I want to get all my work done for school and pass all my classes with no less than a B.
I want Chris to have enough work to keep us afloat while I finish school and look for a job.
I want to spend what will hopefully be my last seriously broke Christmas quietly and stress free, enjoying my family and my free time.
I want to find a job by early January with the commute, pay grade, and benefits that I have been visualizing, doing something that I am both highly interested in and good at. (Whew! That's a big one.)
I want to finish out the only New Year's resolution that I have ever kept and read my November book within the next several days.
I want to read a LOT more next year, including lots of research on adolescence. I want to survive Ant's teenage years. While I'd love to thrive with grace and dignity, I think a more realistic hope is for patience and tolerance. I want to love him no matter what comes.
I want to find some fun hobbies that keep me fascinated.
I want to manage my budget well, which I think will be completely possible with a steady income.
I want to take good care of my dogs.
I want Chris and I to survive Ant's adolescence and eventually have our house to ourselves again.
I want to rarely ever take a day off without traveling somewhere.
:D
Friday, November 25, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Moving right along
Book Arts Project #3 has been started! Oh wow, that is such a relief. I thought it would be project 2, but tonight I realized how much work was going to go into it and decided it should be the final project, not the second in line. This might not sound awesome because I still have to come up with a second project, but the good news is that it has to be significantly less complicated than this one. Now that I think about it, I know that it will need to demonstrate binding techniques, but I am unconcerned. I will start piecing that together soon. Today I finished another lesson for the independent study class, now there are two left. One is already half done. A total of 15 projects, papers, and assignments left.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Please say the table option.
This is more of a venting opportunity than anything, because I am going to have to get an idea of how not to strangle this child before he comes home.
In addition to all the "adjustment challenges" we've been having, we still have all the old crap to contend with as well! Yay! I have to remind myself that I did not ask for this situation and I have done pretty well, considering that I had no experience and maybe a week to get used to the idea.
I should also remind myself that I am used to having periodic breaks when he goes to stay with Grandma for at least a weekend at a time. Grandma hasn't been well enough to take him in a while. Those breaks were essential to his survival, let me tell you. Now I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of losing it, which indicates that it is TIME TO GO TO GRANDMA'S, except I'm not sure that Mike can juggle any more. I think I'm going to have a conversation with Mike today to find out, though I feel like I already know what the outcome will be. Mike may be perfectly willing, but... well, anyway.
There are many issues going on with Ant right now. Namely, he's 12. When we were at the thrift store buying the table, the cashier was talking to him and asked how old he was. He said he was almost 13 and she asked, "Know everything yet?" I laughed like a hyena because somebody understood.
Let's see if I can get this out.
1) His fashion icons are emo kids, so he wears his pants under his ass and throws his head to get his hair out of his face.
2) Every other word is like and he calls everybody dude. This morning, when he stood in our doorway and told us he was late again, Chris yelled "GODDAMMIT, ANTHONY!" and Ant responded, "I KNOW, DUDE!"
3) We have driven him to school... too many times because if he wakes up when his alarm goes off, he climbs down off his bunk bed, hits the snooze alarm, then climbs back up and passes out. I am developing a Rube Goldberg project where his alarm is in the bathroom along with his clothes. The alarm goes off next to a baby monitor whose receiver is next to his ear and when he leaves his bedroom to go look for the snooze button, the door swings shut and locks behind him. It's not fair that school starts so early, not just because IT GOES AGAINST NATURE but also because by the time I'm finished with some homework and a few chores, he's already on his way home.
4) He is an authority on EVERYTHING. Just ask him. If he doesn't know, he'll make something up, then defend it to the death.
5) If you give him water, he wants milk. If you offer him a snack, he wants a meal. If you buy him a graph paper notebook, he wanted the red one. If you pick out something he likes at the store and try to hand it to him, he'll put it back and grab THE EXACT SAME THING, just so that he can pick it out himself.
6) Why did you do that? I don't know. Who took my tape dispenser? I don't know. When is your project due? I don't know. Where is your homework folder? I don't know. What did you do in class today? I don't know. When did you last take a shower? I don't know. How are you even functioning? I don't know.
