Sorry, but I must admit it's been awhile since I posted a new blog. I know this because 1. It HAS been awhile, and 2. I forgot my password. It actually took me four times trying different passwords until I decided to change it, only to have the website tell me I couldn't use my new password because it was my old password. Wtf? Personally, I am all about the security questions. Where did you go to kindergarten? I remember that. How could I forget Mrs. Gruel, possibly the worst name for a kindergarten teacher in existence (unless of course there is one out there named Ida Hatzkids from Romania or somewhere. I concede that would be worse.). What is your father's middle name is a good one. Of course that can be identified in about 5 seconds on Google, but at least I know it. I think there should be a new level of security questions though. Questions that even your mom couldn't answer if she was trying to hack into your account to find out if you are still alive since you never call or write. Questions like, "Who is the first person you ever smoked pot with?" Or "What was the last name of the person you lost your virginity to?" Actually first name may be better in the scheme of things, and "Guy in the parking lot of Monsters Of Rock" would have to be acceptable.
So, what is happening lately that is blog-worthy? Nothing really out of the ordinary since we did just have a nice long 7 week summer vacation. Wtf? What happened to three months? It takes the first two weeks just to decompress from school, and the next five weeks to do summer homework. Seriously! I never had summer homework. I get the fact that you don't want the kids to forget everything they never understood during the school year, but I think a few worksheets would suffice. Four book reports for the five year old, and an author study and book analysis for the nine year old, with questions like "Write an alternate ending for the story," and "Choose three characters, list two character traits and compare them to the author's character traits." Wow. It's a miracle we could squeeze dance camp and aquarium camp in our precious seven weeks. It's ok though. The nine year old stayed up til 10pm the night before school started finishing her work. God forbid she took my advice of doing it early so she could enjoy her summer. Her brother of course nailed down those book reports in record time. After all, he had four book reports a week in kindergarten. Then of course he got the Minecraft figures that I bribed both of them with upon the completion of their summer homework, and proceeded to play with them in his sister's face for the rest of the summer. That made for happy family time.
My Mom came to visit from St. Augustine, FL. That was nice. We did nothing since every time I plan something she complains about it. This time she got to complain about not doing anything. I decided I like those complaints better because at least I don't have to spent my kids' college money on Broadway tickets or something. She got to fill us in on the medical marijuana business she is considering. I found out about it from a video she posted on Facebook of a news report they did on it in FL. I had a whole piece about it in this blog, but she asked me to please remove it, so I did. It's funny because I got all my info about it basically from Facebook and a public news story, but I am a somewhat obedient daughter, so I removed it. Honestly, I don't want to be an accessory anyway. Suffice to say that I am considering starting a internet donation fund to bail my 72 year old cutting edge sign-of-the-times mother out of federal prison, and I think I actually have a few donors nailed down. I personally am on the fence right now.
So, not much other excitement during the summer. I'm sure that I will have a lot more blog worthy experiences once school gets into full swing. I mean it's only been in session two days, and I'm pretty sure I was called a "fucking bitch" in Russian on the first day of school. Like that's never happened before? Please. Btw, I'd much rather be called a fucking bitch than a can't-get-laid bitch. I mean really. Then on school day two, a woman was standing in the street blocking traffic talking to someone, so my husband honked, and the woman flipped out and started screaming something about how we need to wait, so I said we were trying to drop our kids off at their school right down her street, so she jumps out and stands in front of our car like some psychopathic Ghandi on crack, to which I jump out of my car in full workout attire (including my metal band shirt du jour) and tell her to get out of the way and stop acting like a maniac. She starts yelling at me that she has to take her kids to school, too, so I politely advise her to then get into her car and out of the street. After repeating that suggestion a few times as she raged on, she finally did. When we got to school and related our story to the principal (who just happened to be standing outside,) he told us that was the same lady who called the city help line to report the school for having a fire drill at an inconvenient time, and I believe he said she almost ran him over with her car, so I guess it's just business as usual.
More to come as the incredulous, ridiculousness happens. I will keep you posted. Be happy, and don't forget to make time for adventures within your own journey!
