Shopping With Your Teen: A Primer

Monkey Boy can be all kinds of joy----we recently had an amazing meeting with the school admin, to set up a 504 plan for when he goes to high school (this is a legal doc, stating certain accommodations that help him be successful---the school has been giving him what he needs with no complaints for so long, but transitioning to traditional public school could prove to be bumpy for a kid that processes things differently soooo.....).  We got tons of incredible feedback about his progress (huge), his personality (hilarious) and his smiles (giant and frequent).  It was a great meeting, and we were all lovey-dovey-proud-parent-y.

So when it came time to schlep to the mall to see Santa (for Princess), we let MB know that, even though he was fully committed to shorts and T-shirts, that we were going to expect a certain amount of compliance in finding a suitable jacket for snow and rain, and clothing that made him look less like a refugee.

You see, MB has a history with clothing.  He was borderline "on the spectrum" as a little guy--tactile issues with clothing was HUGE.  They way things fit, felt on his skin, etc. were always big issues.  Trying things on involved taking off your clothing in public, in a room with a door that is too short, and where you can hear strangers talking so THEY CAN HEAR YOU TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF.  A recipe for disaster on most fronts.  But, most kids need to try stuff on, unless there is to be a bunch of trips backandforth, backandforth.  I don't do BACKANDFORTH.  I get it right the first time (or right enough). So trying things on is MASSIVE on the scale of "shit MB hates".

There we were, surrounded by people that are otherwise unemployable, what with the stretched lobes and knuckle tattoos and ironic smiles.  And I gingerly suggested the possibility of pants.  Jeans, specifically, because I had just buttered him up with new Vans. I had him right where I wanted him.

We meandered to the jean stacks.  And stared.  First, he's thin.  And taller than me.  So, sizing is an issue.  I whispered a barely audible, "remember you've grown so you will have to go into the dressing room just for a couple pairs, to see".  Avoided eye contact.  Kept head bowed. Showed no teeth. Discussed pocket designs.  Faded vs. dark. (faded=bad) Skinny vs. slim.  (skinny=bad) Blue vs. black.  (black=bad).  Once I knew the rules, I loaded his arms, and sent him to the dressing room.

When he got in the room, I waited, talking loud enough so he could hear me, but not so loud that others could, too.  Next to impossible in a store designed for teens.  So, I did my stage whisper, which somehow didn't cause him to stage-whisper back, "Stop talking so loud---you're embarrassing me".  Basically, he only tolerates me being with him in a store, because I have the magic credit card that makes his wants, his possessions.  And why do I tolerate it?  So he won't look like a refugee every time we leave the house.  It's a goddamn delicate fucking dance, I tell you.

Then, there was a hiccup.  It seems that the regular 28s are so large, they DON'T WORK.  But, the shirt that is not a T-shirt, and has a collar and sleeves, is a win.  And on clearance.  So, I tell him to hang tight.  I find the Youth area, which also has 28s.  By some amazing miracle of youth cloth I haven't discerned, these 28s are different than the first set of 28s.  And, they fit.  But supplies are scarce, and I may have to offer up a black pair.  I slowly ease them over the top of the door, fearful of rejection, afraid my eagerness to find appropriate clothing will be seen as a threat.

The jeans are accepted, reluctantly.  I silently celebrate.  Because if I celebrate vocally, he will know he has pleased me, and a rapid attempt to STOP THAT will ensue.

He emerges with two pairs of jeans, a nice shirt that makes him look respectable, and a hoodie (like he needs another one, but it was on clearance, and it helps to cover all the name-brand shirts he wears to school that are against dress code).  AND, a hoodie-looking thing, that repels water.  BINGO!

On the way to the car, he goes so far as to offer sincere thanks.

It's only a matter of time before he becomes a full-fledged human, and these battles will be long since forgotten.

 
What battles do you know are coming, and dread, the most?

Journey to M

Maybe you have heard this song before:

I'm a fatass.  I need to stop shoveling food into my face.

