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Earl passed us by here on the NC coast, although we did have a mandatory evacuation from the island. Brandus had to stay home with Voldemort, as daycare was closed, even though the schools we work in were NOT, so I ended up packing my suitcase so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

So, my suitcase ended up sitting in my car, which was fine on Thursday, as it was cool and overcast. On Friday, it was baking hot and blazing, so my suitcase sat in the trunk and now smells like my now-melted massage bar from Lush. *sob* Fortunately, my face soap (Lush), and my shampoo bar (LUSH!) came through unscathed, but I’m still mourning over the loss of the massage bar and the half of a bath melt (yep, Lush!).

…these were important things to take when evacuating for a hurricane. For one thing, we stayed in a hotel where the bathtub was clean and I wouldn’t spend the entire time I soaked wondering what that weird black stuff on the shower curtain might be and whether it was going to try to attack me at any point. For another, with us staying in one room, we had to turn off the lights and reduce activity until Voldemort went to sleep, which can take an abnormal amount of time in a new place, so I needed something to do where I didn’t have to do much. So, bath!

And the Happy Blooming bath melt was so yummy smelling and left my skin crazy soft, even though I only used half of it.

Not that i would have used the other half any time soon, as that would involve me cleaning the bathtub and shower curtain, but anyway!

Now, recently, my entire skin and body care has been overtaken by Lush, which is expensive but OMG SO WORTH IT. I had never been into a Lush before I went to Las Vegas a month ago, but I had heard about it, and when we were walking from one casino to another, I spotted it and went, “LUSH OMG CAN WE GO IN?” and then proceeded to spend a large chunk of my fun money (and almost an hour) in this fabulous fabulous place.

I love it so much I came home and told Brandus I didn’t care where we moved next, so long as there was a Lush nearby, as I was planning on quitting teaching and working there for the rest of my life. And not even just for the discount I would get on skincare. YUM. I LOVE IT.

So, losing bits of Lush, which is no where near here, and buying on the website isn’t nearly as much fun, nearly made me sniffle with sadness.

On the upside, my suitcase smells amazing.

I have been traveling for the last two weeks, completely without internet for the last 8 days, school starts tomorrow and the very thought makes me want to swallow my bottle of xanax whole, especially since my TA called me yesterday and told me she resigned, so instead of examining my issues, unpacking, or helping my child deal with jet lag, I’m going to tell you a secret.

Brandus does not know how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The first time he made me one, I just turned and LOOKED at him, because how can you get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich WRONG? I mean, bread, peanut butter, jelly. This isn’t hard.

And ok, all three of those ingredients are there in the sandwiches he makes, but the proportions are all sideways and weird.

HOW TO MAKE A PROPER PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH
by alianora, age my-brain-is-fried-and-i-honestly-dont-remember

1. Obtain 2 slices of bread. No nuts or weird crap in the bread, just nice normal wheat.

2. Locate peanut butter. Ensure jar says “Creamy.”

3. Spread both slices of bread with thorough covering of peanut butter. Yes, I said both sides. This is very important.

4. Locate jelly in fridge.

5. Curse when you realize you have raspberry and strawberry, but no grape.

6. PB&J sandwiches aren’t really PB&J unless it’s grape.

7. Sulk.

8. Locate honey in cupboard.

9. Destick self from honey bottle.

10. Attempt controlled pour of honey onto one side of bread.

11. Wipe honey off the table with fingers.

12. Place two pieces of bread together.

13. Proudly show husband that THIS way, with two sides of peanut butter, keeps the bread from getting all soggy.

14. Nobly ignore the mocking from husband over the fact the bread isn’t soggy, but the honey is dripping on the floor.

15. Leave the mess for your 3 year old to find and spread throughout the house.

FINIS

I must have offered up the correct sacrifice this time, as I had no major instances over the past week, both traveling to and from Las Vegas.

Which, by the way, was awesome, and at no point involved anyone getting drunk or publicly naked, so some people will point out we clearly did not do Vegas right, but we had a blast.

Unfortunately, I got in this morning after traveling all night, and tomorrow I turn back around with the husband and the kid and head out to Colorado to see the in-laws.

Hold me.

A question about defending yourself came up, and I started to think back over times I had needed to defend myself. This story came to mind, although I never actually defended myself either verbally or physically. None the less, it is a story that still boggles me somewhat, even though I lived it.