Xxxx
Marielle
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Inspiration from a Great Friend
As you probably know, I am not a big fan of the core curriculum. In fact, I just had one of those long post exchanges on one of my friends fb posts with one of her friends who probably thinks I have a screw loose (if she only knew!). She was defending the core curriculum emphatically. She said she works in education and her kindergartener is reading and writing and doing math and the core is the magical system for making this all happen. Umm... Btw, most 5 and 6 year olds learn to do that stuff in kindergarten. The first year of organized education shapes their malleable little minds and fills the spaces between Dora and why-is-my-sister's-cookie-bigger-than-mine? With all sorts of useful information like reading, writing and math. Aside from being little petri dished of lice, viruses, and strep throat, these amazing little people suck in information like sponges, and it is truly one of the coolest things ever to watch your little one learn to read and proceed to announce everything written. "Mommy, what does 'omg those shots were amazing and how hot was that bartender' mean?" "Where are you reading that?" "In your phone." "Give my that you little urchin! Mommys phone is off limits!" Guess what, it's not the core curriculum. It's the general curriculum of kindergarten. Somehow between my macaroni letters and sparkly Christmas ornaments, I learned reading, writing and 'rithmatic too in kindergarten circa 1973.
The core, as I have learned from attending various seminars and reading with that amazing flair I got from putting my macaroni letters together, is based on getting students ready for college. I am not joking. From five years old, the core is grooming Jr. For the SAT. Bye bye childhood, hello Ivy League. Thank you Common Core. Seriously? I can not begin to tell you how many ways I think that is wrong, but being me, I will try.
First of all playing and learning social skills are important parts of being 5 and 6. They are important throughout your life, and impact everything you do as well as self esteem. Even, dunt da da, college! Reading and writing are big of course and you will continue to perfect them, but social skills and play will eventually be taken for granted and put on the back burner. They will help our younger children the most as they navigate this bigger world they have found in school. They need to learn through play while they can. Think about it, they were peeing in their diaper half their lives at this point. Algebra can wait.
Also, who says your 5 year old is going to college? Not only will it be $80,000 a year by then (with no financial aid available so who is paying for this anyway?) maybe they will want to do something else, like go into acting, or music, or video production. None of those occupations require a college degree. Which brings me to my next point, art and music. Schools are viewing these amazing skills as unnecessary, and the arts are the first classes to get the boot to be replaced by more time to prepare for the tests. Teachers gear their entire curriculum toward doing well on the test from day one. I don't know who wrote the test, but s/he is getting more worship than all the current gods put together. I wonder what Jesus would do if he saw my daughters math homework, or the 7 pages my 5 year old brings home every day? He'd probably run away and start his own religion....hmmm,.... Honestly, if they want to prepare my 5 year old for college, teach him how to pitch strikes or do a perfect layup shot. If you start at 5 and keep focusing on it through twelfth grade, not only is he going to college, he's got a scholarship! Boo ya!
Honestly, the ELA core is based on reading and answering questions and writing essays on what you read. Not what you THINK about what you read, but EXACTLY what you read providing at least two examples. The other day my daughter was afraid to use an adjective because it wasn't explicitly stated in the reading passage. Really? Is this how we create bold and innovative thinkers? Steve Jobs would have spent several years in the fourth grade if that's how it was. There is actually more critical thinking in the math portion. You actually have to combine at least one, sometimes three mathematical procedures to get the answers. Of course then you have to write exactly what you did in every step or you get points off, so you better pay attention. Big Brother cares about your methodology equally as much as the correct answer. Good thing Costco doesn't ask you exactly how you came to the conclusion to buy 1,000 Advil instead of 2 million. That's easy though- 1,000 is the smallest amount they carry, AND you have two kids in Common Core. Two examples! Your purchase is approved!
In all honesty, I went to a neurological seminar on brain development in children a few months ago. The Neuropsychologist mapped the average human brain and had a timeline of its development. Do you know that around 19-22 your brain function actually decreases? It goes through a pruning process eliminating non-useful brain cells, and then reorders itself to work most efficiently. 19-22, just the age that kids get to college. Maybe because Common Core will get all kids into college, pruning will become obsolete, and Frat parties will assume that responsibility. Plus the mediocre social skills will have the kids drinking even more, and pruning? Save that for the hedges. Honestly, the neuropsychologist recommended that kids take a year or two after high school to start college. Their brains will be better suited, and they will find out how much working at the gap really sucks so they will be more determined to use college as a tool for education.
