Winton's Story

Told to me while we took shelter at the Starbucks near Roland Park Elementary in the dark and during a downpour.

Winton:
"This is a SPOOKY story. 
It was dark and raining. 
A Blue Thing came into a cave.  It was a monster. 
A Red Thing came and said 'AAAAAAGH!': it was a human. 
Then a Green Thing and Orange Thing came into the cave: they were monsters TOO.
Then the Red Thing ran out of the cave and went back home."

Me: "So, the moral of the story is to run away from monsters?"

Winton: "Yes, and then go home to bed."

Likes/ Dislikes and Home/Work

A cryptic but cathartic post --tune in next time for actual sentences and a return of my sense of humor.

Like teaching.  Love my children.  Love Husband.

Hate conflict.  Hate feeling squirrelly about having an opinion.  Hate feeling like a dirty rebel.  Hate all of this growing up into being disliked by some who had once liked me.

Anger

Winton: "Daddy, in my head you are anger."
Daddy: "You mean I'm angry?"
Winton: "No, in my head you are anger."

Favorite student evaluation comments: Fall 2012

Sometimes when I was stuck in a hard passage of an essay I had to go in the stairwell and stretch out my quads and arms and do some silent yelling.

She was often flustered, but always prepared.

A bit stout Id say, but thats human - as a teacher she is great.

Clara: Letter to Santa

Dear Santa Winton Hit Me.
Trust me it hurt a lot.

Apology Letters

1)
Dear Clara,

I am sorry I left your water bottle in the car.  I hope you are not too thirsty at school today as a result.

Somehow whenever there are umbrellas (three, today) involved in the morning drop-off, they crowd other details out of my head.  Apparently I can remember  to check for five things, and only five.  Usually they are: water, lunch, snack, folder, special friend toy.  Today is was: umbrella, umbrella, umbrella, lunch, whatever else happened to have found its way into your backpack by chance.  Your water, secure in the car drinks holder?  Still there.  I am sorry.

I forgot the library books we were going to return this afternoon as well.  Oh well.  They'll keep.

I love you,

Mommy.

2)
Dear Winton,

I am sorry I grouched at you about the umbrellas on our way back to the car after dropping off Clara.   I was mad at myself for having forgotten her water bottle so when I said "Hold it upright, and look where you're going!  Stop poking people. Grr.  I hate these umbrellas!"  It wasn't really your fault.  It was me.  Taking my self-loathing out on you.  I am sorry.

I love you,

Mommy.

Winton: Ambitions

When I grow up I'm going to pick things up with a pick up truck and turn them all into cotton candy.

Party tricks

The day of Winton's birthday party.

Winton: I am going to open presents!
Clara: That's NO FAIR.
Me: actually, it's his birthday, so it is fair.
Clara: [Furious silence, red-face, NOSE BLEED]

Birthday parties

I didn't grow up in the US.  I'm still figuring out the norms for American children.  Apparently the annual birthday party is de rigeur, especially for the elementary school set (and apparently most parents loathe/dread the elementary school aged birthday party).

"Party" is not simply a nice meal, cake and the family. It is a hoarde of however many children you can tolerate squealing and playing in the upstairs bedroom with the door slammed firmly behind them, even when one has asked that the party stay downstairs and has provided entertainment, also downstairs.

Yesterday: squealing six year old girls upstairs; art supplies for an art party downstairs. (For Clara's Jan 3 birthday)

Last Sunday: squealing four year old boys upstairs, and various races, games and hopping balls downstairs (For Winton's Dec 30 birthday).

I think I remember being brought to see Cats (the musical) on my 10th birthday or thereabouts.
I also remember a sushi dinner followed by the car breaking down on the highway a different year.
AND I remember a melting cake at the Singapore zoo.
Oh the parties of my youth!  They were not like these American parties, with their coteries of uncomfortable adults and sequestered children.

The only thing I seem to have nailed in entertaining small people is that Mac'n'Cheese out of a box pleases everyone and that cake will get them all to come back downstairs, albeit briefly.

Seriously? (My fear of all matters related to finances)

As I type, I am waiting for Health Hub to reload.  I screwed up my dependent care claim, AGAIN.  I do it every time.  It's not difficult.  All I have to do is click the right boxes, and yet somehow, reflexively, with Freudian inevitability, I ALWAYS C*CK IT UP.