My junior year of high school, I attended a summer camp at a college – my sister Natalie’s college, actually. It was a young scholars’ thing, and so everybody was taking some kind of class for college credit. We stayed in the dorms, and I ended up rooming with another girl with my same first name. She was nice enough, I guess, at first, but she would have several girls over late at night, and they would sit on her bed with the lights blazing and talk in loud voices while I tried to sleep. I’d like to point out that we even had something that was sort of a separate room where the dressers were that was more than a foot from my head in which they would be able to sit on the floor and talk. I even vaguely remember asking them to keep it down please, but sometimes they would come in WHILE I WAS SLEEPING and turn on the lights and chat and whatever. It was annoying, but whatever, it was only for two weeks, but I ignored it as best as I could.

We were pretty much allowed the run of campus until about 10 or so, when we had to be in or close to the dorms, but we weren’t allowed off campus. About 15 to 30 minutes before we had to be back to the dorm, I went across campus. See, there was only one vending machine on the entire campus that I had found that had Dr Pepper, and it was a good 5 minute walk to get there and back. But, I have addiction issues with Dr Pepper, so I made the trek regularly.

It’s late-ish, like I said, so it’s dark, and I’m about halfway to the building where the machine is, by myself, a good minute or so from the dorm. All of a sudden, I hear a girl screaming behind me.

“YOU BITCH! YOU BITCH!”

When I turned around, it was one of the girls who hung out in my room when I was trying to sleep. She is RUNNING at me, and I’m looking around like, “huh?” because why the hell is she calling me a bitch?

She comes up and starts posturing towards me like she’s going to hit me, screaming about how I told the counselors about her boyfriend, and I’m just standing there like, “what?” I’m not even trying to defend myself or scared of her or anything. I’m just standing there.

And then I started to laugh.

Turns out that “someone” had told the counselors that she was planning to sneak off campus to meet her boyfriend, a townie, and spend the night with him. Something she had been talking about one day on my roommates bed while I had the covers pulled up over my head wishing they would die.

And this is pretty much what I told her: This is ridiculous. I don’t care if you go off campus. I dont care if you go meet your boyfriend. I don’t care about you AT ALL.

And I just kept laughing. She started to take a swing at me at one point, and i just stood there and laughed. And this wasn’t hysterical laughter, this was, “Are you fucking serious, you moron?” laughter. So, I’m actually laughing AT HER, she is so pissed off she’s cussing me up and down and about to take a swing at me, and I’m not even scared.

I don’t really remember how it was resolved, except for she didnt punch me and I did get my Dr Pepper, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t step foot in my room again. At least, not while I was in there.

It’s not really defending myself, but it’s just such a weird story. How many people get actively threatened and mock their tormentors without getting punched in the face?

1. There is the hive story. Which started by me going “Yuck, bug bites.” and ended with me shrieking “HIIIIIVVVES!! HIVES EVERYWHERE!!” with a side story about chocolate and how im not supposed to eat it, which included me saying to the doctor, “PUNCH ME IN THE FACE.”

2. the “I’m going to Vegas!” story, which consists of 2 friends and i leaving in exactly one week to take on a few shows and a lot of dorkiness.

3. then there is the “there is a giant snake in the garage story” which features Brandus contemplating catching it until he remembered NC has the US’s highest number of poisonous snakes per state. Yeah. Guess where I’m NEVER GOING AGAIN?

4. i promise to tell all these stories eventually. But for now, this is what I see practically every night around 10pm.

-Happy Sloth necklace – SO CUTE OMG

-Babushka Nesting Cups – aren’t these lovely? and they nest together like real matryoshka dolls!

-Cake Winner Bake Pan – it bakes a cake that looks like a big slice of bread. perfect for giant pb&js.

- Pretty apron! – i dont know, i just need one, ok?

I had actual content planned for today, but due to the random massive hive outbreak that is going on all over my body (INCLUDING MY FACE OMG), have a cute picture.

This is what my kid does when told to “look cute” by the photographer. Watch out male models.

A few nights ago, we were ensconced in a ridiculously awesome hotel room, which we got for a ridiculously cheap price – like, the price of a normal hotel room – and in one of the bedrooms, I was sprawled out alone in a king sized bed, while in the other bedroom, Brandus was forced into a corner of the king sized bed by a small, feverish three year old.