Actually, I did get an interesting thought today while I was on the phone with one of my dearest friends ever. Why don't all kids take the GED after 8th grade? If they pass it, let them take whatever they fucking want in high school. Biochemistry? Ok. Auto mechanics? Ok? Photography? Poetry? Marine biology? Sure. They already meet the criteria to pass high school, why not let them be free to explore their real interests? Or better yet, develop some that allow them to be free thinkers and really learn something aside from how to dissect a passage for two (or more!) examples.
Truthfully, I understand the premise behind the common core, and it's bullshit. It's a program bought from a private company that tries to get our children to think along the same lines. It accounts for learning differences in math by teaching them four ways to do something so they are too confused and end up learning the only way that their parents know, and then go back to the private sector for tutoring since neither you nor your college student babysitter armed with google, and YouTube still can't figure out how this math we learned twenty years ago works today. Let's keep that education economy moving, and focus on the perfect layup 12 hours a day on the weekends. My oldest friend who I met in a brownie daycamp when I was 6 recently brought up this point: How is it that our hippie 70s parents who were selling pot in the garage and drinking at noon raised all these smart kids who had no trouble with school and testing? We didn't need tutors and 3 months of pretests. We had recorders and paper mâché and a compost heap outside. We had square dancing and gym 3x a week, and had cooking lessons, and beanbag chairs, and library time every day in a massive library with book nooks and tree houses and big soft pillows. We never watched a movie unless it was from National Geographic, and some kid in the class actually knew how to use the projector and make it stop stuttering (that was probably Bill Gates in his class!). We played strategy games and had experiences, and were asked for our opinions, and most importantly, we learned.
You know when you are potty training your kid and there are two types of parents. One type takes the potty everywhere and wears a watch with an alarm set at the times she needs to put her kid on the potty. The other type lets the kid run around naked half the time and has a cabinet full of Swiffer pads and seventeen pairs of underwear in her purse. The bottom line is always the same, the kid won't be wetting his pants walking down the aisle, and if he does, he probably shouldn't have had that last shot of Jaegermeister, but hey, his new spouse is now in charge anyway. Whether or not the core tries to mold your kid into another brick in the wall, it is up to us, as parents to reinforce our child's opinions, and open their eyes to the arts, and make learning an exciting experience. One of my biggest fears is that my five year old will be burnt out by 10 with all this forceful feeding of basic algebra and book reports (yes he does 3-4 a week!). I think he'll be too short to really perfect the layup, but he makes up amazing stories with his animals, and knows every dinosaur there is, what it eats, and how it's social structure works. Damn if I am going to discourage his ideas. I'll just tell him to be a brick for the test. I think he will do just fine. Actually, I think he will do awesome. He would probably enjoy making some macaroni letters. Maybe we will try it next weekend.
The core, as I have learned from attending various seminars and reading with that amazing flair I got from putting my macaroni letters together, is based on getting students ready for college. I am not joking. From five years old, the core is grooming Jr. For the SAT. Bye bye childhood, hello Ivy League. Thank you Common Core. Seriously? I can not begin to tell you how many ways I think that is wrong, but being me, I will try.
First of all playing and learning social skills are important parts of being 5 and 6. They are important throughout your life, and impact everything you do as well as self esteem. Even, dunt da da, college! Reading and writing are big of course and you will continue to perfect them, but social skills and play will eventually be taken for granted and put on the back burner. They will help our younger children the most as they navigate this bigger world they have found in school. They need to learn through play while they can. Think about it, they were peeing in their diaper half their lives at this point. Algebra can wait.
