Today, one of my students threw up all over... my doorway. Can't get in or out of the room without squelches, though they did throw cat litter on it. I guess that's a saving grace, since there's supposed to be some major water balloon fights up here today. Maybe they'll leave my wing alone.
Sixteen more days.
My clothes are mostly pre-Moth, who just turned 7 Saturday. I decided I needed some new shirts. I've avoided buying shirts for a few years because I have a huge gut. Muffin Top Is Me. Shirts in the last five years have been belly shirts or high waist shirts. Lo and behold, the new shirt length is mid-hip. Yipee! I bought four! (ugly colors, but at least they're long!)
And WHY didn't the sixties/seventies crap stay back there? Polyester and puke colors are gross, no matter what the presentation. Sheesh.
Stinky has become quite the mumbler. Whenever he disagrees with mom or dad, he starts muttering under his breath. Yesterday, he bought a combination lock, and he couldn't figure out how to get it to work. I was trying to help him and he took this "I just can't do it!" position. I said "Well, you're going to."
After a little bit, I gave an instruction and he talked back.
I smacked him.
His eyes teared up. His jaw firmed. But no talking back.
Three minutes later, he's mumbling something, and I said, "Just shut up and do it!" He muttered, "you shut up!"
I flipped him over and paddled him.
I have all assurances that he hates me and will hate me the rest of his life. I don't give a rat's patootie. If he shuts up, it's worth it.
Moth man did not get a lot of presents for his birthday. A big part was a new bike that he keeps leaving out in the rain. He was warned if he didn't take care of his toys, he wouldn't be getting any more.
Granny and Poppy got him two lego sets. I built him the first one with him, showing him how to keep the pieces in the right piles and how to follow the directions. It was, of course, a pain in the ass. I told him to take care of it, because I wasn't fixing it. Less than one day later, he smashed it. Tears. Recriminations. Yet I was not moved. I built it once, and you broke it in less than 12 hours.
I told him I would not build the second one. He asked if he could. I said, why, sure! So he took it up to his bed, promptly lost half the pieces, and came crying to me. I shrugged. Sorry, kid, not helping you.
He got a speedometer for his bike and messed with it til it broke the first afternoon he had it.
He got a whoopee cushion from his Aunt and Uncle (thanks for that) that he blew up til it popped, even though he'd been warned a lot to be careful.
Please note that every present, except for the bike, was destroyed within 24 hours of Moth ownership.
Moths are destructive.
I guess the name is appropriate.
Well, that's the news. The boys are all getting anxious for their camping trip away from Mom. It should be interesting. I get the dogs by myself for 10 days. Poor Titus and Loki. You know, the last time John took the boys overnight, it was for some Cub Scout thing. He called me from some big battleship and asked for some other parents number. "Why are you asking me?" I pondered aloud. "JUST FIND IT" he replied, paniced.
John does not panic.
"What's wrong?" I asked
"I can't find Sean. I think he's with this other parent."
"Well, I lost Tim this morning, and Sean went off to find him. Now I can't find Sean."
If he calls me from the OkeeFenokee swamp - or whatever that is - asking for the number for the Ranger station, I'm gonna slip exlax powder in his fiber shakes.
One final surreal note... the Metro - a free paper available in most major cities - had a really strange letters to the editor section today/ (That's on the same page as sudoku and crosswords.)
Every single letter was pro-conservative. I can't figure out if they're trying to get their readers angry or if they're just trying to highlight what they consider "freaks" (they're MSM, no way are there conservatives on that staff). It was downright weird.