No? 

Not here, or here?

I was so young, so naive, so full of hope back then.  :::sigh:::

Maybe you should start, I dunno, paying attention?

Anywho.

It's high time I REALLY recommit (for as long as possible, I guess----I'm trying to be realistic!) to being a better me.

I have made great strides in not being such a freaking bitch.  I am meditating more, and working on a lot of personal shit.

But the one thing I don't have on lock, the one area I am substantially failing, is weight loss.  A year ago, I was down 20-ish pounds. 

Well folks, I found them. Meanwhile, we continue to pay the gym to keep their doors open, without the hassle of them having to actually see our faces.  See how generous I am to the local economy?

Well, selfish Aimee is back.  Because I am sick of the XLs.  I want more Ms in my closet.  Less XLs, more Ms.  The hope is that the loss of hunks of fat will lessen the burden on my knees.  And the exercise will help my meds work.  And will make my sciatic nerves less bunched up and tight, causing acupuncture needles to wiggle, they are so inflamed.  (You're welcome for the visual of a bunch of needles, sticking out of my flabby ass, twitching as if the needles themselves have Parkinson's.)

So, I perused the online class schedule.  There is was: GIT.  Group Interval Training.  It's a class where you go in and hang out in a certain area for 45 minutes, changing machines and floor exercises in 2 minute, 2 minute, 1 minute intervals.  It doesn't get boring, you get to chat with your fellow chubs, and make jokes.  Like when the trainer says, "if you like running, these series of lunges are GREAT!" while I mutter, "If we liked running, we wouldn't be hanging out here, with cookie crumbs on our horrifically insufficient sports bras".  Or, when the trainer says, "there you go, nice and slow", and I snarkily reply, "slow? Yeah, we GOT slow----like a BOSS".

Is that just me?

Anyway.  I went.  I dragged Sky King.  We did the whole thing, and did not use ice cream as a reward, so all in all, it was a success.

Now, Lather, Rinse, Repeat. 

Wish me luck, and pray for my Lycra. 

A Shot In The Dark, So To Speak.

So.

My stomach is trashed.  Each morning when I gobble down my pile of vitamins, herbal supplements, thyroid enhancers, mood elevators, and antibiotics, I get this raging sour stomach that lasts for about an hour, sometimes up to 3.  It feels like a cross between nausea, hunger and cramps.

It has gotten worse, the harsher my antibiotics have gotten.

So Dr. Lyme wanted to get one more round of oral abx in me before upping the ante. I just finished up, and it's on to Bicillin injections.  Twice a week.  Via a needle.  Into my ass.  To top it off, there was discussion about "doing them at home".

Wha?

Yep.  Seems people like to take their drugs home, and jam needles into their own asses.  Or, they allow a loved one to do it for them.

Sky King?  Not a fan of needles.  Gets fully creeped out.  FULLY.  So, he was not at the top of my list.  Instead, one of my sister-in-laws had volunteered.  But I really wanted a back-up.  So, I of course went where I usually go for support: Facebook.

Me:  Good news--no more oral antibiotics to trash my stomach!

Bad news--they want to shoot them in my butt, instead.

Any nurse-types wanna come hang out twice a week? I will feed you, and show you my butt!

(And THIS is what I was treated to...)

• Rotten Friend #1---Anal
• Rotten Friend #2---Is it safe to say it won't be the first time?
• Rotten Friend #3---Aimee, I love your sense of humor. Thanks for tee'ing that one up for us.
• Rotten Brother---Eewww my sister needs anal twice a week lol
• Me---For once, I was serious :::smh:::
• Me---Thank you all, most supportive people of FB. Wow. Sky King has agreed to take his aggression out on me, and will be learning how to torture me next week
• Rotten Friend #3 (again)---Just make sure he pokes you parallel to the direction he's poking you. 

