Shattered

That's how I'm feeling today.

Yesterday started out great and quickly went south. Beaker had a World Class Meltdown at tae kwon do. He vacillates between thinking it's the most fun activity in the universe, or that it is a horrible form of torture that we, the Meanest Parents in the world, make him go to. Of course, it had to be the junior instructor teaching, instead of Master B., who's a sixth dan black belt. Even I'm a little afraid of him. Picture Louis Gosset Jr. in
An Officer and a Gentleman, only tougher, blacker, and in a dobok instead of a Marine uniform. But he was on a business trip, so I ended up playing drill sergeant myself, after removing Beaker from the classroom (he was distracting the class...he was supposed to stand and hold a 6 pound ball over his head until he decided to join in class, but kept dropping it and shrieking.) I took him into an adjacent room and made him run 25 laps carrying the ball, do 50 push-ups, and do 100 kicks.

Then I realized he was actually enjoying it, so we switched back to standing still with the ball. After 5 more minutes of that, he saw the error of his ways, and decided to rejoin class. After class, as he was putting on his shoes, with tons of parents and students milling about, he said in a loud voice, "Sorry I was being an asshole, Mom." I immediately shushed him and said, "Don't say that!!" to which he replied, again loudly, "Say what? Asshole?" Sometimes ya just gotta love the social cluelessness of a seven year old Aspie. I figured my dad would get a big kick out of hearing this anecdote, as he's been known as the asshole of the family for a number of years. Now he has a contender. One year for Christmas I gave him this bumper sticker as a gag gift, which he actually STUCK ON HIS CAR.

So today I go to work, and my computer starts acting all wacky. The big boss tells me that our IT guy, who moonlights for us, told him to tell me not to turn off my computer anymore. Which makes zero sense even to the computer-illiterate moi. So after a reboot and the removal of a bunch of crap software by our CAD designer and in-house computer geek, it starts to run a little faster.

Then I get one of those emails that immediately sets off my spidey sense. The company I work for is owned by a husband and wife, and I'm good friends with them, which is how I got the job to begin with--the company was growing; they knew me; I was looking to make a few bucks. He runs it and she oversees the financial stuff and does marketing. She wants to meet this weekend to "talk about work."

Have you ever noticed no one ever wants to meet to talk about fun stuff? Or that when you go into a boss's office and they say, "Close the door," nothing good ever happens? Or how about when you get a letter or memo that starts out "It has come to my attention that..." they never end with "...you are the best employee in the world, and I am giving you a 50% raise and your own parking spot and your own personal restroom," do they?

So after emailing her back and asking what the problem was, I spent a knuckle-biting five hours waiting for a response. She doesn't want to be in charge of the financial end of things anymore. Therefore they need a full time accounting/financial person. And they'd like it to be me. And I don't want to do it. I'm perfectly capable of it, but it makes no sense for me money-wise for a start. By the time I pay for Pigpen to go in full time daycare, and Beaker to be in after school care, plus bumping me into a higher tax bracket, and the necessity of a cleaning service for home if I wouldn't be here enough to be my own maid [not that I'm doing a very good job at that--I'd fire me as the maid if I could], I would maybe clear a couple hundred bucks more than I would working half-time now. Hm, work 40 hours and have no freedom and extra stress, or work 20 hours for almost the same money and more time with my kids. Let me shove that crayon up my nose just a little harder. See kids, being a hoarder can be a GOOD thing...now when I'm unemployed, even if I am broke, I have plenty of stash to knit (and more time to do it).

Tonight was Beaker's belt test for his yellow belt/3 stripes. He (barely) passed. Had a more minor attitude attack, fueled mostly by his desire to continue reading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz instead of warming up. Did ok on forms, kicks, blocks, but he just hates sparring. At least this time he did not run away from the kid he was fighting, and actually landed some pretty good kicks. He was just happy for it to be over, and have his promised reward of

TGI...T?

Thank God it's Thursday...yes, I know most "normal" people are glad when it's Friday, but when did I ever claim to be normal? Thursday means Pigpen does not have school, so I also don't have work. This means:

--Getting to sleep for an extra 45 minutes because I don't have to get ready and can just throw on some sweats to drive Beaker to school
--Only packing one lunch
--Not having to wrestle Pigpen into clothes before he is ready
--and (shhh!) crawling back into bed for a glorious extra 40 minutes of sleep after feeding and ferrying children [it was supposed to be an hour--but I was unceremoniously awakened before the alarm went off by Pigpen, shouting from the bathroom for assistance--always a fun thing to see when you wake up.]

So far I have eaten breakfast, made beds, loafed around, and talked to a friend on the phone. We have sorta tentative plans to meet somewhere around lunchtime, so I should hop in the shower soon.