7) He makes up songs, yammers on incessantly, or just makes noises all the time, maximizing the acoustics in every room. He loves to do this in the car. If he sees a friend on your side of the car, he'll yell at them right through your ear even if the window's up. Oh, and he's learning to play the trumpet.
8) Any item within reach becomes something to fiddle with. The first thing he does as soon as he gets hold of a mechancial pencil is break the clip off. Then he pulls the eraser out, removes all the lead, and chews on the plastic. The process is the same no matter whose pencil it is. He doesn't ask if he can destroy your pencils, he just takes them when he can't find his- which is often.
9) If you ask him to do something, he will do it wrong or not at all. If you give him specific instructions on how to do something, he will decide he knows a better way to do it.
10) No matter what you say to him, whether it is a greeting, a question, a comment, a reply, or a command, his automatic response is "What?" It is unnecessary to answer this question as it is simply a placeholder. You have to wait until the gerbil gets the wheel in motion and then he will be able to answer intelligently. Well, it might not be an intelligent answer.
Okay, so I understand that all of this is just adolescence. My question is how to deal with that. ("I don't know.") I talked recently with a mom of a daughter Ant's age and she said this girl doesn't have any chores because she can't do any of them. That sounds retarded, but I was relieved to know that Ant's not the only one. I am starting to wonder if we did the dishes right, Tracy. Did they look at our work? Did we skimp? I don't remember skating on the job- I remember scrubbing Mom's cast iron skillet so hard that she told me I was removing all the years she'd put into it. But maybe my memory has an ego. I remember Grammy grabbing the broom out of my hands and telling me I didn't know how to sweep. I remember my TI grabbing the mop out of my hands and telling me I didn't know how to mop. I sure could clean a toilet, though. Ant gets pee all over the outside of the toilet. I specifically point it out and tell him to make sure to clean it (and aim, for Pete's sake) and when I come back, he hasn't touched it. I tell him he hasn't touched it and he whines that it won't come off. I tell him to clean it and he starts working on it and- oh my god- miraculously it comes off. It is so obnoxious to have to chase him down and I am getting exasperated. I walk into his bathroom here often and so far he has been trying to follow orders. But what the hell is going on in the kitchen? ("I don't know.")
I have pleaded, I have taught, threatened, cajoled, provided incentive, yelled, explained, and even made him drink out of a cup with congealed milk in the bottom. Yes, I most certainly did. I implemented schedules and plans that involved rotating responsibilities so that he wouldn't always have to be the dish fairy. I am lost and I am so tired of having to make him redo it that I really feel like it would be easier to just wash them myself. I am frustrated and I have to be careful not to express said frustration by gleefully imagining clonking him on the head with the skillet that DID NOT EVEN TOUCH THE WATER. Even though I have never hit this kid and never will, you're not allowed to imagine such extreme and silly Roseanne moments as hitting someone with a frying pan. My inner evil stepmother is imagining creative and cruel punishments such as inviting the family to come sit down at dinner, bringing over the pan of hot, yummy food, scooping out a nice serving for Ant, bypassing his plate and dumping it directly on the table. I can't use paper plates, obviously, because he would be just fine with that. I have also considered making him wash every single dish in the kitchen, just emptying every damn cupboard and creating a nightmare-sized pile of dishes to hand wash. I could buy a child leash and make him follow me around the house like when Riley gets in trouble.
These solutions are only good for making me laugh and lightening my mood. Now I need some real suggestions. Please.
In addition to all the "adjustment challenges" we've been having, we still have all the old crap to contend with as well! Yay! I have to remind myself that I did not ask for this situation and I have done pretty well, considering that I had no experience and maybe a week to get used to the idea.
I should also remind myself that I am used to having periodic breaks when he goes to stay with Grandma for at least a weekend at a time. Grandma hasn't been well enough to take him in a while. Those breaks were essential to his survival, let me tell you. Now I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of losing it, which indicates that it is TIME TO GO TO GRANDMA'S, except I'm not sure that Mike can juggle any more. I think I'm going to have a conversation with Mike today to find out, though I feel like I already know what the outcome will be. Mike may be perfectly willing, but... well, anyway.