  So.  Sky King agreed to go and learn how to do the shots--we had spent some time online looking into techniques (the bicillin is thick, so a larger gauge needle is required. Also, the medicine goes into the muscle of the buttocks, and can make the area sore for a while).  He is typically needle-shy----can't stand to see needles going into skin, so it was kind of a big deal when he said he would do the shots for me.
  
  When we go in, we are armed with so much knowledge that Sky King is visibly nervous, and I am anticipating a painfully horrible experience.  I check in, and ask what the cost is to get the today's injection done there, with Sky King as a learning witness.  The cost?  $6. 
  
  Sky King hears this, whips out his handy-dandy smartphone calculator.  
  
  "23 weeks, 2 shots per week, that's 12 times 23, for a total of $276.  Done.  I will be the driver."
  
  You see, the shots are $70 per shot.  Plus $6 injection fee.  Sky King?  Totally down for the $6 extra per shot.  He barely made it through the tutorial, watching a three inch needle getting jammed to the hilt into the fleshy part of my upper hip.  So he figures, if $700 a month doesn't break us, $60 more per month to have the whole thing done by a professional is the least of his concerns.  
  
  But why shots? 
  
  Well, as I said before, the stomach is torn to shreds.  Also, my neuro symptoms are still pretty bad.  There seems to be a small amount of progress, but the shots get into the system better, they have a much higher absorption rate.  And so Dr. Lyme feels the neuro stuff will improve quicker, with the higher concentrations being in me all the time, without me being all passive-aggressive and refusing my meds when my stomach hurts. So, even though my energy is leaps and bounds better than it was, I still have a long road to getting my neurological stuff sorted out.  
  
  So, shots.  Twice a week.  Hopefully, less side effects.  :::crossing fingers:::
  
  Meanwhile, I have been enjoying a more normal existence, and haven't been blogging as much. Also, I have been working on being more positive and eliminating things that stress me out.  Turns out, ranting about other people being assholes is less stress-reducing than one would think. Which means I have less funnies to share.  
  
  I hope to work out a better life balance soon.
  
  Peace.

I'm The Best Wife In The World

I'm all about compromise, getting along, meeting the other's needs, etc. Basically, I'm one agreeable motherfucker.  I try.   I put forth EFFORT. This year, I have truly put my honey's needs before my own, and given him some excellent references and advice, as well as a viable game-plan, forsaking my desire to be swept off my feet by romantic fabulousness.

I'm a giver, really.

In years past, I have not done my best to fully express my Valentine's Day expectations. 

They vary year to year, based on what's going on, how much cash we have.  You know.  It's not SUPER critical that I get flowers and chocolate each and every year.  But this year?  I have a plan.

You see, I have this friend, that I secretly hate.  Not because she's taller, blond, and travels the world (she always brings fun things back, which is nice).  No. 

It's because she loves the Steelers.

But not just that:  She has this AMAZING yellow jacket, a windbreaker.  And the godforsaken thing is embroidered with all the dates the Steelers have won the Super Bowl.  ALL FUCKING SIX OF THEM. We have only five.  Not six.  Not okay.

Because of Kyle Williams, GOD'S TEAM (aka the SF 49ers) did not go last year. But when we go, we win.  It's our thing. 

This year is our year: I am certain.

And because I am AWESOME, I have taken the liberty of sending my dear Sky King a most helpful email:

"Dear Sweetest Husband of mine (I'm paraphrasing...)

 http://shop.cbssports.com/CBS_San_Francisco_49ers_Jackets/Cutter_And_Buck_San_Francisco_49ers_Ladies_Scarlet_Astute_Performance_Full_Zip_Windshirt

Just order it in enough time to get the embroidered dates of each Super Bowl win:
XVI
XIX
XXIII
XXIV
XXIX
and of course
XLVII

When we win Feb 3rd, order that night, 2 day ship, secure embroiderer in the meantime, Feb 14th should not be a problem.

You're welcome."

See?  I'm smothered in Awesome.  I am one helpful agreeable fabulous person, aren't I?

