I know what you're thinking...2 posts in 2 days? Whoa! Seriously girl, take it easy! We can't possibly keep up! You don't want to strain those metacarpus, let alone those phalanges. (OK I confess, I had to go look those up to sound smarterer.) Slow down, restrain yourself!
Well, settle down people. I understand that you have limited time. But you will not believe my day yesterday. I am still tired. And in need of venting. Actually, it all started yesterday afternoon around 3 pm.
(doodly doodly doodly...insert flashback music here...doodly doodly doodly)
Boys run home from the bus at 3 o'clock. Well, really Alex runs, Grant and Jon take a more leisurely approach. But then again, Alex hasn't entered to world of homework, so to him coming home is all about bringing on the fun. Anyway, Alex runs in the door. Grant saunters through. Then finally Jon meanders in.
And then I do a double take. "Jon? Where are your glasses?" He hands me a baggy. "Jon, what happened to your glasses?"
"Nick broke them."
So. I try not to freak out too much because I want to get the whole story. Inside I'm raving, but that goes with out saying I suppose. I send Grant upstairs to get a snack and start his homework, and get Alex started playing a game. And then, I go to work on my middle son, dissecting his story from every angle I can think of, trying to get as many details as I can.
Apparently, the story that Jon has to tell is while he was writing in his science journal a task most of the other kids had finished and had left their desks to move on to their science projects (at various places around the room). Nick comes over to him and says "Let me see your glasses." Jon gives them to him. Nick proceeds to twist them around until they break. And gives them back to Jon, now one set of lenses unattached to the other side. Jon puts them on his desk. His teacher apparently sees none of this. She asks him when she finally does see him, "Jon? Where are your glasses?" He says, "On my desk." He tells me he didn't want Nick to punch him so he didn't tell his teacher what happened.
We go over the story several times, me digging for more information every time. Jon just does not lie. If this was Alex's story I might suspect him of "just joking you mom," but Jon doesn't lie. The very few times he's ever tried he lies in one breath and confesses in the next. So I know he would have caved had this just been a story he made up trying to cover him accidentally or purposefully breaking his own glasses. But I don't know if that will hold any water to anyone else but me.
I call his teacher and she is a bit stunned by the accusation. Without really denying Jon's story, she does say "I just don't see how that could have happened!" Even though it would have happened while the room was a little chaotic and would have only taken a few moments, I think gloweringly at her. But she will look into it tomorrow she assures me. It is really clear to me that she would like to completely discount Jon's story because it would mean that one of her students had done something so purposefully mean under her nose. So I'm not sure how strongly she will investigate.
And then, once Grant has finished his homework. I load the kids up in the car. It's pine wood derby time and we need to go weigh their cars at the post office, pick up some weights for they and Dad to install later that night, and add a trip to the eye doctor to see what can be done with Jon's glasses.
Just as we arrive at the post office, or approximately 4:10, I get a call on my cell phone from my one errant child, Brooke. She is home and wondering where we all are. "You're home?" I question. "Yes," she assures me. "But what about Quilting Club?" OH NOOOOOOOO...
Quilting Club is something that started 3 weeks ago, meets every Wednesday. And for which she has only remembered to go to on her own once. Last week I drove her back to school after she got off the bus. I try telling her, well she will just have to miss this week. But agony ensues, she cannot miss this week. This is the last week they have to work on their quilts they are giving to charity, and she has to finish it, and clearly the world will end if she does not go to Quilting Club this week.
So, rather than risk all our survival (for which I would appreciate a Nobel Peace Prize by the way) I tell her we will weigh the cars, come back to the house and pick her up and drive her back to school and to be ready, because it should not take us longer than 10 minutes. We do so, although it must be said that the days of my entire family fitting easily into our Ford Escort are over. And we didn't even have Dad with us. Dad will have to ride in the hatchback I think.
And then we go back to our other errands. Walking into the mall somewhat trepidariously, I remind my boys they are not to touch, they are not to run, they are to stay by me, they are not to interrupt while I speak to the Eye Doctor...demands for which if they submit to they shall be rewarded with a treat, if they disdain they shall be dismantled. slowly. from the inside of a vat of boiling water. (or something like that.) They all blissfully and innocently assure me they will be good and I'm sure they mean it, however, I know them. Somethings are irresistible and the mall is replete with temptations, so I am skeptical.
I purposely choose the door that is closest to the Eye doctor and with only one minor breakaway experience (they were just looking!) we make it into the store. WHY do they have to have all their glasses so easily accessible? Are they trying to kill me? I decide to mostly ignore it though as nothing is being broken. I find the doctor. He looks at the glasses. He despairs.
