we need to get out of this 40 year-old mobile home we’re in.  One more tornado season and they’ll find our kitchen in North St. Louis.   We’re also trying to save up to build a house.  That’s not going to happen on .31 per mile.  And it would be nice to not be broke anymore.  Truth be told, he’s been putting it off because he’s spoiled by the home time.  Some Sundays it’s all he can do to drag himself out of the house. We’re still discussing options.

August:

I think I got smart about Avon; with the cost of gas rising like a helium balloon, I decided to mail brochures to my existing customers, instead of delivering them myself.  It should save money (sending a brochure to the other end of town costs $1.88) and time (if I were to try to deliver 20-25 brochures in one day, I’d spend six hours in the truck.)  Sarah misses going for drives and leaning out the truck window to put brochures in newspaper boxes.

Decided to unclench some cash and the three of us went to Onondoga Cave in Leasburg, Missouri.  Mike and I haven’t toured a cave since Shaun Cassidy was popular.  Sarah has never been in a cave; at one point she got “creeped out” because it reminded her of “The Lord of the Rings.”  Mike said that if he’d known that when the guide turned off the lights, he would have whispered “My precious.”

My mother, I love her, but she’s driving me nuts.  Why?  Because she worries about everything.  She warned us to “keep a close eye on Sarah, don’t let her slip, they only have a rope to keep you from falling to the bottom of the cave.”  I tried to explain to her that I had seen pictures of the caves on their website, and that they have solid steel handrails, secured into the ground with concrete, no less.  May as well talk to the wall, she didn’t listen.  Because she wanted to worry.  Mike–smart ass that he is–suggested that we tell Mom that Sarah did the tour while wearing greased rollerblades, dark shades and a jet pack; but only after drinking heavily.

When you think you have troubles, remember:  somebody else has it worse.  An old friend is dying from cancer.  A few years ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She was treated.  Last year she broke her back in a car accident and that’s when they found out she was riddled with cancer.  If that’s not bad enough, her husband is still suffering from the effects of the heart attack/stroke he had several years ago.  To top it all off, their medical bills are going to cause them to lose their house.  We visited them this weekend; surprisingly she is more worried about her husband than herself.  She should be, I heard something mentioned about a pistol in the house.  Her cancer could go on for a month or a year.  I just hope she doesn’t suffer from pain.  She’s on several drugs, so she hopefully won’t.

Sarah and I went to her school’s Open House.  She got to meet her teacher, and I got homework.  Two packets of paperwork to fill out and return tomorrow.  One of them was an introduction to her; she had a baby in May 2011, is married to her high school sweetheart and this is her second year teaching.  My first impression was:  here we go again.  Last year her teacher only had three, maybe four years of teaching experience, and I think she had trouble controlling/teaching a class of 27 kids.  Who knows?  Maybe this teacher is a drill sergeant in disguise.

Bad news about school:   Sarah and her BFF won’t be in the same class.  At first Sarah’s attitude was casual, nonchalant, almost apathetic.  By the end of the first week she’ll be whining “I miss Maya!”  At least she knows at least four or five of the kids in her class already.  One or two are in her Girl Scout troop.

We took her backpack and supplies to Open House tonight.  I don’t mind buying crayons and pencils, but I resent buying supplies that I feel the school should pay for.  You mean to tell me they can’t afford Zip Lock storage bags and Kleenexes?   Listen to me, the school year hasn’t officially started and I’m already whining about being nickel and dimed to death.  Oh, yeah, they want us to buy a school t-shirt.  Just what Sarah needs, another night shirt.  It’s only seven dollars, but damn it, seven dollars buys two gallons of milk.

Today is the last day of summer vacation.  As a final treat, Sarah and I saw “Cars 2.”  At first I was sure I wasn’t going to like this film; most of the action takes place outside of Radiator Springs, Doc Hudson’s wit and wisdom is gone because Paul Newman passed away this year, it’s a cartoon sequel.  Is different, I don’t like it.  Well my first surprise was that my daughter and I were the only two in the theater.  It was great, we could talk out loud, commenting about the movie and nobody shushed us.  Second surprise:  I enjoyed the film so much that I’m thinking we should get a copy when it comes out on disc.  I won’t go into a long review, let’s just say it was full of fun, action and pathos.

Speaking of emotional responses, I’m having one.  Because it’s the last day of summer vacation, I’m already feeling blue, because I know that my little girl won’t be here tomorrow.  I don’t feel unemployed, as Irma Bombeck would say; I just miss Sarah already.  Sometimes “mother feelings” are hard to put into words; it’s an ache, a hole, a loss.  At some point tomorrow, I’ll cry.  I usually do the first day of school.

Maybe I should.  Even the breathing of those who annoy me is getting on my nerves, and I wish they’d stop.