Remember last year, when I blogged about a Warning to All Men in the Universe?  We just can't have a repeat of that.  Nosiree.

:::cue line of men wanting to marry me:::

Sorry, guys.  This pile of train wreck belongs to Sky King.

Trader Joe's And The Tampon Travesty

Maybe I spend too much time worried about feminine hygiene.

Maybe you don't spend enough.

Either way, I will try to remember that there are men that read my blog, and I will do my best to be sensitive to those without delicate ladybits.  Just as I hope you will continue to avoid extensive discussions with me regarding the daily trials and tribs of testicles. UPDATE: I hereby give full amnesty to my cousin's hubs, who had a cancerous nut removed, and has begun blogging about the experience.  He's funny, even without a nut, and you can harass/stalk him here.

But, I must be clear: Bleach has no place in my hoohaw.  I'm not a fan of bleach in general (did you know it will eat a hole in stainless steel???)  But bleach and extra sensitive internal parts?  Nope.  Not happenin'.  At. All.

Yes, tampons are bleached.  So they are whiter, minty-fresh, some shit like that.

But, there are alternatives:  NatraCare makes them, they run about $.33 a piece.  Seventh Gen also does some work with the unbleached, to the tune of $.45 a piece.  You take an average cycle of 5 days, 8 tampons a day, then factor in the one that gets rifled around your purse ultimately covered in melty gum, or unwrapped and exposed to some of the biggest debris fields known to man, plus the one that falls out of the applicator, and you could be talking an additional  $20 per month.

I'm sure you can shop around.  But, it's not really the type of item that can be purchased online, waiting 7-10 days for eternal absorption to arrive.  When you need tampons, you CANNOT WAIT.

That's why I was thrilled to find that Trader Joe's was carrying organic unbleached tampons.  They were always nestled amongst the lavender soap and Tom's toothpaste, a happy little stack of $2.79 boxes.  Quite the deal, for a bleach-free undercarriage.

But lately, I have not seen them.  Which is the thing about TJ's, right?  You could get totally dependent on a product---for instance, breaded calamari, or chocolate dipped fudge in a cute gifty box-----and then it is RIPPED from your life, with no thought, no warning.  Not unlike a cruel tampon alien abduction.

And, I was home, sick, when the NEED arrived.

I ask A LOT of my man.  But I truly try to not ask him to purchase things that will A) cause him extreme grief, and #2, make him use words like "freshness", "absorbency" or "with wings".  Except for that one time I texted him that I needed a douche in honey and vinegar, with the hopes that he would ask for help. I then had to clarify that is was the "sweet and sour" flavor.  That's when he realized I was fucking with him. But I digress.

But the other day, I needed his help.  So I sent him to the regular store, for the regular yellow and blue box.  The word, "applicator" came into play.  It was unavoidable.  I promise I did not giggle.  Or relish.  Or say a single, "muah ah ah".

Too much.

And all went well.

The next time we were at TJ's, I scanned, looking for my unbleached friends.  Nada. Nothing.

So I did what a good consumer should:  I went to the website.

**An aside---TJ's has their own private label-----AND, all the items under this label are GMO FREE!  See?  Educational shit going on. You're welcome.

I found their form for questions or concerns.  I filled it out, thusly:
What's up?  TJ's was an amazing source for unbleached (and organic, I think?) tampons.  I have not seen them in some time.  And, *gasp* I almost sent my husband there for them.  I can only imagine his horror upon finding the shelf empty, then having to actually speak the word, "TAMPON" in a public place.  Have you no shame?

Where they at?

They responded quickly, but with a very dry (comparatively) stock answer:
 Dear Mrs. Walker,

Thanks for contacting us. We have discontinued the Organic Essentials Tampons in our stores due to slow sales. Because our stores have such limited space, if an item does not meet a minimum sales volume, we will discontinue it in order to bring in something we think will sell better. I will pass your comments on to our buyers for consideration. From time to time, if there is enough outcry to bring back a discontinued item and we are able to do so, we will give it another run.

