In other news...

It's finished, as much as a first draft can ever be considered finished. 136, 699 words over 464 pages, collected in little snippets here and there from March 30th until today. It's a testament to God, to the endurance He gives us and the truth that He will never ask too much--even if, for so long, I believed that writing a novel while staying home with two kids was absolutely too much. Eight months later, I'm convinced once again that He was right and I was wrong. You'd think we'd learn not to doubt these things, but hey, I got a novel out of it, didn't I? And now the real work begins...

POOP: Parents Obsessively Overprepping (little) People

I'm part of a parenting message board--the same one responsible for the children's literature debate--and found myself floored this morning by the following query:

"Has anyone used any books, programs or software tools to prepare for GATE (Gifted and Talented Education)?"

If you're not familiar with GATE, it's the program in California public schools that separates out the high-achieving and under-achieving kids and puts them in higher level classes. Around 3rd grade you take the test, if your parents so desire, which should assess your given IQ and tell educators whether you belong in the class.

I'm not sure what bothers me more: that children who are not necessarily at that level will be "snuck" into those classes, or the fact that their parents are willing to push them into preparing for a test at the tender age of eight--a test that, if it really does test your IQ, shouldn't require any prep at all.

Both B and I were in GATE, and I guess my general assumption is that our kids will be too, but I only want them there if that's what's best for them, if that's where they fit and could get the education they need/deserve. The thought of parents prepping kids for this test the way an adult boosts their score on the GRE is absolutely nauseating. Sorry to all the parents out there who might feel differently. I understand that you want your kid in the best class--I think most parents want the best for their children--and that some kids test more poorly than others (although I think prepping for test taking is different than prepping for a test). Seriously: when did we start treating our kids like little adults? I can remember taking that test, thinking that it was kind of strange and unfamiliar in a "boy, aren't grown-ups weird?" sort of way. I didn't really know what I was going in for and I didn't care after I left. My mom and I went somewhere fun--somewhere for kids--and that was that. It makes me sad to think of some poor kid cramming for the test, stressing out about it, then sitting around waiting for the score with their overobsessive parent. It's like taking the SAT nine years early. It's bad enough when you finally get to that point. Do you really have to treat your kids to that any earlier?

Okay, sorry. It's really too early for soapbox ranting. Feel free to read me the riot act on how I'm overreacting and how test prep is never a bad thing and how much that test could affect a kid's education. I know. Maybe I'll see the point when I'm a little less angry. Right now, I'm ready to take my kids into the playroom and let them be kids.

All that, and we get a shot too

Do you ever have those moments when you hear yourself being totally irrational, and yet you just can't manage to stop it? It's like a movie, where you see the killer closing in on the door and you want to tell the innocent coed to RUN while there's still time!

Today we had one of those moments.

I took the kids to get flu shots (I know: thimerisol/GBS/toxins/unreliable/etc. We get them anyway. The horror!). They told us it would be a 15 minute wait, which was fine. We had lots of time before we were supposed to meet friends at the park at 10am. We sat down in the waiting room very patiently. After forty-five minutes, countless songs and memorized stories and a few escalating protests, I politely asked how much longer it would be, pointing out that they had promised only 15 minutes. "Soon," they told me. So we sat back down. I tried to call my friend to give her an update, only to find my cell phone was dead. Surely we'd still be there close to on time. Then again, they were going with the Biblical meaning of 'soon.' After another twenty-five minutes (don't ask me how we got through that with no food and no books and clear dissatisfaction in the catalog of my memory of children's songs and stories), I went back up to the desk, two unhappy but rightfully so kids in tow. The girl at the front asked if we got our shots yet, and I told her that we had not, and as a result I was about to lose it.

Then I lost it.

I found myself crying, pounding the counter, and calling for someone in management to hear my complaints. In my heart, I knew there was very little that they could do, so when she came out, heard my statement, and apologized without actually being able to change anything, I just felt all the more ridiculous. How could I have let myself turn into the child? I'd just thrown a regular tantrum, and received the same response I give to my kids all the time: I'm very sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it.