I’m still annoyed from stuff that happened yesterday.  I went to the gym with my daughter; she had martial arts and I was going to work out.  From my tone you can see how well that worked out.  We no sooner got through the door and Sarah complained of a headache.  Well that’ll happen when you’re sleep deprived and then have a four hour play date.  So while she’s whining “I’m tiiiiiired” I’m trying to pay our bill at the front desk.

That’s another thing that annoys me.  The lady (who looked like she needed a nap) looked at me as if she’s never seen legal tender before.  Then she proceeded to tell me about their billing practices, including automatic deductions at the end of the month.  Sounded to me like she was trying to talk me out of making a payment.  Between Sarah’s whining and this woman’s droning, my mood was darkening faster than an Oklahoma sky during tornado season.

Finally I said (probably with a little too much force) “Well I’m flush now so I’ll pay now ’cause I don’t know what the end of the month will bring.”  The town character looked like I’d slapped her.

I have to go out in an hour; think I’ll lay down first.  It’s safer that way.

–I missed watching 1776.  Love the love story between John and Abigail Adams.  What’s better than seeing it in the movie is that they really respected each other in real life.

–Felt sort of let down.  It stormed this morning so we didn’t go to the local semi-patriotic celebrations–classic car show and funnel cake.

–We’re told to celebrate the fourth with family and friends.  Our nearest relative is 200 miles away and Mike had to work today.  Sarah is disappointed; she thinks Mike’s boss is mean for making him work.  Such is the life of a truck driver.

–The firework display wasn’t long enough.  It was about twenty minutes long.  Don’t misunderstand, the display was impressive.  Sitting under large explosive circles of light made me feel puny and exposed.  I wondered if this is what it’s like to be seen by the eyes of God.

–I think before they start fireworks, they should play the National Anthem (sung by Ray Charles) and a recording of Morgan Freeman reading the Preamble of the Constitution.

Happy Fourth of July!

The cat woke me up twice last night.  At three o’clock she yowled and banged her head on my door (of her own volition, I had nothing to do with it.)  She cried and padded around the house as I tried to figure out what she wanted.  Checked the food bowl…it was full.  So was the water dish.  I tried to grab her, but she’s a former street cat and has a thing about grabby hands; so I tried a trick.  I went to the bathroom.  For some reason Snowball (my daughter named her, if it had been my choice, I would have named her Thud for the sound she makes when she hits the floor) follows me into the bathroom.  As soon as she was across the thresh hold, I slammed the door on her.  Then I threw her onto the back porch and buried myself under the covers until five-thirty…when she woke me up again.

Snowball managed to pop the back door open.  She screamed and yowled, expecting me to attend to her every need.  I stumbled cross eyed to my bedroom door to see two of her in the hallway.  Cursing like Yosimite Sam I declared that she was not going outside–there’s fleas out there–and she was on her own.

So why am I not taking a nap?  Maybe I’m being stubborn.  More likely stupid.  That and after I write this post, my nine-year-old daughter wants me to play with her.  But if I were smart, I’d go to bed before my work out this afternoon.  I don’t want to fall asleep on an exercise ball.

The first thing I did was not panic.  And I didn’t need a man with a white beard and pointy hat to tell me.  It was bad enough that she had head lice, she didn’t need a dose of guilt too.  Then I bought RID, read the directions and started treating Sarah and the house immediately.   I know, I could have gone with an “all natural” remedy, but I wanted those fuckers gone NOW.  The kit I bought had three steps of elimination:  treat, remove, control.

For the duration of Christmas break (how convenient, she didn’t miss school) this is how our days went:

Wash Sarah’s hair in the kitchen sink with lice killing shampoo.  Scrub, scrub, scrub.  Rinse until the water turns cold.

Then let Sarah choose a movie or two.  Why?  Because for two or more hours I needed a distraction for the kid while I  smear gel (that resembles snot) into her hair; but I didn’t put it in all at once.  I took a two inch section of hair, smear it with snot gel and then…are you taking notes?  Then pull the hair through the “comb,” which looks like a combination of the world’s smallest rake and a Bic razor, from scalp to split end.  Remove goo off rake with tissue, do it again.  And again.  And again.  Until all visible lice are removed.  Wind hair up and pin to scalp with bobby pins; move on to next two inch section of hair.

Every day for two weeks we did this.

Use lice control spray on bedding, furniture, car interior and other non-washable items.

This is what made our lives easier:

–a lot of movies.  I let Sarah watch whatever movies she wanted; Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang, Little Women, Black Beauty, anything that kept her attention.  But no video games, she had to sit absolutely still for two hours.

–A lamp that was used as a spotlight.  Better visibility, better the chance of catching them.

–Research.  Scientific evidence is everywhere on the web.  I suggest Mayo Clinic.  There I learned that lice aren’t prejudiced, they don’t care about  your socioeconomic status.    They care about two things:  do you have blood and a constant body temperature.