Regards,
Nikki

:::harumph:::

Am I the only passionate menstruater (Blogger says "menstruater" isn't a word...how about "Menstruator"?) out there?  I KNOW this isn't the case, judging by the numerous Moon Cup message boards, and even groups that want to demystify menstruation.  Seriously?  "Taking back" menstruation is not about feminism.  Or if it is, I'm doing feminism wrong.  Which is apparently going to be okay for me.  Because eeew.

I don't sit in a meadow, reading poetry by Emily Bronte, in philosophical wonderment while awaiting my period.  Period.   I don't even revel in the womanly wonder of the ability to produce a child (albeit with some help).  And I have never ever felt compelled to wax poetic about cramping, flow, or other facets of the uterine expulsion.  I do, however, enjoy the joke about not fucking with something that can bleed for seven days and REMAIN ALIVE.

Accepting a period as shit you have to go through to enjoy the finer benefits of a vagina, and glorifying the praises of reusable washable menstrual pads are NOT two sides of the same coin. NOT EVEN CLOSE.

Honestly, all I want is pretty much a happy little device that prevents me from looking like a zombie is attacking me from the inside out.  And if that device also does not leach chemicals into me, all the better.  Oh, and price point? Let's get that to a manageable level.

Trader Joe's---please bring back the tampons.  I will stock up.  I will use yours, exclusively.   Hell, I will even do a free bloggy review for you, and my FIFTY-ONE  readers!!!  Most of them have vaginas, too, so there's that.

See?  Public Service.  Or, Pubic Service.

Bahahahaha!

Men's Public Restrooms Have Gotten Cleaner---I Should Know

I AM very fortunate, especially as far as Chronic Lyme people go, to have so many of my symptoms decreased significantly: low energy levels, constant muscle pain, constant joint pain, depression, anxiety.

BUT. There is one that has gotten worse: my cognitive abilities.  Specifically, those that involve "auto-pilot", or things that, deep down, we have been taught through many years of social mores, are wrong, or incorrect.

For instance, I have been driving the route I drive, consistently over time, and looked up, and all of a sudden the path is completely unfamiliar and I doubt myself, and have to pull over to rely on GPS.  

Or, like using public restrooms.

First, let me help you to fully understand the complex mess of my brain inadequacies.

We ALL know I have never had much of a filter between my brain and mouth.  Combine that with a wide range of medications, and shit just gets funnier and more and more inappropriate.  Really, it's like a goddamn public service I provide.

A while back, Sky King wanted to go to a grown-up movie, with only me.  We ditched the kiddos, and ventured out.  It was nice---no germy hands in the popcorn, only $30 in concessions.  Truly, a night to remember.

After 472 ounces of Coke Zero, we both had to beeline for the facilities at the end.  I was fiddling with my phone, having missed 9 text messages (WTF???) and like a good obedient wife, was walking a respectable distance from my man (I almost said that without peeing myself laughing...). Unfortunately, he did not have the wherewithal to guide me to the women's restroom. Jerk.

Instead, he walked right in, and straight up to the urinal.  I, hot on his heels, followed him.  Pretty much right away, things seemed amiss.  I turned away from the urinals, and headed to the stall because something in my brain said that a urinal would not adequately meet my needs.

THAT is when I realized I was in the wrong place.  NOT at the sight of urinals.  Nope.  Not me.  Instead, I went toward the stalls (which are not as plentiful for men.  What the hell?)

Then, a massive fit of guffaws ensued, by me, as well as Sky King.  I blasted out the men's room door, laughing (almost to the point of peeing my pants) and ran toward the proper room. Fortunately, no one was coming out the door, or I would have blasted them, in my super-fast quest to erase time by running to the appropriate bathroom.

The only other witness, fortunately, was the ticket-ripper guy. And my husband.  Who has been sworn to silence. 

