Introverting!

I have a blog? I’m…blogging? What is this strange thing that is happening?!

Hi. Hello. Much in my life is complicated…or was complicated, but I’m uncomplicating it as much as I can right now.

In August, I adopted foster toddler. She’s adorable. Which is good because she’s two and frequently terribly upset at the unfairness of me who refuses to let her go potty while she’s shrieking “I DON’T WANNA GO POTTY!”

Things didn’t get beyond complicated until other foster moved in. And even then things were fine for almost 8 months. And then foster started actually participating in therapy, and then her trauma starting leaking out all over, which caused some acting out, which caused more acting out, which caused me to stress out, which caused me to disrupt the placement, as she clearly needed more supervision and structure than a full time working single mom of (counting her) 3 could provide.

She moved out a month ago, and since then, I’ve been introverting.

Like, a lot.

I’ve double checked with myself and my good friend who is a school psych, and it’s not depression that’s causing me to want to stay at home and not make plans with people.

I’m not staying in bed or crying in the shower or not eating.

I just..want to be here at home. I want to read, and bake, and cross stitch, and listen to music, and drink hot chocolate.

I’m planning my garden for the spring. I’m organizing my kitchen. I’m watching Voldemort build things and talk nonstop about whatever video game she’s playing. I’m teaching Tiny Toons how to play Memory and dominos.

I’m making rosemary salt, and learning about Back to Eden gardening, and roasting cauliflower in butter.

I’m good. I’m happy. I’m just…introverting for a while.

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Please Hum the Pink Panther Theme Music

This past two weeks have been a wild ride from start to finish and my brain is gone and I have so many things broken that I’m not entirely sure where to start.

So I’ll start with the dog. The dog who is shedding. The dog who is leaving black hair all over the carpet.

So I get the vacuum and go to clean up the carpet. But the vacuum isn’t working. It’s a dyson, and several years old, but I know how to take that sucker apart and fix most of it. I can’t figure out what’s wrong, so off it goes to the repair shop.

Toilet in the second bathroom is continuously clogged. I’ll plunge, it clears, it clogs again. Time to call plumber.

Last Friday, I’m heading home from work and a weird light come on my dash and my car goes rrrRRRRrrr….rrrr? I get it to Grease Monkey, who tell me that a real mechanic will need to look at it, as they’ve literally never seen this error code before. Awesome. I head home.

Saturday, the plumber is coming, no mechanics are available to do diagnostics on my car today, the dog has a groomers appointment.

Load family and dog into car and car. doesnt. start.

Unload family.

Neighbor attempts to jump the car. Attempt fails.

I sit in the front seat and laugh, because what else can I do?

I cancel groomers appointment.

Plumber arrives. Cannot fix toilet. Need new toilet.

I call roadside assistance for help with car. Call a friend to take us to rental place for rental car. Tow truck and appointment at mechanics for Monday.

Monday comes along and I call to make sure mechanic knows that my car was dropped off, but…they can’t find my car.

Tow company does not answer. Multiple times.

Tow company finally answers after seventeen phone calls. Oops, they say, the car is in our lot. We’ll deliver today.

So! New toilet, car found, dog shedding, rental car, vacuum still at repair, CAR PERMANENTLY BROKEN. The oil was somehow leaking into the gasoline, so 9 year old car needs new engine.

….No.

So, this past Saturday, I spent an entire five hours at a car dealership with both kids and a tic in my eyelid that developed around hour three, but I have a new car! And I only cried once!

And now my to do list looks like this, because brain cells:
-SNL- Stefon – wiki??
-groceries where is any and all food help
-put gross dog in pretty new car
-why vacuum place why
-Super Mario Bros movie because plumber
-pectineus?

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This is Fine

Oh sure, it’s been…almost a year. Over a year?

Who knows.