–The washer and dryer.  Sounds crazy, but lice don’t like too much  heat.  They like a nice 98.6.  So all of Sarah’s bed linens got washed in hot water and dried in the hottest heat my machine could muster.

–Garbage bags.  Everything else that couldn’t be washed (stuffed animals, winter coat) got chucked in garbage bags for the rest of holiday vacation.

For two weeks she was a good sport about sitting still every afternoon.  I’m an adult and I don’t know if I could have done it.

One more thing…I did become a bit obsessive.  Every time she scratched, or looked like she was going to scratch, or put her hand near her head I picked at her head like a mother monkey.   After a while, she and my husband were afraid to scratch when I was in the room.

I hope you don’t have to deal with head lice, but if you do, remember:

research and patience.

Good luck

This isn’t the first time she’s loved from afar.   When she was in pre-k she breathlessly announced that “I’m in love with Stone, but he’s in love with Ashley.”

It was a closer at the beginning of third grade.  She developed a strong “like him” feeling toward a boy in her class.  At one point the relationship was in danger when her BFF decided she liked the boy too; liked being proceeded by many “really’s.”   Instead of telling her BFF to step off,  they decided that the best solution was an open relationship.  I don’t know if the boy had a say.

I know what you’re thinking, “She’s too young!”  No, she isn’t.  If I told her that, it would be like shooting off a starting pistol.  Instead of pictures of her amour tacked up on the bulletin board, I’d find them hidden under her pillow.

No, it’s best to let her feel what she’s going to feel anyway and teach her how to deal with it.

Besides, she’ll be in love with another man next week.

Sorry David Tennant.

This section of my blog will be dedicated to Sarah’s martial arts class.

First, Sarah is our nine-year-old daughter who was diagnosed a few months ago with borderline ADD.  She has difficulty making herself concentrate and handing in assignments finished and on time.  Fortunately she doesn’t suffer like some kids; running, climbing, hyperactivity.  There for a while I called her “magpie.”  She seem to get off subject every time she something shiny.  I haven’t called her that since the diagnosis.

My husband and I have–no pun intended–kicked around the idea of martial arts for a while.  Actually it was my husband’s idea; he thought it would be good for her to learn self defense and he may be living out a child hood dream, since he wanted to take classes as a kid and never got to.  Anyway, after Sarah was diagnosed I did some research on line about ways to help kids with ADD, and martial arts was mentioned.  I’ll give you the gist:  kids with ADD need to get as much exercise as they can, particularly their large muscles (like their legs) so they can concentrate more.  I guess they follow the adage “a tired kid is a good kid.”  (If you want a more in depth explanation, try the Mayo Clinic website.)

I found out there are a dozen or more martial arts schools in our area.  One school had a commercial on their website, their motto was: Are you interested in a fair fight?  Neither are we.  Then it showed a man removing a gun from another man.  Good grief!  I don’t want my daughter to be the next Chuck Norris.  I don’t want a finishing school for bad asses.  (I told my husband about the commercial saying, “If anybody wants my purse they can have it.  Everything in it can be replaced.”)

Then I saw a school advertised on the website of a local gym.  It listed age groups that it taught (kindergarteners to grandpas,) what nights and prices.  Yikes the prices!  $60 to join and $50 per month.  Even though we paid off the car and one credit card, my mind still thinks we’re broke, so the price shocked me.  Then I spoke to the instructor about the style he teaches; he said it’s more important to find an instructor that “clicks” with your child, rather than concentrate on the style.  I liked that idea, I don’t want a Master Sergeant to be yelling at my kid.  That’s my job.  Then the instructor invited Sarah to take a couple of weeks of classes for FREE to see if she likes it.  So far she’s taken two classes and likes it.

One of Sarah’s problems is frustration.  She wants to master a skill right away.  Or as my husband puts it “be perfect right out of the box.”  Sounds like someone I see in the mirror each day.  Anyhow, during the first class she had to do situps, pushups, and run barefooted.  I don’t think she’s ever done a push up before and it took her a while (with much frustration) to do five.  Running bare footed was a problem because she had planters warts on her foot.  Ouch.  (I’ve been using medicine on it since Tuesday and she’s better at running now.)  She needs to learn that it takes time to develop a skill, and that’s okay.  The important thing is that she tries her best.

After class tonight the instructor told me that Sarah has some skill already with kicks (they studied side kicks, round house kicks.)  He said some students don’t get it right away and some do.  She does.  Not exactly like a duck to water; she throws her legs around like she’s having a reaction.  He did see some frustration, but that’s okay.

Things she’s not used to yet:

–taking it easy on herself.

–Sweaty palms and feet.

–Yelling in public.   You’re supposed to yell when you do certain moves and Sarah isn’t a yeller.  She’ll raise her voice sometimes, but she’s having difficulty with “you’re being given permission to yell.”  She’ll get it and then I won’t be able to shut her up.