Also, who says your 5 year old is going to college? Not only will it be $80,000 a year by then (with no financial aid available so who is paying for this anyway?) maybe they will want to do something else, like go into acting, or music, or video production. None of those occupations require a college degree. Which brings me to my next point, art and music. Schools are viewing these amazing skills as unnecessary, and the arts are the first classes to get the boot to be replaced by more time to prepare for the tests. Teachers gear their entire curriculum toward doing well on the test from day one. I don't know who wrote the test, but s/he is getting more worship than all the current gods put together. I wonder what Jesus would do if he saw my daughters math homework, or the 7 pages my 5 year old brings home every day? He'd probably run away and start his own religion....hmmm,.... Honestly, if they want to prepare my 5 year old for college, teach him how to pitch strikes or do a perfect layup shot. If you start at 5 and keep focusing on it through twelfth grade, not only is he going to college, he's got a scholarship! Boo ya!
Honestly, the ELA core is based on reading and answering questions and writing essays on what you read. Not what you THINK about what you read, but EXACTLY what you read providing at least two examples. The other day my daughter was afraid to use an adjective because it wasn't explicitly stated in the reading passage. Really? Is this how we create bold and innovative thinkers? Steve Jobs would have spent several years in the fourth grade if that's how it was. There is actually more critical thinking in the math portion. You actually have to combine at least one, sometimes three mathematical procedures to get the answers. Of course then you have to write exactly what you did in every step or you get points off, so you better pay attention. Big Brother cares about your methodology equally as much as the correct answer. Good thing Costco doesn't ask you exactly how you came to the conclusion to buy 1,000 Advil instead of 2 million. That's easy though- 1,000 is the smallest amount they carry, AND you have two kids in Common Core. Two examples! Your purchase is approved!
In all honesty, I went to a neurological seminar on brain development in children a few months ago. The Neuropsychologist mapped the average human brain and had a timeline of its development. Do you know that around 19-22 your brain function actually decreases? It goes through a pruning process eliminating non-useful brain cells, and then reorders itself to work most efficiently. 19-22, just the age that kids get to college. Maybe because Common Core will get all kids into college, pruning will become obsolete, and Frat parties will assume that responsibility. Plus the mediocre social skills will have the kids drinking even more, and pruning? Save that for the hedges. Honestly, the neuropsychologist recommended that kids take a year or two after high school to start college. Their brains will be better suited, and they will find out how much working at the gap really sucks so they will be more determined to use college as a tool for education.
Actually, I did get an interesting thought today while I was on the phone with one of my dearest friends ever. Why don't all kids take the GED after 8th grade? If they pass it, let them take whatever they fucking want in high school. Biochemistry? Ok. Auto mechanics? Ok? Photography? Poetry? Marine biology? Sure. They already meet the criteria to pass high school, why not let them be free to explore their real interests? Or better yet, develop some that allow them to be free thinkers and really learn something aside from how to dissect a passage for two (or more!) examples.
Truthfully, I understand the premise behind the common core, and it's bullshit. It's a program bought from a private company that tries to get our children to think along the same lines. It accounts for learning differences in math by teaching them four ways to do something so they are too confused and end up learning the only way that their parents know, and then go back to the private sector for tutoring since neither you nor your college student babysitter armed with google, and YouTube still can't figure out how this math we learned twenty years ago works today. Let's keep that education economy moving, and focus on the perfect layup 12 hours a day on the weekends. My oldest friend who I met in a brownie daycamp when I was 6 recently brought up this point: How is it that our hippie 70s parents who were selling pot in the garage and drinking at noon raised all these smart kids who had no trouble with school and testing? We didn't need tutors and 3 months of pretests. We had recorders and paper mâché and a compost heap outside. We had square dancing and gym 3x a week, and had cooking lessons, and beanbag chairs, and library time every day in a massive library with book nooks and tree houses and big soft pillows. We never watched a movie unless it was from National Geographic, and some kid in the class actually knew how to use the projector and make it stop stuttering (that was probably Bill Gates in his class!). We played strategy games and had experiences, and were asked for our opinions, and most importantly, we learned.