I've been missing for a few days even though I vowed to write more often. I'm having a harder time getting back into the school year swing than I thought. I just cannot get myself to bed earlier so am dragging in the morning. Things are going ok with schools. The director at Pigpen's school suggested I start dropping him off in the car line instead of walking him, and that has cut down on his drama (not sure what his deal is anyway-same school, same kids, same teacher, and he's never been a kid with much separation anxiety.) I collaberated with The Man and created a cool behavior/homework weekly checklist for Beaker. So far he's in his "honeymoon" period and has not had any major meltdowns, just two minor ones, and his aide was able to get him back on track.

Yesterday Beaker had an appointment for a physical, so I checked him out of school a tad early. Pigpen was with us too, as I had no one to watch him. I am glad my doctor is also a friend or I would be dead from embarrassment right now. They were SO BAD. I know it's boring to wait in the exam room and there's nothing to do, but they were like a cage of agitated monkeys at the zoo--all that was missing from the picture was throwing poop. They wrestled; they unrolled about 50 feet of paper on the exam table; they pulled out the stirrups and demanded to know what they were, then hung off them like monkey bars; they broke the back of the doctor's little rolling chair (I screwed it back on--I think the screw was stripped to begin with); they shouted and ran full force into the walls. And they continued doing this even after the doctor came into the room. Finally he corralled Pigpen, plopped him in his lap, and held him with one arm in a death grip, and I held down Beaker on the chair I was sitting in. Luckily my doctor has five kids (he has one of those Brady Bunch marriages where he brought 3 and she brought 2,) so I guess this wasn't too atypical a scene for him. I was ready to ask for Valium for me and animal tranquilizer darts for the boys. As suspected, Beaker is a shrimp...his height is in the 10th percentile for his age. His weight was in the 50th though, so that's good.

Major suckage

Today has been one of those days where it just wasn't worth getting up. I almost didn't...I stopped in at work last night at 7:45 to check email and make sure no bills were due. I left at midnight and still barely accomplished anything. Which meant I didn't even go to bed until 1:30, and the alarm went off at 6:15. The first thing I saw when I woke up was Beaker standing next to my bed, staring solemnly into my face from about six inches away.

"I can't go to school today, Mom. I have a cough."

"Unless you're dead, you're going. I have to work; your brother has school, and I have an appointment."

"Mooo-ooom! I'm siiiiiiick!" [followed by sounds of the sort of cough only produced by stubborn, allergy-stricken children who REFUSE to learn to blow their nose, and therefore have a wad of snot running down their throats.]

So I dosed him up with all his normal stuff plus some Claritin plus a hit of albuterol. I'm such a meanie. As we were walking out the door, he suddenly had a screechy fit because he wanted to take lunch and not buy it as previously planned. By the time I slapped together a pb sandwich and side items, we were almost late.

It was Pigpen's first day, and he seemed in a good mood until I wanted to take his picture. I got the sad mouth. He was so clingy when we got there, which is uncharacteristic for him. The teacher had to peel him off me so I could leave. All the other 4 year olds were playing happily and waving goodbye to their parents.

After a therapy appointment with Beaker's psychologist, I went to work. Where I was greeted by open doors, sweaty coworkers, and a foul, rotting smell. My boss asked if I smelled anything funny last night, and I said yeah, it smelled like bug spray, which I did not find unusual because Terminix just sprayed and I have the world's Most Sensitive Nose. But this was horrible. I think there might be a body under the crawlspace. (Did they ever find Jimmy Hoffa?) We called Terminix to come investigate (there's a job you could not pay me enough to do--if someone tried to force me into a crawlspace at gunpoint, I'd have to let them shoot me.) So it's HOT with the AC off and all the doors open, and of course the window in my office is caulked shut [Let's give the fat sweaty girl the office with no ceiling fan, one vent, and a sealed window! hahaha!]

While I was on eterna-hold with Verizon about getting a new phone for one of my employees, and fanning myself with a stack of timesheets, my cell rings. I look at the number, don't recognize it, and think, oh great, which one of my offspring has done something horrible this early in the school year. But it's just the driver from the Purple Heart, telling me they'll be at my house in 20 minutes to pick up our junk. We've been cleaning the basement, and culled a lot of old toys, an old TV and ancient refrigerator left by the previous owners, and a skanky sofa and loveseat. The truck pulls up and it is only one guy, and a pretty scrawny looking one at that. I have everything in the driveway except the refrigerator, which is still in the garage, and the furniture, which is in the basement, accessible through the garage. The guy is not happy about coming into the garage and flatly refuses to come into the basement. Says it's "against the rules." The lady who phoned to schedule the pickup didn't have a problem when I told her some of the stuff was in the basement and garage.

I decide I am going to drag the furniture out myself, and after a lot of heaving and flipping the couch on its side, manage to get the damn thing stuck in the doorway. Luckily there is a second exit in the basement or I would have had to climb it to get out. Scrawny Guy produces a dolly, and I try to help him get the fridge on it, but no go. He calls for backup, and while we're waiting, I notice that the entire paneled wall next to the fridge is warped and covered in disgusting, hairy mold. I stab at the wall with a screwdriver but it appears solid, so I decide it can wait for The Man to come home, because dealing with hairy fungi is not in my job description. [If you are wondering why my garage is paneled, all I can say is the house was built in the 70s, and probably we are lucky they did not put paneling in the shower stall and build a mailbox out it.] Finally Scrawny Guy's buddy shows up and they load up the rest of my junk, just in time for me to go pick up Pigpen. His teacher reported he was tearful for only about 15 minutes, but defiant and grouchy after that, which is pretty typical for him.