There are many issues going on with Ant right now. Namely, he's 12. When we were at the thrift store buying the table, the cashier was talking to him and asked how old he was. He said he was almost 13 and she asked, "Know everything yet?" I laughed like a hyena because somebody understood.
Let's see if I can get this out.
1) His fashion icons are emo kids, so he wears his pants under his ass and throws his head to get his hair out of his face.
2) Every other word is like and he calls everybody dude. This morning, when he stood in our doorway and told us he was late again, Chris yelled "GODDAMMIT, ANTHONY!" and Ant responded, "I KNOW, DUDE!"
3) We have driven him to school... too many times because if he wakes up when his alarm goes off, he climbs down off his bunk bed, hits the snooze alarm, then climbs back up and passes out. I am developing a Rube Goldberg project where his alarm is in the bathroom along with his clothes. The alarm goes off next to a baby monitor whose receiver is next to his ear and when he leaves his bedroom to go look for the snooze button, the door swings shut and locks behind him. It's not fair that school starts so early, not just because IT GOES AGAINST NATURE but also because by the time I'm finished with some homework and a few chores, he's already on his way home.
4) He is an authority on EVERYTHING. Just ask him. If he doesn't know, he'll make something up, then defend it to the death.
5) If you give him water, he wants milk. If you offer him a snack, he wants a meal. If you buy him a graph paper notebook, he wanted the red one. If you pick out something he likes at the store and try to hand it to him, he'll put it back and grab THE EXACT SAME THING, just so that he can pick it out himself.
6) Why did you do that? I don't know. Who took my tape dispenser? I don't know. When is your project due? I don't know. Where is your homework folder? I don't know. What did you do in class today? I don't know. When did you last take a shower? I don't know. How are you even functioning? I don't know.
7) He makes up songs, yammers on incessantly, or just makes noises all the time, maximizing the acoustics in every room. He loves to do this in the car. If he sees a friend on your side of the car, he'll yell at them right through your ear even if the window's up. Oh, and he's learning to play the trumpet.
8) Any item within reach becomes something to fiddle with. The first thing he does as soon as he gets hold of a mechancial pencil is break the clip off. Then he pulls the eraser out, removes all the lead, and chews on the plastic. The process is the same no matter whose pencil it is. He doesn't ask if he can destroy your pencils, he just takes them when he can't find his- which is often.
9) If you ask him to do something, he will do it wrong or not at all. If you give him specific instructions on how to do something, he will decide he knows a better way to do it.
10) No matter what you say to him, whether it is a greeting, a question, a comment, a reply, or a command, his automatic response is "What?" It is unnecessary to answer this question as it is simply a placeholder. You have to wait until the gerbil gets the wheel in motion and then he will be able to answer intelligently. Well, it might not be an intelligent answer.
Okay, so I understand that all of this is just adolescence. My question is how to deal with that. ("I don't know.") I talked recently with a mom of a daughter Ant's age and she said this girl doesn't have any chores because she can't do any of them. That sounds retarded, but I was relieved to know that Ant's not the only one. I am starting to wonder if we did the dishes right, Tracy. Did they look at our work? Did we skimp? I don't remember skating on the job- I remember scrubbing Mom's cast iron skillet so hard that she told me I was removing all the years she'd put into it. But maybe my memory has an ego. I remember Grammy grabbing the broom out of my hands and telling me I didn't know how to sweep. I remember my TI grabbing the mop out of my hands and telling me I didn't know how to mop. I sure could clean a toilet, though. Ant gets pee all over the outside of the toilet. I specifically point it out and tell him to make sure to clean it (and aim, for Pete's sake) and when I come back, he hasn't touched it. I tell him he hasn't touched it and he whines that it won't come off. I tell him to clean it and he starts working on it and- oh my god- miraculously it comes off. It is so obnoxious to have to chase him down and I am getting exasperated. I walk into his bathroom here often and so far he has been trying to follow orders. But what the hell is going on in the kitchen? ("I don't know.")