Unfortunately, he married a big-ass blab.




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Toddler Bullies And Zero Tolerance

Many of you know, I work in a child care center. 

Now, I guess all of you do.

Anywho.

I get emails from people interested in our facility---they ask about enrollment, fees, wait lists, the usual. 

Sometimes, I get strange emails.  Emails that lead me to believe that some people are a little off (that's nice talk for batshit crazy).

It happened the other day, as a matter of fact.

I got the first email, requesting info.  No biggie:

Crazy lady:  I would like to know approximately how long your wait-list is as well as your current tuition rates.

Me: Attached is our tuition rates for 2013.

What is the age of your child/children?

(Already, a teeny little flag flew----why wouldn't you indicate the age of your child?  We don't have "a spot" available, any spot we would have would be very specific:  "we have a spot in our infant room", or "Little Johnny would have to wait until Spring for a spot in our Pre-K classroom".  This isn't a crane game situation, where we just chuck 'em in, and let the older ones sort it all out.  We are a SCHOOL.  Not an overhead bin in an airplane.)

Crazy lady: She is 19 months old. Does your center offer potty training or just diaper changing services?

Me:  (Wha?  Where would she send a child, where it would be expected that, one day her little angel would just arrive in panties, instead of diapers? am I over-thinking this? Are my teachers working too hard?  Or do they potty train out of laziness, not wanting to deal with diapers?  Flags are a-flyin' at this point.  Now, I want to meet her just out of curiosity.) Each age group works to potty train, with assistance from parents. Currently, our toddler room is full. However, spots do open up from time to time, so please fill out the wait-list if you are interested, to get your place in line. Attached is the wait list, you can email it over. Our Infant/tod program director is Ms. (redacted) , she is cc'd in this communication so she is aware you are interested, and so that you have her direct email for inquiry. Also, you are invited to stop by at any time for a tour to see our program. (The tour is where they get to decide if we are for them, and, sometimes most importantly, are they right for us.  I would rather have a family NOT enroll and potentially lose that money, than deal with someone that throws up red flags.  Not enrolling a potential problem for my staff is ALWAYS prudent.  No amount of money compensates for a crazy parent that expects perfection from group care.) Crazy lady:  Ok great. What is your policy on bullying and violence? I stopped taking my daughter to her a home day care because there was another child, aged 2.5 that would viciously attack her. Me:  (WTF?????  Viciously attack?  Are we talking full WWE moves?  Or, some sort of random violence thing where there was zero supervision?  Or, is this mom referring to a scratch or bite from a peer?  My inner CRAZY ALERT in bangin' like crazy---who gives this information over email?) Instead, I wrote: Zero-tolerance policies do very little to curtail undesirable behaviors, and as a learning facility, we work very hard to help teach children appropriate responses to all situations, social or otherwise. While I understand that you have a very personal reason for feeling black and white on this issue, I have never, in 20 years, felt the need to dis-enroll a child over a behavior we ultimately will be able to assist with curtailing or eliminating. Perhaps a one-on-one care situation would better suit your needs. (I DID type it angry though.) Crazy Lady: Yes I do have a personal reason and it's not against hitting, kicking, or biting which I know can be eliminated through socialization and behavior modification techniques. My daughter's eyeballs were severely cut from continuous scratching and gouging which thankfully didn't damage her vision. That is the type of violence that I will not tolerate. Thank you for your time. Wow.  Okay.  I GET that she has a very strange, specific, negative experience in her history with care.  I DO get it.  But, here is why this person is not right for us: People that go into this kind of depth with a stranger are made of crazy.  They leave gooey crazy trails everywhere they go.  They often tell you things in line at the grocery store, better left for close confidants: ".....so that is why I still buy adult diapers!  SUCH a good idea, right???"  I don't have time for the numerous meetings this parent will initiate.  