We spent the Fourth of July having amazing amounts of fun in Georgia at my parents’ cabin on a lake. My sister and my parents were more then happy to take kiddo fishing, for golf cart rides, for walks with the dogs…anything! I spent very little time with my own child, which was fine with me, because he was having an absolute blast and spending tons of time outdoors.

Of course, the day we were to leave, he felt a little warm, but we didn’t worry about it. After all, he had been spending a whole lot of time outside and running around. He was fine for that whole day – a day we took to go a different way home, so I could take the husband and the child to the camp I went to for years and years. We stayed overnight in a normal hotel not far away, and I loved getting to show them around Asheville, which is a town I love.

Getting back in the car, kiddo starts to cry.

Ok, he doesn’t want to ride anymore. Makes sense.

Or did, right until he puked all over himself.

We pulled over, cleaned him up, got back in the car and threw a towel over his lap and told him to try and aim for that, as we were still 6 hours away from home.

Outside of Raleigh, 20 minutes from my sister’s place, we pulled over and got a hotel room for the night. We couldn’t drive with a kid who is puking, not when we weren’t in a hurry to get home for any reason – especially when the Dark Lord was running a high fever as well.

We lucked into the hotel room, but it was a pity we didn’t get to enjoy it more. Being on puke patrol is time and yuck intensive.

We are home now, and there has been no puking for 2 days, although this fever is still hanging around. Which means he is very very whiny, and we are very tired.

So, in my first four days of official summer break, I have:

-gone to the eye doctor
-made a dentist appointment
-made an ob/gyn appointment
-gone to the library
-gone grocery shopping
-read 1 1/2 novels
-written fanfic
-vacuumed the house
-swept the kitchen
-done 2 loads of dishes
-done 2 loads of laundry
-made several gnomes
-made 2 fairy ribbon rings, and would have made more except that I ran out of ribbon
-made heart shaped muffins with Voldemort

I am really REALLY enjoying my time off.

Several days ago, before school let out, my aide tossed me a book to read during rest time. We have to sit with most of our children, and by “with” I mean, “holding down with our bodies,” and there is only so much work I can get done while sitting on a child, so generally, I read.

On this day, I had forgotten my book. And the book my aide tossed my way was this one.

I said, Wait a second…i think I’ve read this!

This was a novel I vaguely remember swiping off my older sister’s nightstand a time or two. See, I read very quickly, and as a child it wasn’t unusual for me to read a novel every day or two*. Needless to say, I went through books insanely fast, and then would prowl the house looking for something new to read. At this point, Melisa was into some horror novels, and while horror wasn’t something I was big on (still isnt), I was fairly convinced I would shrivel and die without book sustenance of some form, so I would swipe whatever she was reading whenever she wasn’t reading it.

I did this to Natalie, too, but I remember there being more Sweet Valley High and less horror swiping from her.

Based on the fact I only vaguely remembered the plot, and was curious to see how it had held up in my brain, I reread it.

…Holy Jesus fuck, what the hell was that?

It’s a trainwreck of epic proportions. Incest, rape, child abuse, MATERNAL ACCEPTANCE OF THE CHILD ABUSE, possession, freaky paintings, and a little girl throwing her neighbors down into a pit with a dead cat dressed in doll clothes.

And yet, the biggest problem I had, out of all of this mess, was the understanding that the father had gotten drunk one day, and beaten the younger daughter until she was catatonic and diagnosed schizophrenic…and he wasn’t arrested, spoken to about it sternly, or even gotten the shit beat out of him by the mother. Matter of fact, the sheriff SCOFFS about the whole thing! “You don’t even know for sure what you did! I’m sure it was nothing!”

WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK? Geeze, if this is how frustrated I get after rereading a novel I barely remember, I don’t even what to know what I would think about something REALLY crazy like Flowers in the Attic if I read it now!

*I probably read the equivalent now, but a great deal of the fiction I read is online now. Damn, I want a Kindle or a Nook.

We went down into town this morning, as there was a street fair, and it’s a good way to get out of the house and wear Voldemort out a bit so that he actually sleeps at nap time.

We wandered for a while, and then decided it was way too freaking hot to do this, so we went out to a restaurant instead. We’ve been there before, but not for a long long while, so aside from remembering that they had good burgers and a lot of Elvis paraphanelia, I must have blocked something very important out.

See, the bathroom, which is tiny btw, is plastered with Elvis pictures, Elvis paintings…and a life size cardboard cutout of Elvis.