Things I like about this class so far:

–tournaments and performing in public isn’t absolutely required.  That’s good, because Sarah gets stage fright.

–The trial classes.

–The instructor gets along well with the kids.

–It’s improving her concentration already.  She watches the teacher almost constantly.

I’ll try from now on to make more poetic, analytical entries.

6-30-11

Sarah got injured last week while sparring for the first time.  She and a girl were paired and they both tried to do a roundhouse kick at the same time.  The girl smacked her knee against Sarah’s shin.  The knee won.  A student’s grandparent had to come looking for me because Sarah was crying.  I put some ice on it for ten minutes and she was fine.  Even though the sparring partner apologized (without being told to) the Master made her apologize anyway.

In this class the students are supposed to refer to men as “sir,” women as “mam.”  The instructor wants Sarah to refer to me as “mam.”  I know it’s a sign of respect, but I’m Mommy.  Mam is for strangers.  But she’ll have to call me “mam” in front of the Master, otherwise I’ll have to listen to him say “Mam, mam” when Sarah talks to me.

Sarah sparred today for the first time since she got kicked in the shin.  For a week she was gun shy, but I told her “Get out there and spar.”  I also told her that she’d better expect to get injured in this class.

She got smacked in the face today by her sparring partner.  She’ll live.

Sarah earned her first stripe on her white belt.  It’s a yellow stripe.  It was for basic kicks: front, side kick, round house kick.  She didn’t even know she was being tested.

School will be over in two days, I should look forward to it, but instead I’m sad.  Third grade was a learning experience for everyone.

Sarah was diagnosed with a mild form of ADD–which I was surprised the “test” was actually paperwork.  The pediatrician asked us to ask the teacher for input:  when is Sarah most distracted during the day.  We asked, she didn’t say a thing.  Admittedly we should have been more assertive about the matter, but we weren’t.  Lesson learned.

Sarah was caught telling a whopper of a lie about someone at school.  I exchanged emails with her teacher for a couple of days and I got the feeling she was annoyed I was bothering her.  I won’t go into details about the lie, but I will about the punishment.  First, Sarah got spanked so hard she couldn’t sit down (barbaric, but see what you would do.)  Second, she was grounded from Girl Scout activities for the rest of this year (two meetings and a bridging over ceremony.)  Third, she got the “act like a baby, get treated like one” treatment; she has to go with me for every errand, instead of getting to stay home alone.  Finally, she had to write three letters of apology.  Two to the girls she lied about and one to her teacher for dragging her into this.

I’ve learned that not every teacher is going to be to my liking.  During Sarah’s education she may experience teachers that range from “To Sir With Love” to apathetic.  In all cases, it’ll be a learning experience how to deal with people.

I can’t believe she’s going into fourth grade.  No more baby, all gone.  I have to step back more and let her be independent.  All gone.  I have to teach her to not need me as much.  All gone.  I’m afraid of the lessons I’m teaching, the examples I’m setting.  She wants to stay out with her friends, I say she should be at home when it’s getting dark.

She still looks to me for guidance, and I feel like I’m pushing her away.  Soon she’ll be a dot on the horizon.

I’d like to blame this wave of emotions on HORMONES, but I can’t.  Maybe I could, I took the first pill of a new pack late today.

Edit:  yes, it’s hormones.  I’ll be better tomorrow.

Yes, I have the windows open and fans going all over the house.  Fortunately the temperature is mild enough, shutting off the a/c isn’t a hardship.

But you can smell it dying.  It’s sour and putrid.  Imagine standing downwind of ripe roadkill.

If the diligence pays off, the smell will dissipate before bedtime.  If it doesn’t, we won’t be able to sleep in the bedroom.  I’m just hoping we don’t have water damage in the carpet, too.

It probably is; our 42 year-old mobile home isn’t water tight any more.  In fact, after being pummeled by straight line winds for four decades, I don’t think it’s square anymore, either.   But getting back to the mold problem:  I noticed a brown spot growing in our bedroom ceiling during and after the storms we had a couple of weeks ago.  So I went to a big box store today, intending to buy Kilz, a water spot treater.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t get rid of mold, it just covers up the brown spot once you’ve killed the mold with something else.  So I asked a worker what would be the best thing to kill mold.  He said “3-1 bleach solution.  Three parts water to one part bleach.”

Okay, I thought and went on my merry way.  Fortunately I bought bleach a couple of days ago and already have a spray bottle.  Now all I have to do is clean out the closet shelf, remove clothes from the closet and spray until I get dizzy.  Just kidding, I’ll have the windows open.  And a fan going.  And try to not inhale too much.

If there’s mold under the carpet, we’re screwed.

I’ll be glad when we move…or will I?  But that’s a whole other blog.