Most will surround whether her little angel is getting exactly 23.4% of the teacher's undivided attention, or why she got less corn at lunchtime. Drama?  Already stocked up, thanks. Typically, parents come in for a tour. Especially people that work 2 blocks away and have been offered the opportunity to pop in at lunch really quick. Why is all this happening over email?  Zero Tolerance?  Mkay.  No.  We are dealing with children from the age of 6 weeks.  They spend up to 12 hours a day with me and my staff.  We are not waiting for little Susie to pull someone's hair a second time, then kicking them to the curb because of a "behavior management" issue. Kids bite.  Hit. Scratch.  Push.  Poke.  Use projectiles.  Truly, they are rotten little animals, that need guidance (I really DO say this with a shit-ton of love in my heart, REALLY). All these things are undesirable, but also "teachable moments".  I have NEVER, in 20 years, dis-enrolled a child for "bad behavior".  Kids do all these things for a reason.  Sometimes we just don't know what that reason is.  We WILL, however, do our best to figure it out, and work with the family to curtail it.  It's a learning experience, for all of us. I GET that bullying is bad-it's awful, bad things happen, sometimes administrators ignore serious incidents.  But this is Pre-school.  Toddlers do not have the capacity to intimidate, coerce, or abuse others (Unless spit-up is a form of abuse.  Actually, now I may have to rethink my policy...) Toddlers don't make shivs out of plastic-covered safety spoons, in order to get more graham crackers, or a better spot in the sandbox. Toddlers don't push their friends up against the slide and say, "If you don't give me that paintbrush, I will make SURE your mom has more than one piece of you to pick up later today".  These are young children, trying to learn social rules, striving to communicate ultimately without hair-pulling or biting.  They are testing limits, working to establish connections, and work through their days as little scientists.  They enjoy making things happen.  And pulling someone's hair makes something happen.  Your peer cries, a tall person will give you an unhappy face.  It's a process.  Ultimately, most children learn the results are not enjoyable, and the action will end.  This is what we do.  We do not go into any relationship with a family, anticipating the need to have a "Zero Tolerance" policy about anything.  Each child is unique.  Yes, we have bullies in the world.  People that use coercion to get a desired result.  People that use humiliation to get what they want.  People that treat others like shit, to bring them down to their level.  I know it's a problem.  But in order to truly be labelled a bully, there needs to be intent.  Maybe I am silly, maybe I know nothing about children (although all the fancy paper on my office wall says otherwise).  But as Mr. Rogers as my witness, I do not believe I will ever be in a situation where I feel that a child, under the age of 6, has even the capacity to bully.  Additionally, we work with children to help them achieve all the desired results for each age and stage---this includes NOT using coercion to get the last pink crayon.  Problem-solving is taught, children are encouraged to work their problems out, with each other, knowing a helping adult is nearby.  When there is conflict, a solution that pleases all parties (at least to some extent) is usually reached.  That's just how learning to be human works, folks. So, No, CrazyLady.  We DO NOT have a Zero Tolerance Policy on bullying.   We do, however, have a Zero-Tolerance policy on crazy.  I have forwarded your wait-list to my least-favorite competitor.  You're welcome.

Pathetic Apologies

Yes, I'm still alive.

I'm happy, on the mend in most areas, and just got home from a giant road trip.

I have lots to tell you, including my efforts (successful, by the way) of cramming an entire year's worth of gravy consumption into three days.

But I am sleepy, and need to decompress. 

I will write soon.

Until then, enjoy this picture of gravy:

BTW, this is:

• buttery yummy biscuits, cut open, laid out on a platter.  Not a plate.  A FUCKING platter.
• heaped with sliced, fried and seasoned taters
• covered with chicken-fried steak (somehow, I ate it, thinking it was chicken. Clearly, I was not in my right mind, as I DID order 12 pounds of breakfast food)
• smothered in melty cheese
• enveloped by some crazy-ass egg-ham-sausage-cheese mixture
• enrobed in grilled onions
• topped with about a gallon of sausage gravy

I survived. 

Barely.