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Archive for May, 2008

I finally was able to get my garden tilled over the weekend, and what did the tiller kick up but a man’s wallet.  Now, I live in town, on a corner, and my vegetable garden is near the street.  I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised by what I find there, since living on a corner means that people think it’s okay to throw their trash out of their car into the yard.  We’ve had stolen bicycles abandoned in our yard several times.  (I do not understand the patterns of thievery sometimes, but then again I am a law-abiding citizen.)  But this is the first time we’ve had a wallet turn up.  And it was buried in the dirt, so someone took the time to stop and dig a hole and drop it in.  I can only hope that they got cat shit on their hands in doing so, it would serve them right.  There was no money in the wallet (boo) but a stack of credit cards and some IDs, and we traced the owner of the wallet to a house a block away.  Seems he was in visiting his mother over the Mother’s Day weekend and someone broke into his vehicle.  I guess it’s something of a happy ending, knowing what happened to his wallet, but it makes me wonder what goes on at my house while I am tucked safely away in my bed at night. 

I am rather fond of the month of May, mainly because that’s when the weather finally straightens out and acts like it’s supposed to.  This year the weather has been a bit on the capricious side, and while that is mostly okay with me, it has been difficult this year for me to get things done in the garden.  But I have ordered a rain barrel, so that means that as soon as I get it and install it the weather will turn dry and blazing hot.  This is how my life works. 

 

— Mox

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It was a good-news/bad-news weekend. 

The good news is, Spawn won the school walkathon, collecting the most money out of anyone in first grade.  This was accomplished with the help of several suckers who pledged the kid a dollar a lap, never dreaming that the kid would walk 48 laps in half an hour.  I am among those suckers, of course.  Why I thought my kid, the human mini power plant, wouldn’t buzz around the school gym numerous times, I don’t know.  But there it is. 

Winning the first grade portion of the walkathon meant that Spawn got to go to the school office to receive the prize, got to be on the school’s closed-circuit TV system receiving the prize, and got $25 cash as the prize.  Spawn was on Cloud Nine.  As the kid said Friday afternoon on the way home, “I wish this day would never end!”  Nothing tastes as good as winning. 

But things like good days do come to an end, and by Sunday afternoon, Spawn realized that the wallet containing the prize money was nowhere to be found.  We searched high and low and retraced steps and called people, but Spawn has lost the money and the wallet and there have been many tears shed. 

Part of me realizes that this is a valuable (if not expensive) lesson learned, but another part of me is heartbroken on the kid’s behalf.  Life’s lessons are sometimes quite cruel. 

— Mox 

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Can I get an Amen?

Today I was up, out, and in church by 7AM for Spawn’s first-grade mass.  The nice thing about mass at 7 in the morning on a weekday is you’re in and out in half an hour. 

Then it was to the gym where I walked four miles. 

Then to my own church where I spent two+ hours working on a bulletin board to advertise for our Vacation Bible School. 

I think I have had my quota of religious experiences for the week, don’t you? 

— Mox

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Ah, Craigslist. 

About a month ago, I put up a post on my local Craigslist to offer free garden plants to whoever was willing to come to my house and get them.  My friends and family have all filled their gardens with my castoffs (black-eyed susans are truly the gift that keeps on giving) and my continued giving is starting to border on abuse. 

I’ve had several inquiries, and only one person has actually shown up to get plants.  But I’m now at the point that my beds are happily thinned (thanks to a friend who just can’t tell me no), so I’m deleting my Craigslist ad.

And just in time too, because the crazies have started to come out of the woodwork. 

I got an email the other day from that ad, with one question:  “Are you the same sicko that put up the satanic goat statues??”  (Verbatim.) 

Um.  No. 

I didn’t reply to it but boy I was tempted. 

You get an email like that and a lot of different thoughts run through your head.  Or at least they did through mine.  At first I was mildly offended.  And then I got to wondering just what a “satanic goat statue” looks like.  I almost replied to see if this person had photos of the said statues, because I’m not quite too sure how you can make a goat look satanic.  I mean, more than it already does. 

In the end I decided it would probably be best to not bull-bait this person, as I have quite enough drama in my life without inviting more to the party. 

But I now will be on the lookout for satanic goat statues. 

 

— Mox

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You know you’ve had a rough day parenting when you go to bed feeling like the worst mom on earth and a good night’s sleep does nothing to erase that feeling the next morning. 

Spawn’s doctor prescribed medication to control the ADHD, and after much discussion my husband and I decided that it would at least be worth it to try it out.  I am a bit dubious about giving my sweet, funny, innocent little duck a controlled substance, but as my husband rightly pointed out, if we don’t try it now will we wish we had in another five years?  My husband, the man who for years swore up and down that there was no such thing as ADHD, actually came down on the side of the medical establishment.  This is one of the signs of the apocalypse, folks. 

So it was decided.  Except Spawn was not, under any circumstances, going to cooperate with this decision.  No way, no how. 

The lesson here:  a seven-year-old is going to be a consistent variable.  No matter the logic and sensibility you (the adult) have applied in reaching a decision, it will be confounded at every turn by someone (the child) who makes decisions based on things that have nothing to do with being reasonable. 

It is easier, in my estimation, to give a pill to a cat. 

Part of the problem was the actual, physical act of swallowing a pill, whole, which is something the kid has never done.  The rest of the problem is, the kid doesn’t understand taking medication unless there is some kind of sickness. 

And ADHD is not a sickness.  It is an inability to focus, to sit still, to hold it together in a traditional classroom setting.  That’s simplifying it a whole bunch, but that’s it in a nutshell. 

How to reconcile those two things, the (1) taking of medication for (2) something that is not an illness, is beyond me.  It goes against everything we have ever taught the kid about taking medicine, or about doing drugs.  And all of a sudden we’re asking this kid to take a pill for something that’s not a sickness?  Have we taken leave of our senses? 

Everyone keeps telling me I am doing the right things but it certainly doesn’t feel like it right now. 

 

— Mox

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(Ed. note:  I have no idea why the Easter Bunny suddenly came up in conversation, but sometimes you just have to roll with it.) 

Spawn:  I know that the Easter Bunny brings the eggs.  Chickens don’t lay those eggs, the Easter Bunny does. 

Me:  Really?  You know this? 

Spawn:  Of course I do.  I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.  I know things. 

— Mox

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I am easy to please.  Contrary to what my husband seems to believe, which is only because he likes to immediately take the opposite position to whatever I say. 

For Mother’s Day this year I asked only that he fry chicken for me.  My husband makes phenomenal fried chicken.  Juicy on the inside, with a nice crispy skin on the outside, seasoned perfectly.  We don’t have fried chicken very often, and that’s a shame, but life being what it is we usually don’t have the time to make it.  We also don’t have lasagna very often for the same reason. 

So he made fried chicken for me for Mother’s Day and we had a quiet day at home and that, my friends, is how to please me.  I don’t like a big fuss to be made over me; a small token of esteem satisfies me. 

Yes, my husband is a lucky man. 

 

— Mox

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