To tell you the truth, that answer really sucks.

And it sucks to feel like after all these years, after thinking I was grown-up enough to be a mom, that there's a little toddler in there still. I'd like to hope it happens to the best of us, but maybe it's really that I'm just not one of the best. In any case, I feel very human today, and thinking thankfully that God loves me just as I love my kids, even when they're being irrational and ridiculous.

In the end, we got our flu shots, albeit with a small dose of shame. My friend had canceled our playdate--if only my phone had been charged, I would have had the message at a more useful time--and we went shopping instead. The kids got to pick something fun (police car and baby--of course) and I bought myself three kinds of candy for gingerbread house making. By the time we left the store, I was singing Christmas carols to the kids and talking about how much I love the holiday season. So there's some good to having a little toddler lurking inside: she was pretty easily distracted. God bless those short memories.

Week Tired Time Taffy

Is it really only Wednesday? Really? Does anyone else feel like the month is just crawling toward Thanksgiving? I know I shouldn't complain, because the holidays usually move so fast , but I can only get up before 5am so many days in a row before I start getting cranky.* You'd think, then, when things move so slowly, that I'd be getting so much more done, right? But no. It just feels like it takes me longer to do everything, like time has become a piece of pulled taffy. And I don't even like taffy. Although maybe if I had some taffy, we could at least do a fun project about it's miraculous stretching properties. You know, to kill some time. Did I mention that being tired also messes with my focus?

*In case it wasn't clear already, today was my tipping point. A few more days of this and my posts are going to become as random as this one's title.

Eye spy

Ever since I had my wallet stolen, I've been having a bit of a identity crisis. See, while giving my statement to the police officer, I had to go over all my vital stats--weight, eye color, etc.--which led to a conversation later that afternoon where I asked my mom what color she would call the kids' eyes. The conversation went something like this:

Me: What color do you think the kids' eyes are? I call them green. They look a lot like my eyes.
Mom: But your eyes aren't green.
Me: You don't think so? They've always looked dark green to me.
Mom: Your dad says that his eyes are green too, and they're not. Your eyes are more... brown in the middle and blue on the edge.
Me: Maybe they mix and make my eyes look green.
Mom: But they don't look green. They look... brown. Or maybe blue. But definitely not green. The kids' look more blue to me.
Me: That's weird. B's eyes are gray.
Mom: Gray! That's the color. Your eyes are gray.
Me: So now they're brown, blue, and gray?
Mom: Well, they're not green.

Feeling rather anxious, I came home and did a bit of research on eye colors. I've concluded, without much conviction, that we all have hazel eyes (well, except B, who really does have gray eyes, which I guess puts him in the blue field, technically speaking). Seems simple enough, right, except that now my driver's license is incorrect on three main fields: I'm not quite at the weight I once was, I'm not quite 5'6"--even on a good day, and my eyes are no longer green. But my hair is red. I think.

Can you spot the pattern?

M: Let's think of things that start with the letter F.
Me: Oh, that sounds fun. Okay, what--
M: No, me first. I have lots of them. Fire truck. Firefighter. Um...
Me: How about--
M: No, I'm still going. Um... fire!
Me: Wow. All good ones. What about--
M: No, now things that start with P. Like police. And police car.
Me: Right. Or--
M: Now A. Ambulance.
Me: Yeah, or--
M: Mom, I'm all done with this game now.

We didn't actually stop the game there, although I kind of wish we would have. We tried T, which led to tow trucks--also qualifying emergency vehicles in M's world--and then G, which prompted GG. That's what we called my grandmother, the one who passed in June. A moment of silence followed at the mention of her name, and then M said, sweetly and wistfully, "I miss GG." It's nice to know that he remembers her, and that we can miss her together. It's also nice to know that she was special enough to trump even a frenzy of emergency vehicles.

Tonight only: Every card counts twice!

You know you've sunk to a new low when, while restacking the cards for Candyland, you start thinking how you might arrange them to make the game go as quickly as possible. In my defense: it was 6:47pm after a long day and we (mostly) let the cards fall as they may.