You know when you are potty training your kid and there are two types of parents. One type takes the potty everywhere and wears a watch with an alarm set at the times she needs to put her kid on the potty. The other type lets the kid run around naked half the time and has a cabinet full of Swiffer pads and seventeen pairs of underwear in her purse. The bottom line is always the same, the kid won't be wetting his pants walking down the aisle, and if he does, he probably shouldn't have had that last shot of Jaegermeister, but hey, his new spouse is now in charge anyway. Whether or not the core tries to mold your kid into another brick in the wall, it is up to us, as parents to reinforce our child's opinions, and open their eyes to the arts, and make learning an exciting experience. One of my biggest fears is that my five year old will be burnt out by 10 with all this forceful feeding of basic algebra and book reports (yes he does 3-4 a week!). I think he'll be too short to really perfect the layup, but he makes up amazing stories with his animals, and knows every dinosaur there is, what it eats, and how it's social structure works. Damn if I am going to discourage his ideas. I'll just tell him to be a brick for the test. I think he will do just fine. Actually, I think he will do awesome. He would probably enjoy making some macaroni letters. Maybe we will try it next weekend.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
SCHOOL SUCKS!
Enraged? Yeah but more than that... Furious? More. Incensed? More.... I got it, I AM SO FUCKING PISSED OFF! Nailed it!
I honestly think elementary school is worse now than it was when I was a student. Way worse, and I am not talking about for current students, I am talking about FOR ME!
You see, I have this bright, beautiful daughter. She taught herself to read when she was 3. She used sign language as an infant to participate in the action, and her use of language has always been exceptional. I was like, "Cool. No worries in the school department." And it was all good. Passed the gifted test, Student or Citizen of the Month K-3, won the science fair two years in a row. All good. Never big on homework though. Never wanted to do it, lots of bribery, and then in fourth grade, when she was 8, she just froze. Couldn't do it. Sat for hours just staring into space. Then got so defensive about homework that she would argue for an hour rather than write one sentence. Then lost her self esteem. Believed she couldn't do it and is stupid. And that's where we are now.
I went through every route I could think of: therapy, medication ( for depression and ADD,). Learning centers, tutoring, punishment, positive reinforcement... Everything. Then my mother-in-law went to a seminar on neurofeedback, so of course I checked it out. The Dr. scanned her brain. She sat in an electrode covered cap for hours plugged into the computer looking like a revamped Devo video, and then, we had it. When the results of the brain functioning scan came back, the Dr. looked her straight in the eyes and told her, "You are going to do great things in your life!" Her brain was not only exceptional, it was working too hard on a certain wavelength. She was constantly overloaded and couldn't find a way to get the information she needed from her unorganized jam packed file cabinet of a brain. It was too much for her, so she froze.
So, I have to do something. Before she flunks fourth grade, I have to help her find that information. Organize her thoughts, stop yelling and cursing and be sympathetic and try as hard as I can to understand something I have never known. What do I do? While she is currently undergoing a battery of psychological tests, I can file paperwork that can help her out in school a little bit. It's called a 504 plan and it exists to make allowances for people who need a little help. Like she can sit in front, have more time to copy the homework, be reminders of which books to take home, get a little extra test time. Not the moon on a silver platter, not Sir Paul McCartney's email address, just a little extra help for a nine year old girl struggling to stay afloat in educational waters that are murky for her. So my husband asks about it in the school office. The vice principal gives him the wrong form. He goes back in. The vice principal doesn't have the other form. By the way, this is the vice principal who told me to tell my 4 year old kindergartener not to do all of his homework if I thought it was too much. WTF? Of course 6 pages of homework including book summaries and letters written 220 times is too much, but I am no kinda telling a kid with at least 12 years of school ahead of him that he doesn't have to do his homework!!! Stupid doesn't begin to describe this woman. Unqualified merely scratches the surface.
Anyway, I have the form downloaded, so whatever, until I go pick up my kids from school, and the other vice principal stops me and coldly tells me she gave my daughter the right form. "That's cool," I tell her, "Thanks. I downloaded it anyway." Now I get the icy evil queen in Snow White glare, "Well, there are a lot of forms, are you sure you have the right one?" As if I am as stupid as her coworker. I take it from my purse, "Here is the one I printed. Does it look right?" She sneers and looks it over, "Yes but mine has the top filled out." Ok, you win Ice Queen. You wrote my daughters name and the school address on yours...AND you highlighted the section for the doctor to fill out (which is so ambiguously titled "Medical Professional fills out this part"). I ask what happens after the form goes in. She tells me it will be reviewed by a committee and accepted or not. "You will find out then if she gets extra test time," cackles Broomhildas evil twin. "Actually, ". I reply, "it's not really about test time. My daughter has executive functioning issues and she needs other things like extra time to copy home work and a reminder of which books to bring home. Maybe I could come in and help her." "You will NOT BE COMING IN!" She rages. "Someone from the school will do that." "Great, " is my reply, "I was just trying to help so it doesn't burden her teacher. Gotta go." And I leave Malificent to take kids to the bus...or maybe to a house in the woods made of candy.