I have pleaded, I have taught, threatened, cajoled, provided incentive, yelled, explained, and even made him drink out of a cup with congealed milk in the bottom. Yes, I most certainly did. I implemented schedules and plans that involved rotating responsibilities so that he wouldn't always have to be the dish fairy. I am lost and I am so tired of having to make him redo it that I really feel like it would be easier to just wash them myself. I am frustrated and I have to be careful not to express said frustration by gleefully imagining clonking him on the head with the skillet that DID NOT EVEN TOUCH THE WATER. Even though I have never hit this kid and never will, you're not allowed to imagine such extreme and silly Roseanne moments as hitting someone with a frying pan. My inner evil stepmother is imagining creative and cruel punishments such as inviting the family to come sit down at dinner, bringing over the pan of hot, yummy food, scooping out a nice serving for Ant, bypassing his plate and dumping it directly on the table. I can't use paper plates, obviously, because he would be just fine with that. I have also considered making him wash every single dish in the kitchen, just emptying every damn cupboard and creating a nightmare-sized pile of dishes to hand wash. I could buy a child leash and make him follow me around the house like when Riley gets in trouble.
These solutions are only good for making me laugh and lightening my mood. Now I need some real suggestions. Please.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Finished Broadside Pictures Located Here
The Bean Eaters
by Gwendolyn Brooks
They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,
Tin flatware.
Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep on putting on their clothes
And putting things away.
And remembering...
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that
is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths,
tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.
Yay!
by Gwendolyn Brooks
They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,
Tin flatware.
Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep on putting on their clothes
And putting things away.
And remembering...
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that
is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths,
tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes.
Yay!
Oh, fine, okay, I'll go.
I spent THIRTEEN HOURS at school yesterday.
I keep changing my mind about whether or not I'm going to this production of Hamlet.
Read this, it's neat.
It will cost more than I want to pay, but I keep hearing about it from teachers and fellow students. "The University's award-winning Shakespearean scholar" is my Shakespeare teacher and this is the moment where he would tell you about his book:
The Shakespeare Thefts: In Search of the First Folios
My teacher has been trying to get Ben Crystal, the visiting Brit who plays Hamlet, to come talk to our class. He and Ophelia (who is in our class) talked about their interpretation of the roles and we got to hear a bit of the original pronunciation. Some people in the class have been already, and gave their impressions. The consensus is very positive.
Read read read read read read eat lunch read read walk to photography read read
In photography, I presented my portrait project.
Chris
Justin
Ant
Jenea
James
Frank
Dezmond
I got some really nice responses. Yay!
After 3 hours of critiquing portraits, I went to my American Novel class. The teacher started by encouraging us to go see Hamlet, and some people in the class started giving their reviews. Again, very positive. Then we started talking about Song of Solomon.
Walk to Jimmy John's eat dinner read read read
Went to meet Lena at the Black Rock Press. She's the other Book Arts student who took the class last spring. We were not required to attend the class again. We are left to accomplish projects on own, which is a terrible idea. After the move and Shannon's wedding, half of September and the entire month of October had suddenly disappeared. Lena's shelf is FILLED with containers and supplies, and I started to freak out. Last night we met up to print and she confessed that she's only finished the broadside so far. WHEW. She made a suggestion for my project that will make it not just easier, but possible. I always try to make things way harder than they need to be. :D
So I started working on my project.
I set each line of type several weeks ago. You have to imagine skinny metal pieces, one for each character. It takes a while, especially if you drop anything. There are long leads that brace up each side of the text so you can move it around once you put it on the press. If you were a normal person, all your text would be facing the same way. I had to make sure that all my text was backwards and upside down, which is harder than it sounds. If you look on the top of the press, that's my proof. I have to line the type up to be a mirror image of that. That doesn't mean exactly alike; it means ass end to ass end. Would you believe that I found all my mistakes before I printed a thing? I won't share my proofs, not because I'm embarrassed, but because it would take too long. Everything was facing the right way, but it was off center. It doesn't matter how you measure it- it will ALWAYS come out crooked. See all those wooden blocks? They are all different measurements and you have to redo the puzzle every single time you make a change. You set the type, measure the empty spaces, fill them in with blocks that fit exactly, run a proof, laugh at how off it is, measure, move text, measure and redo the puzzle, run another proof, and keep doing it over and over until it is close enough to what you want.