I think I need a nap now.

Knitting and working and advocating, oh my

Well, today I signed up for an invitation to join Ravelry. I'm still not sure I really "get" what it is, but it seems like every other knitter I encounter on the web is on there. There is a collection of screenshots there, but not enough to really let me get a feel for the site. The good thing is, it appears there are tracking tools on there for stash, needles, and WIPs. Since right now I am using an Excel spreadsheet to track these items, anything would be an improvement. And it says it's not a replacement for your blog, yet you can link to blog posts, so we'll see. I feel like I just signed up for a Scientology session..."We can't tell you what you'll experience until you get here, but you'll like it! Really, we promise!"

So Beaker's first few days at school have gone fairly smoothly. I had a chance to meet his aide (who prefers to be called Miss Paula), and the Hub got to meet his teacher. He's only had a few minor hissyfits (Beaker, not DH), and they were able to get him back on track quickly. I think he freaked out the aide by demonstrating his multiplication talents the other day. He's an avid watcher of Schoolhouse Rock, and even though he's seven, he seems to understand the concept, as well as memorizing the tables.

Pigpen starts tomorrow. I can only hope, for his teachers' sake, that he is in a better mood than he was on Friday at the Open House. First, he refused to get out of the van. I had to carry him in, screeching his lungs out ("I NOT going to school!") Then he tried to escape out the front door while I was filling out forms. We stopped by to say hi to his teachers, and he became incensed when he saw his name printed on an artist's palette, that the teachers had strung up on the ceiling. "I hate my name! Take it down!" he declared loudly, glaring at all of us. I know four-year-olds have an independent streak, but I really don't remember Beaker being this horrible for this long.

I thought I would have a few days of down time between Wednesday and now, but no. My part-time job keeps expanding faster than I can keep up with it. I am now the Accounting and HR Manager (but no raise--I didn't have the balls to ask after viewing our cash flow situation--maybe the end of the year will be a better time.) I also volunteered to do some work from home, writing procedures and editing the ones other employees have written. At least that will mean more money without having to pay for more child care.

Then I put on my Advocate Mom costume for a while. It's getting harder to be a superhero when there are no phone booths in which to change [and slightly OT, but why the hell did Superman always change in a phone booth when it's made of glass? Wouldn't it make more sense to say, go into the men's room?] I have a friend who is in the process of having her son diagnosed, probably with an autism spectrum disorder. He just turned seven and has never been to school, as our state only requires kids be registered in a school from ages seven to sixteen. The local school system is supposed to be testing him and is just draaaaaging their feet. They refuse to make any accommodation for him until the testing/diagnosis is complete, so if she registered him there, they would throw him in a regular first grade class with no aide and no help. So she registered with a cover school to home school him until this can get sorted out, so as to be all legal and everything. Now the school system is acting like she has Done Something Wrong and is being even harder to work with, if that's possible. I looked up a ton of references for her and prepared sort of a "speech" for her to give the head doofus in charge. I'm not sure if they don't know, or if they just think SHE doesn't know so are trying to pull one over, that they still have 60 days from the referral to complete the testing. I wish I could get her to take me to just one meeting with these folks.

I'm also on an e-mail list for a local autism support group. I never go to the meetings--I'm just sort of antisocial and not a joiner like that (heh-and I wonder where Beaker gets some of those Aspie tendencies) but I do communicate with some of the members through e-mail. This one poor lady sent out a cry for help. After the first day of kindergarten, her son's teacher (and the principal) cornered her and told her that her son was disruptive and that they'd have to transfer him to a special autism unit/classroom. She asked about an aide, and was told, no, "we" don't do that. So I was more than happy to share my experiences, the name and number of my paid advocate, and more links to articles on Wrightlaw than she probably ever wanted. Stuff like that just makes my blood boil. And for every parent that has been told something totally illegal like this, and has questioned it, imagine how many others were steamrollered by the system and just said "OK" because they didn't know any better, or assumed the school actually has their child's best interests at heart.

When I was a little girl, I always said I wanted to be a lawyer when I grew up. Not just any kind of lawyer, mind you, but a trial lawyer. I like to argue. I am good at arguing. I was a high school debate champ. I'm good at finding obscure little pieces of information to make my points. And I'm mean and tenacious (ask my husband.) But I'm not sure I ever would have made it through law school--hell, I probably never could have made it IN--I have test anxiety and tend to score very poorly on standardized tests. But this advocacy stuff is an awful lot like what I dreamed of doing when I was a kid. Someday when my kids are grown up, I would love to be a special education advocate. I would charge on a sliding scale. The people who need the help the most are the ones who don't have any money for it, and they should still have a chance. So I guess I finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up...it's only taken 41 years.