Anyway, sheknows told me to update one of my files, and I remembered I had a blog and hadn’t said anything on it in a while, and then I checked my amazing ad revenue, and I’ve made a whopping 18cents without even updating.

I am RICH.

I am also incredibly busy. I’m a foster parent now, soon to be an adoptive parent (!) as well. I’ve also switched jobs, because why not add one more piece of stress into my life.

Also, politics suck and the US is leading the charge into destroying the earth, but whatever!

Regardless. I will attempt more interaction.

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I Won’t Survive the Zombie Apocalypse, and I Cannot Be a Teacher with a Gun

I figured out many years ago that I wouldn’t survive the zombie apocalypse.

How could I? I’m a teacher. Kids are my thing. I can’t even watch movies where bad guys do things to little kids. I climbed straight up the couch saying, “No no no, turn it off turn it off turn it OFF,” when I watched a few minutes of Ransom and got to the point where the kid was tied to the bed and drugged with Nyquil.

I won’t survive the zombie apocalypse, because I won’t be able to stop myself from going after a kid in trouble.

And my kids? My kids are always in trouble.

I teach special education. I deal with kids with a variety of attention issues, learning struggles, and more than anything else – behavioral issues.

When I taught preschoolers with special needs, I would imagine it sometimes – what I would do in the event of zombies. I had a kid in a wheelchair. I had kids who could not stay quiet. And I had kids who would fight and punch and pull hair if I ever tried to limit their movement to keep them away from the doors.

I think of school shootings in the same way.

During lockdowns – what some other places call “active shooter drills” – I would sit in the corner of my classroom beside the sand table, desperately trying to keep my kids sitting quietly with lollipop bribes and playdough, knowing that if someone did actually enter the school and there was shooting sounds, my sensory sensitive kids would go through the roof screaming and crying. And knowing there was not a damn thing I would be able to do about it except try to comfort them and keep everyone away from the door.

It gets more complicated as students get older.

In my current role, I work as a resource teacher for a school that serves K-5 grades. The resource room is not only where I pull kids to work on academics, but also where kids who need a break or are having emotional and behavioral issues go.

And based on the last few school shootings, those are the kids who are more likely to be school shooters.

So this whole call for teachers to be armed is far more stupid than I can express.

Years and years ago, I worked in a residential treatment center for kids from age 5 to 13 years old. These kids had been removed from their homes due to severe abuse and were not able to function in regular schools or full time at home. One night when I was working with the younger kids, I had a phone call from the older group’s house.

There had been some kind of incident. 911 had been called – by an angry child who was trying to get even with a staff member. When the police arrived, there was chaos. A riot.

And an 8 year old child with anger and violence issues put his hands on a police officer’s gun in the madness.

The gun was never pulled from it’s holster. The strap was still buckled down. He might not have been strong enough to lift a handgun out of the holster anyway.

But it doesn’t matter.

In a preschool classroom, there is no way I could have carried a gun. A preschool teacher is a jungle gym for children – kids were in my lap, in my arms, on my back clinging like monkeys.

In a resource classroom, the chances of a special education teacher having to carry a gun and use it on a school shooter would likely involve shooting a child I’ve known for three years. A child I fight to show everyday that they can trust me – that poor choices are not the end of the world – that mistakes can be fixed.

I’m going to die in the zombie apocalypse. It’s something I’ve come to terms with.

Do not arm teachers. Do not traumatize my already traumatized, struggling students.

Help us keep them safe.

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Uh. Hello?

Who’s there? Where am I? Is this thing still on??

Well, it is NOW. After having to move hosts, fight with wp installs, and general insanity and sulking from both myself and the spiral.

Whatever, we’re here, it’s 2018.

COMING UP:
-more gender examinations of movie trailers!
-crying and yelling about politics!
-ridiculous evaluations of feminism in movies and music!

Also, on fb, I’ve ended up doing an entire ridiculous series of reviews of subjectively terrible gay romance novels. Would anyone be interested in reading those?

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