Lena suggested that instead of trying to line up the linoleum block and waste countless copies trying to get it right, I should run it on another piece of paper and glue that sucker on!
Today I shall assemble the broadside and show you the finished project. Lena was going to print as well, but the other press had type on it, so she worked on another project. We talked and laughed for four hours. It was a lot better to be able to confer with each other about the press rather than go to the teacher for help. At 10:00, she called Campus Escort, the best service at UNR. They arrived faster than their estimate (and their estimate was fast), and there were two people in the minivan: a guy and a girl, both wearing CAMPUS ESCORT jackets. The minivan was painted white with a big, bold CAMPUS ESCORT on the side. They drove us each to our cars, and waited until we were inside with the car started before they drove off. It's free to students and they work from 5 pm (new hours with daylight savings) until 1 am. Love it.
And we're going to see Hamlet.
I keep changing my mind about whether or not I'm going to this production of Hamlet.
Read this, it's neat.
It will cost more than I want to pay, but I keep hearing about it from teachers and fellow students. "The University's award-winning Shakespearean scholar" is my Shakespeare teacher and this is the moment where he would tell you about his book:
The Shakespeare Thefts: In Search of the First Folios
My teacher has been trying to get Ben Crystal, the visiting Brit who plays Hamlet, to come talk to our class. He and Ophelia (who is in our class) talked about their interpretation of the roles and we got to hear a bit of the original pronunciation. Some people in the class have been already, and gave their impressions. The consensus is very positive.
Read read read read read read eat lunch read read walk to photography read read
In photography, I presented my portrait project.
Chris
Justin
Ant
Jenea
James
Frank
Dezmond
I got some really nice responses. Yay!
After 3 hours of critiquing portraits, I went to my American Novel class. The teacher started by encouraging us to go see Hamlet, and some people in the class started giving their reviews. Again, very positive. Then we started talking about Song of Solomon.
Walk to Jimmy John's eat dinner read read read
Went to meet Lena at the Black Rock Press. She's the other Book Arts student who took the class last spring. We were not required to attend the class again. We are left to accomplish projects on own, which is a terrible idea. After the move and Shannon's wedding, half of September and the entire month of October had suddenly disappeared. Lena's shelf is FILLED with containers and supplies, and I started to freak out. Last night we met up to print and she confessed that she's only finished the broadside so far. WHEW. She made a suggestion for my project that will make it not just easier, but possible. I always try to make things way harder than they need to be. :D
So I started working on my project.
I set each line of type several weeks ago. You have to imagine skinny metal pieces, one for each character. It takes a while, especially if you drop anything. There are long leads that brace up each side of the text so you can move it around once you put it on the press. If you were a normal person, all your text would be facing the same way. I had to make sure that all my text was backwards and upside down, which is harder than it sounds. If you look on the top of the press, that's my proof. I have to line the type up to be a mirror image of that. That doesn't mean exactly alike; it means ass end to ass end. Would you believe that I found all my mistakes before I printed a thing? I won't share my proofs, not because I'm embarrassed, but because it would take too long. Everything was facing the right way, but it was off center. It doesn't matter how you measure it- it will ALWAYS come out crooked. See all those wooden blocks? They are all different measurements and you have to redo the puzzle every single time you make a change. You set the type, measure the empty spaces, fill them in with blocks that fit exactly, run a proof, laugh at how off it is, measure, move text, measure and redo the puzzle, run another proof, and keep doing it over and over until it is close enough to what you want.
Lena suggested that instead of trying to line up the linoleum block and waste countless copies trying to get it right, I should run it on another piece of paper and glue that sucker on!
Today I shall assemble the broadside and show you the finished project. Lena was going to print as well, but the other press had type on it, so she worked on another project. We talked and laughed for four hours. It was a lot better to be able to confer with each other about the press rather than go to the teacher for help. At 10:00, she called Campus Escort, the best service at UNR. They arrived faster than their estimate (and their estimate was fast), and there were two people in the minivan: a guy and a girl, both wearing CAMPUS ESCORT jackets. The minivan was painted white with a big, bold CAMPUS ESCORT on the side. They drove us each to our cars, and waited until we were inside with the car started before they drove off. It's free to students and they work from 5 pm (new hours with daylight savings) until 1 am. Love it.
