It's almost 11 and I've got 10 more pages of this Malcolm X chapter to go before I can answer question #12. 14 questions in this lesson, email it in and move on to the last lesson.
The last one is the notebook full of articles relating to race that I've been collecting all semester. Brief response to each article and I'm already half finished with that.
Monday is the exam and all lessons must be handed in.
Tuesday is printing the pictures I haven't taken yet for the Digital Photography final project, then the American Novel final. Well, that's not true- I might have 2 or 3 pictures that work out of the 7-8 required. So almost halfway there.
Wednesday is work and whatever I can accomplish there, plus whatever I can do at home.
Thursday is more printing.
Friday is work and arrival of family.
Saturday is graduation.
Then I go back to class and finish this semester a week and a half later. Somewhere in there I'll finish 6 projects for Photography, American Novel, Shakespeare, and Book Arts.
What am I doing writing this? I need to get back to work.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
LOL
I'm supposed to be writing my paper, but I had to write this down because I'm amused.
Chris set up his office and started working on some piece of music he started a while ago. Ant finished his homework and went to hang out with Daddy. He listened for maybe five seconds before offering to play his trumpet for the track. I giggled quietly in the kitchen. Ant brought his trumpet into the studio and started to play. It sounds like Donald Duck giving directions in slo mo. This must be really exciting for him though, to be able to contribute. I hope Chris just records this as is, because we need it. God bless the band teacher.
Chris set up his office and started working on some piece of music he started a while ago. Ant finished his homework and went to hang out with Daddy. He listened for maybe five seconds before offering to play his trumpet for the track. I giggled quietly in the kitchen. Ant brought his trumpet into the studio and started to play. It sounds like Donald Duck giving directions in slo mo. This must be really exciting for him though, to be able to contribute. I hope Chris just records this as is, because we need it. God bless the band teacher.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Today was really just an F0
This morning when Ant and Bubba woke up, they went to pee and eat breakfast, and then they started lobbing erasers at Chris, who was still asleep.
"STOOOOOOPPP," he groaned.
"It wasn't me!" cried Ant.
"Whatever, Anthony," said Bubba.
Ant giggled.
A few minutes later, Chris roared again. I left my book and found the boys giggling back in Ant's room. I told them to clean up first, then get the hell out of the house and check in in an hour.
"I'll clean up later," Ant said.
"I'm sorry?"
"I mean, can I clean it up later?"
"Nope. You have six minutes until 10:00; get it done and go play." In addition to the no-no of telling me what he's going to do, I also know this will take 14 times as long later tonight when there's no help and no incentive.
Six minutes later, the room is picked up, the boys are at the park, and I'm reading my book. Chaos just returned to check in, though. They are so loud. They come in the door like pinballs. They got some water, yelled at each other, then went out back to swordfight with sticks. I had to tell them to stop running into the house- literally bouncing off the side- and five minutes ago I had to go teach them how to close a sliding glass door. I didn't realize you could slam a slider until we moved here. Their approach is to throw it so hard it bounces back open. I can only assume that their goal is to test the limits of the door's construction. I don't know which will break first, the frame or the glass. Jesus. The other night, Dad and I were watching Louis C.K. and he's got this bit about the difference between having boys or girls. He said boys just destroy things- you can track their damage in dollar amounts, like tornado ratings- while a girl does emotional damage. I periodically have to remind myself that I always hoped for boys.
They lost interest in the sticks and nobody lost an eye, so we're good. The boys are back in Ant's room playing video games and I hear Chris moving.
Yesterday we went to lunch before taking Dad to the airport. He wanted to go early so he could find some gift shop items and get through security, but it might take four minutes to walk the entire airport here, so I knew something else was up. Chris asked me to drive because he felt horrible, so he sat in the backseat with Ant. They could not leave each other alone, so Dad's last ten minutes with us consisted of the boys car wrestling. At the last light, I looked over at Dad (the car rocking and threats flying back and forth behind us) and said, "Ah. Now I understand why you want to get there early." At the last curve where we slowed to 15mph, Ant let out the loudest, longest, instant headache inducing screech because he had started to pinch and Chris pinched him back- on the nipple. It was a great way to end the visit.
Other than that, the visit went fine. Thanksgiving was awesome. I posted some pictures on Facebook (and promptly got in trouble with Chris), but I will collect all of them and give you a nice picture blog. For now I'm off to do dishes and make up silly songs to sing to the girls.
"STOOOOOOPPP," he groaned.
"It wasn't me!" cried Ant.
"Whatever, Anthony," said Bubba.
Ant giggled.
A few minutes later, Chris roared again. I left my book and found the boys giggling back in Ant's room. I told them to clean up first, then get the hell out of the house and check in in an hour.
"I'll clean up later," Ant said.
"I'm sorry?"
"I mean, can I clean it up later?"
"Nope. You have six minutes until 10:00; get it done and go play." In addition to the no-no of telling me what he's going to do, I also know this will take 14 times as long later tonight when there's no help and no incentive.
Six minutes later, the room is picked up, the boys are at the park, and I'm reading my book. Chaos just returned to check in, though. They are so loud. They come in the door like pinballs. They got some water, yelled at each other, then went out back to swordfight with sticks. I had to tell them to stop running into the house- literally bouncing off the side- and five minutes ago I had to go teach them how to close a sliding glass door. I didn't realize you could slam a slider until we moved here. Their approach is to throw it so hard it bounces back open. I can only assume that their goal is to test the limits of the door's construction. I don't know which will break first, the frame or the glass. Jesus. The other night, Dad and I were watching Louis C.K. and he's got this bit about the difference between having boys or girls. He said boys just destroy things- you can track their damage in dollar amounts, like tornado ratings- while a girl does emotional damage. I periodically have to remind myself that I always hoped for boys.
They lost interest in the sticks and nobody lost an eye, so we're good. The boys are back in Ant's room playing video games and I hear Chris moving.
Yesterday we went to lunch before taking Dad to the airport. He wanted to go early so he could find some gift shop items and get through security, but it might take four minutes to walk the entire airport here, so I knew something else was up. Chris asked me to drive because he felt horrible, so he sat in the backseat with Ant. They could not leave each other alone, so Dad's last ten minutes with us consisted of the boys car wrestling. At the last light, I looked over at Dad (the car rocking and threats flying back and forth behind us) and said, "Ah. Now I understand why you want to get there early." At the last curve where we slowed to 15mph, Ant let out the loudest, longest, instant headache inducing screech because he had started to pinch and Chris pinched him back- on the nipple. It was a great way to end the visit.
Other than that, the visit went fine. Thanksgiving was awesome. I posted some pictures on Facebook (and promptly got in trouble with Chris), but I will collect all of them and give you a nice picture blog. For now I'm off to do dishes and make up silly songs to sing to the girls.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Reverse Anxiety Exercise
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
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
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
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