Because the bathroom is so tiny, when you sit on the toilet, your knees are inches from the King. Disturbing, a little, especially when you look up at his face with your nervous smile and realize that he is WATCHING YOU. His eyes are very clearly looking down at the person trying to pee.

It only gets worse when you stand up and flush, then hear him say “Thank you very much.”

Thursday was this year’s last day with kids. It wasn’t as thrilling as it usually is, because I ended up having to stay home with a feverish, coughing, Voldermort on Tuesday and Wednesday. So it was a bit anticlimactic. Plus, trying to say goodbye to my kiddos is hard. Not because I’ll miss them, although I will miss the two who are going on to kindergarten, but because I’m never sure what they understand.

Do they know they won’t see me anymore? Do they understand what summer is? Or did they wake up yesterday completely off routine because the bus didn’t come?

Do I celebrate surviving the year with my sanity mostly intact? Or do I start to stress about next year – with dealing with the crazy lady in charge, and with knowing I’m already starting the year with 5 kids, and the possibility of my aide not coming back?

Decisions, decisions.

Wednesday was Voldemort’s first attempt at a gymnastics class. I picked Wednesday because one of his friends from daycare was in that class, and I was hopeful that it would encourage him to follow along and participate.

They spent the entire time smacking each other with things, running around giggling, and being insanely goofy. Clearly, my plan worked a little too well.

Of course, this was also due to the fact that the “teacher” who was probably around 18, LET THEM. There were no directions given, kiddo wasn’t shown how to do ANYTHING, he was expected to just follow and copy the others. So when I went down to turn in the paperwork and (I thought) laugh at how energetic kiddo and his friend were in his VERY FIRST EXPOSURE TO GYMNASTICS, I was more than a little miffed to promptly be told “He needs to be in a mommy and me class.”

We convinced them to give him “one more chance” (and dont get me started on how much THAT irritated me), in a class without someone he sees all day everyday and loves running around with, and went back last night. Where he had a different teacher who actually bothered to give him directions and show him what she wanted him to do, and guess what? HE DID FINE.

Now, if he actually hadn’t been ready, I would have been cool with that, but you know what? You have to TELL him the rules before you expect him to follow them. HE’S THREE.

This weekend, both sisters and their significant others, plus a Critter, descend upon us for a visit. I am quite gleeful about it, and keep thinking of the upcoming hilarity that will ensue when the three year old Dark Lord and his 4 months younger cousin get together to wreck mayhem upon the coast of NC.

We’re bunking the kids in together, so it’s going to be an all night party, and it’s possible they will NEVER EVER SLEEP, but i figured it’s going to be hilarious, so i’m going to ignore it until im forced to interrupt their first sleepover with the parent’s time honored yell of “BE QUIET AND JUST GO TO SLEEP.” They’ll stay up late, do each other’s hair, and giggle about boys.

I hope they don’t decide to freeze my bra.

We skipped out on a birthday party for a small child this weekend in order to sit around outside on what we optimistically called “a picnic.”

Our small child insisted on carrying the bag of food, which he bonked along the ground endlessly until he said, “Here, Daddy, carry this,” and promptly dropped it. Nothing was too smashed or shaken, although I was glad we had packed tea instead of cokes. We sat ourselves on an old tablecloth that brandus won’t let us get rid of because his parents gave it to us, but he wrinkles his nose at every time I pull out to use. So it’s been serving as a cat bed, and was evidently used at some point in the past as a brownie rest, as where there isn’t cat hair, there are brownie bits permanently stuck to it.

We sat down and ate our food while swatting bugs and watching the child steadfastly ignore his chicken in favor of playing in the bbq sauce with a biscuit. I saw several ants try to make off with a brownie crumb, but that stuff was stuck GOOD. Brandus tried to take Voldemort down to see the clams in the water, which got the kid so excited he ran back and forth between the two of us for a good five minutes before finally giving in to the inevitable and falling on his face. Which is fine, by the way. The stitches he got last week came out on Wednesday, and I only cried a little while he was screaming “I’m scared! I’m scared! MAAMAAAAAAAA!!!.”

Really. Only a little.

This was our first encounter with stitches. I feel good. We made it a solid three years, and the fact I came home the same day to see him throwing himself off of more furniture with abandon didn’t leave me with FEELINGS OF DREAD for the future or anything.

Much.

Yeah. Not exactly phased.

But fortunately, falling on his face on our picnic did nothing other than cover him in slime, which is pretty much par for the course when dealing with a three year old.