And we're going to see Hamlet.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Free fixes are the best.
Because I don't have time to, I'm reading Catching Fire, the second book in the Hunger Games series. I don't have much time left in this semester and I'm pretty freaked out about all I have to accomplish, but reading a non-school related book per month is probably the only resolution I have ever kept in my life and I only have a couple more months to go on that, too. I intend to finish both, dammit. I think my plan of sticking to the Hunger Games series is the only way to do that, because I am burning through Catching Fire, ha ha. I think once I finish this one I will read the last one during Thanksgiving break. That will be nice.
Okay, so last night I got up when Chris called around 1 and bundled up. There are only the two front seats in the van so I couldn't take the girls with me. I couldn't take the Dodge because the headlights were not working. Chris had said not to take the freeway in the snow, so I was going to have to take the deserted back way. I started driving and realized that there was NO gas.
Oookay. Driving a light, high profile, long vehicle with no weight over the rear axle in the snow in the middle of the night... and I am totally unfamiliar with both the van and the back way... and my phone doesn't have much juice... and I am going to run out of gas? No dice.
The van has two fuel tanks and I didn't know which one to fill. I got a hold of him and found out which one he uses but this plan was just doomed to fail. The tanks are locked and though I read the directions, I could not open the tank. Garrrggghhhh. Chris said he'd find somebody to give him a ride and I went home.
I wanted to wait up for him and tried to occupy myself with mahjohngg, but I remembered what Dad said earlier about it possibly being a fuse. I went out to the Dodge with a flashlight and found the fuse box. I couldn't tell which one was the headlights so I took the cover back in the house to look up the codes. (Chris tells me later that the fuse for the headlights is under the hood. Oh.) I started to look up the codes, but then it occurred to me to do what I always tell Ant: Google exactly what you're looking for.
"both headlights"... and it pops up with "both headlights out at the same time."
The first answer is Greek, but the next one says oh, I had that problem once, I could only use my high beams...
High beams! How could I forget that? I went back out and turned on the lights. Still nothing. Turned on the high beams. Success! Yes! Now I can call Chris back and come get his poor, cold, drugged ass. I turn the high beams off and I still have light. Whaaaaaaaat. I turn the lights off. Turn them back on. We have headlights. WTF.
Okay, so last night I got up when Chris called around 1 and bundled up. There are only the two front seats in the van so I couldn't take the girls with me. I couldn't take the Dodge because the headlights were not working. Chris had said not to take the freeway in the snow, so I was going to have to take the deserted back way. I started driving and realized that there was NO gas.
Oookay. Driving a light, high profile, long vehicle with no weight over the rear axle in the snow in the middle of the night... and I am totally unfamiliar with both the van and the back way... and my phone doesn't have much juice... and I am going to run out of gas? No dice.
The van has two fuel tanks and I didn't know which one to fill. I got a hold of him and found out which one he uses but this plan was just doomed to fail. The tanks are locked and though I read the directions, I could not open the tank. Garrrggghhhh. Chris said he'd find somebody to give him a ride and I went home.
I wanted to wait up for him and tried to occupy myself with mahjohngg, but I remembered what Dad said earlier about it possibly being a fuse. I went out to the Dodge with a flashlight and found the fuse box. I couldn't tell which one was the headlights so I took the cover back in the house to look up the codes. (Chris tells me later that the fuse for the headlights is under the hood. Oh.) I started to look up the codes, but then it occurred to me to do what I always tell Ant: Google exactly what you're looking for.
"both headlights"... and it pops up with "both headlights out at the same time."
The first answer is Greek, but the next one says oh, I had that problem once, I could only use my high beams...
High beams! How could I forget that? I went back out and turned on the lights. Still nothing. Turned on the high beams. Success! Yes! Now I can call Chris back and come get his poor, cold, drugged ass. I turn the high beams off and I still have light. Whaaaaaaaat. I turn the lights off. Turn them back on. We have headlights. WTF.
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