Apparently, we freaking ended up with DESIGNER HANDMADE GLASSES for Jon. For Jon. My most destructive, my I-don't-know-why-I-pulled-all-the-stuffing-out-of-the-couch-I-just-did, son JON. I cannot believe they even let me look at those frames with out mentioning this while we were buying. I don't know frames from frames. I'm a glasses idiot. I am very suspicious that the employee who sold them to us works on commission, because not once although she saw my son, did she say "these frames work best for children over here..." No, she just let us go willy nilly trying on whatever struck our fancy until we found the completely unsuitable for children and double the price section. So word to the wise if you find yourself glasses shopping for your very own destructive demon in boy form, ask to see the frames that will work best for a rambunctious child.
So now, we have to send Jon's glasses off to the Designer Handmade Glasses factory to see what can be done to fix them. And whether they will consider a boy took them and broke them as under warranty. He doubts soldering will be effective, he thinks the entire front portion will need to be replaced.
I must have exclaimed something about why I was ever allowed to purchase these stupid frames for a then 7 year old boy in the first place, because at this point he makes a somewhat brilliant suggestion. He suggests that in February when our insurance will pay for new lenses for Jon (but not new frames, thats every 2 years) we buy Jon what he calls frames-more-suitable-to-his-lifestyle and I call cheap plastic, put the new lenses in and then give the Wonderful Designer Handmade Frames to Tom, putting his prescription in of course. Which I think although does not solve the current issue, does solve the nagging wife issue since I have been bugging Tom to get new frames for a while now. His are at least 20 year old, but he doesn't like to spend money on things like that for himself. Now we already have the frames of wonderment, which will just be going to waste, so maybe I can coax him into a newer updated style.
And then, we go get the weights Tom wanted for the cars, drive back home at about 5:05. I find Tom at home looking a bit frazzled. I assume it his anger with the glasses situation. So I launch into the story with details I have learned since I called him at work and left a message on his answering machine. He listens for a few minutes and then says, "Just a minute I need to tell you something."
That is not a phrase that sounds good to me at this moment, especially given his, as I said, frazzled expression. I notice he has his multi-tester out on the desk and he is in the process of googling "alternators". I deduce the obvious. Yes, while he was driving home he noticed that his MP3 player, which he plays through a tape deck adapter, is cutting out. He thinks his battery on the player is going out. He unplugs it and turns on the radio. Then the radio starts cutting out. Then the lights... Luckily he is almost home when this happens and manages to make it back to our house at all. Because doing a couple tests and checking a few alternatives, he is sure the alternator is indeed dieing or more likely dead in the van.
And then, after commiserating with him over the rotten luck for a bit, at about 5:30, I leave him to make dinner because I want to get dinner at least 1/2 way made before I go pick up Brooke so it won't be 7:30 by the time we eat dinner. He comes upstairs after researching it for a bit to discuss while I make dinner. We discuss options for a bit and decide to run on one car for a little bit until he has time to fix it himself since it isn't a job beyond his capabilities. Not sure when he will have that time, hopefully Saturday, but that's also Pine wood derby day, which means we will all have to squish into the Escort and drive 35 minutes to the race site, someone explain to me why it has to be on the furthest Southern local in our overly large Stake. Why can't we hold it in building somewhere in the middle of the Stake so it's most accessible? (And we are closer than most!) I guess I will try to see if someone can give one or two of our kids a ride. Anyway, I get the chicken defrosting and start the rice noodles, and then I go to pick Brooke up from quilting club.
And then, at about 6 pm, as she is getting into the car, Brooke says to me, "Oh, I guess this isn't the last week for our quilts afterall. We're get to work on them next week too. Oh, don't forget the Deer Valley meeting tonight Mom." Oh great. "Deer Valley" is the 6th grade trip that Brooke and her classmates will be taking this year. It is an Earth-warden program. Their science units have been leading up to it all year and this is the must attend meeting for parents. Tonight. When all I want to do is indulge in some escapism by hiding away in my room for the night with a good book or spend the night watching Project Runway, I have to go back out to a school meeting to get information on a class trip and not incidentally, also a huge parent volunteer thing. Just what I want to know about tonight, more responsibilities.
And then, we get home I quickly throw together the rest of the stir-fry as fast as I possibly can, wolf down a few bites myself, and drive back out to her school to get there by 7 pm. I spend the next 2 hours getting more information and more importantly to them I suspect, what things I need to spend more money on and volunteer for. Although, at least at this meeting I get to feel a little superior, after all we already have our own hiking boots and a mile long hike does not intimidate me which put me worlds ahead of the majority of the parents in this room.
And then I came home at about 9 pm, sent Grant off to bed and Brooke to her shower, nod appreciatively at the good job that Dad did supervising the weight installation on the boys' cars. And then collapse choosing Project Runway over a book because meant less thinking involved. And less thinking held a vast appeal.
And then this morning I walked the boys to the school bus, with Jon wearing my glasses, with instructions to say they are a spare pair, and I met my neighbor who broke her shoulder slipping on the ice. Ouch. I guess I can handle the rest of this stuff. At least I can get dressed without help at this point, and if you can't get dressed in the morning it makes it difficult to handle anything.
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