And when we got back – buggy, itchy, vaguely full from what we managed to eat, and covered in ground in brownie bits – we even managed to smile and say, “we should do this again next week.”

At least, that’s what my kid wished me this morning. And “Happy Mother Birthday Day!”

I think he’s a little mixed up. But hey, he gave me a painted styrofoam butterfly with a magnet on the back, so it’s all good.

Happy Mother’s Day!

It’s the weekend, yes, but most days I am entirely too tired to even communicate how crazy my job really is. So for your reading pleasure, here is a brief snippet of how this week went.

names changed to protect my ass.

Teacher:
Get down, M. N, no mouth. H, feet on floor. G, you’re fine. No, S, you may not hold my hand right now. D, pick up these first. G, get DOWN. N, get that out of your mouth, it’s gross. No bubbles, N.

Circle time! Check schedule! No bubbles, N. H, feet on floor. What do you want to sing? Listen! Sit in chair, M. Sit in chair, M. SIT IN CHAIR, M. No bubbles, N! *songs may or may not occur*

Centers! Check schedules! N, feet on floor. H, go jump! W, sand out of mouth-YUCK. M, go potty. It does not hurt my feelings when you flush the toilet angrily, M, so GO POTTY. W, you’re done with sand – spit it out. No bubbles, N. Sand is closed, W! STOP TRYING TO EAT IT.

Art! Check schedules! Don’t eat the playdough, W. M, get the playdough off your head. N, you need to share the playdough toys. G, can you roll it out? D, touch it! Just try! W, stop eating the playdough. D, poke the playdough with your finger. Make a snake, N. WE SIT IN CHAIRS.

Snack! Check schedules! *much encouragement and prompting on my part to have kids communicate what they want to eat* H, sitting or throw away. G, please eat SOMETHING today, ok? D, you can’t have what the others are having, so please stop trying to swipe. H, sitting or throw away. N, you took two bites of your apple and threw it away, no you may not have another.

Oh, thank goodness, it’s recess! CHECK SCHEDULES! Get your vests! STOP OPENING THE DOOR, W. S, go potty. Yes, I mean now. GO POTTY. H, stop kicking me, I have to hold yours AND D’s hands, ok? N, yes, for heaven’s sake, BUBBLES NOW. *release class to playground, spend 1 hour attempting to get M to stop eating acorns, W to stop kicking dirt, N to let someone else blow bubbles every now and then, S to let go of my hand, D and G to down up the stairs and down the slide, and H to STOP KICKING ME*

Time to go insi-GET BACK HERE.

Check schedules! Lunch! *shove food in children’s mouths or watch them throw it on the floor or ignore it and demand something else through hand gestures and whiny noises* W, I know it has sauce on it and that mortally offends you, but I promise you have eaten it before. M, keep your food on your plate. No, you may not trade your half eaten bun for his untouched one, S, but nice try. H, sitting or throw away. G, if I give you the cup shaped like Woody from Toy Story, will you at least drink something?

Check schedules! SLEEP! YAY! *send various kids potty, redirect multiple kids who seem to have forgotten where their mats are, sit on children, ignore the 30 minutes of crying from one child*

*majority of children are asleep or at least contained, attempt to write lesson plans, IEPs, transition goals, newsletters, etc, all the while my poor TA is bodily holding down at least one kid who just wants to throw things or step on other kid’s faces or whatever*

Check schedules! Snack! Want juice, W? Juice? Say juice! No, “here you go,” N, say juice. JUICE. You’ve said it seventeen times today, so I know you can do it. JUICE. Go potty, S. Crying doesn’t bother me, I live to make children cry – so go potty! M, if you don’t want popcorn then throw it away. Sure, you can give it to N. …and you’re going to give it to W? He didn’t even want popcorn, but hey, he’s eating it, so it’s ok with me. No bubbles, N.

CHECK SCHEDULES! GO HOME! *shove backpacks onto tiny shoulders, avoid angry kicking feet of H, wrench bubbles from N’s grasp, convince W to put down the animals he’s carrying, shove them onto buses and COLLAPSE*

Day One:

Year One:

Year Two:

Year Three:

VOLDEMORT IS THREE! BRACE YOURSELVES!

VOLDEMORT IS THREE YEARS OLD. BATTEN THE HATCHES AND MAN THE BATTLESTATIONS.

PICTURES AND MAYHEM TO FOLLOW.