Random Crap: Labor Day

Well hello, 2:58 a.m. How are you? We haven’t seen each other in a while, and I can’t say as I’ve missed you all that much, my lovely little witching hour. You are neither late night, nor yet early morning. You are neither. And I don’t like you very much. No, not very much at all.

School starts tomorrow!! Yay! Can you hear me hollering for joy through the computer? No? I’ll try again…

Labor Day. You know, celebrating the working person is just not the same ball of fun when you are going on 21 months of unemployment. So, um, you can have your cake and eat it too, I’m going to just hang out by myself in the corner. Don’t mind me- continue with your celebrations. Carry on…

Breaking news! I have a bona-fide wheat allergy. Meh, I’m allergic to everything else under the sun, why not throw in EVERYTHING else good in my life? Like carbs. Because the only pleasure I had left, since I can no longer afford to visit my cheese monger, is BREAD. Go ahead, life, take it all way. Fine. You’ll find me celebrating labor day in the corner with my rice crackers.

When I was a kid, my allergist said the only two animals on earth I was not allergic to were goats and pigs. Yes. Goats. And pigs. My parents got a goat. It ate my hair. I cried. Their Greek friends ate the goat. The end. (Maybe the goat was food all along and I just thought it was like my pet. Hmmm. This is groundbreaking, kind of like my grandma throwing the Monopoly games…)

I do feel better without the wheat. I’m on day 6, I think, and it’s been dreamy not barfing or having asthma attacks. Because honestly? The only thing that could possibly keep me from eating bread is the threat of my lungs clamping shut and not having an epi-pen on hand. Kinda makes the bread not look so interesting. Almost.

Speaking of, there is wheat in freaking EVERYTHING. Soy sauce. Tater tots. Nougat (Yes, nougat!). Sausages. Beer (yeah, that’s not going to a big issue) (But it does mean the Beer Cheese soup is out at The Duke of Edinburgh when I visit my parents. Oh no!) And did you know blue-veined cheese are sometimes molded with wheat mold? Egad! The abomination. What will I do??! My CHEESE, people! And on it goes.

Beanie is on his fifth primary teacher since January. I won’t even go into how much fun that is with an Asperger’s kid. I’ve just given up and take him with me for 2nd hour Sunday School. My kids love him, and we’re all happy. Sort of.

For the first time in my life, I have ten long beautiful strong natural fingernails. Well, except the middle finger on my right hand- I keep that one filed shorter. NO, not for that. For my thimble. Anyone who hand-sews, and I do, needs to have a fine English thimble. My secret? Not for the thimble, for the nails: Nailtique. Mo recommended it, and after a lifetime of thin, weak nails, I have nails of steel. And honestly, it rocks. I had no idea strong nails were so useful!

September is stacking up to be whopper of a busy month. If there was a job buried in there somewhere, that would be just divine. In case anyone is asking.

There is a giant moth trying to commune with Mothra and throwing itself like a sacrificial virgin at my desk lamp lightbulb. Should I turn it off and confuse it’s dogma forever?

My mom phoned from Deadwood today, where she’s touring the Black Hills and communing with Gustav Borglum. She sent Beanie his birthday present early, and now both boys have new bikes. Bean is happy happy happy.

What’s going on in your neck of the woods? Come on, divert me…

Math Is Not Interpretive Dance

math1222954353Our school district has been using an, um, -interesting- math curriculum for the last three years. David and I had puzzled over the work Jeffrey has brought home since kindergarten, but kind of figured the teachers must know what they were doing. Right? Rookie parent mistake. Not that the teachers didn’t know what they were doing- most of them are great, and they didn’t like the math program either. But they had to teach it.

Our math program has been “Interpretive” math. It’s been more about gleaning concepts from doing, about working with blocks and tiles and diagrams to absorb concepts. Which is a fine, nice idea- except that it’s not. Not teaching them anything that is. Math is not like art. Math is not fuzzy around the edges. Math is hard. And I mean a Hard Science, not difficult, though it may be that too.

When Jeffrey, who is generally a bright kid, struggled figuring out how add a column of numbers, alarm bells went off in Mama’s head. We’re talking basics here. His homework never contained basics- it was always things to cut out, to color, or to put into sets. David and I would sit at the table to help him, and be totally perplexed at how this was supposed to be math. A (large) group of parents began to make a lot of noise, and after some messy, loud district meetings, the Interpretive Dance Math Program was dropped.

So today I took Jeffrey to school to meet his new teacher and drop off his supplies (minus ink cartridge- don’t get me started), I was overjoyed to see the brand-spanking new textbooks on the counter. Textbooks! Not workbooks with pretty pictures and games. I picked the heavy book up and began to flip through it- and holy cow, it had actual MATH on page after page! And he will be working on a sheet of lined binder paper, from a textbook! I’m so happy I could flip. His new teacher, (and first man-teacher) was equally excited.

Who ever thought I would care about math? Me, the art major- who took business math in college to avoid any further algebra than my high-school career afforded. I can’t wait to do some long division and quiz his multiplication tables!

I’m OK, even love it, when the humanities are interpretive. But math? No way. Some things are just hard. And they need to stay that way. Funny how your priorities change when you become a mom…

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Houston, Ready or Not

America the BeautifulRoaring along the road to Houston. It’s coming up quick, and miracle of miracles, I think it’s coming together. I’m fighting wanting to share my plans with being afraid of jinxing myself.

Yesterday my vendor packet arrived, and my booth assignment is great- I’m at the end of a walkway, slightly to the right, and only one block in from the escalators. At least from the floor plan (hellloooo- huge!) it looks like a good draw. Now I just have to figure out what to order for drapes and rigging, and if I want electricity in the booth. Leaning towards yes, but I need to find an Ikea to pick up cheap-o spotlights for the quilts.

I’ve found a local printer with good rates, and the price includes some in-house design for the brochure. Of course I could do it myself, and I will give her a mock-up of what I have in mind, but honestly, I’m happy to hand some things off to other people. I’ll die if I try and do everything myself, and I’m finally smart/experienced enough to know that.

Next week, all my quilts are being re-photographed, and the pattern cover is being redesigned. I’ve got some ideas.

My airline tickets are purchased, the hotel is reserved, the rental car is on hold… Now all I need is for people to love me… (isn’t that everyones problem?)

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