I am not furious yet. I am confused. Why are these people so against me wanting to help my child? Don't they want to help her? Ummm,.... Isn't it kinda their FUCKING job? You work at Toys r Us, you can hate kids all you want. In fact, I'm sure 99% of TRU employees would be happy to never see a snotty faced slimey handed kid ever again ( of course there is always the 1% retired grandparent who's grand kids live out of state and can't wait to sell some whiny brat the latest video system, if only they knew how to work that newfangled computerized cash register...). But when you work at an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, or any school for that matter, helping kids is kinda on your agenda. Right? I mean run for congress if you want to be an obstacle in people's lives. So, I go get my kids, and I want to talk to my daughters teacher. I want to set up a meeting so I can tell her that she is a great teacher and the 504 has nothing to do with her teaching. She is awesome. She should know. We agree to meet. All good.... Oh, but it's not.
Don't ask me how I know, but the Evil Stepmother with the poison apple who steals all the puppies won't let the teacher talk to me. There will be no meeting. No chance for me to explain to this great teacher how much I appreciate her, and ask her if she has any ideas for the 504 that may help my daughter. NOW I SEE FIRE! I see Another Brick in the Wall Part 2.. Worse than indifference, I see interference! And again I ask myself "WHY?" Why don't they want to help my child? I am not asking them to love her. I don't even give a shit if they like her, just help her. It is your FUCKING job. It may not even work. You, Evil Ursula from the deep, what will you gain by denying my child? Will you feel powerful? Will you feel invincible wielding your shield of unwarranted position over a 49 pound girl who keeps forgetting her folder?
I am miles away, maybe light years from being the perfect parent. I yell, I scream, I swear, and sometimes I turn into a demon from hell trying to raise my children. Hell, it's like taming a wild animal sometimes and I was nowhere in line to replace Sigfried or Roy, or whichever one became a tiger chew toy. In fact, I probably have more in common with the chew toy than the tamer. But I love my children and will try anything to help them. They are kind and smart and funny.... And I know I am their mom so of course I see them in a special light. That is my place. That is my job. And you, Wicked Witch with all your evil henchmen and flying monkeys, you are running a public school. Helping my children is your job too.
I honestly think elementary school is worse now than it was when I was a student. Way worse, and I am not talking about for current students, I am talking about FOR ME!
You see, I have this bright, beautiful daughter. She taught herself to read when she was 3. She used sign language as an infant to participate in the action, and her use of language has always been exceptional. I was like, "Cool. No worries in the school department." And it was all good. Passed the gifted test, Student or Citizen of the Month K-3, won the science fair two years in a row. All good. Never big on homework though. Never wanted to do it, lots of bribery, and then in fourth grade, when she was 8, she just froze. Couldn't do it. Sat for hours just staring into space. Then got so defensive about homework that she would argue for an hour rather than write one sentence. Then lost her self esteem. Believed she couldn't do it and is stupid. And that's where we are now.
I went through every route I could think of: therapy, medication ( for depression and ADD,). Learning centers, tutoring, punishment, positive reinforcement... Everything. Then my mother-in-law went to a seminar on neurofeedback, so of course I checked it out. The Dr. scanned her brain. She sat in an electrode covered cap for hours plugged into the computer looking like a revamped Devo video, and then, we had it. When the results of the brain functioning scan came back, the Dr. looked her straight in the eyes and told her, "You are going to do great things in your life!" Her brain was not only exceptional, it was working too hard on a certain wavelength. She was constantly overloaded and couldn't find a way to get the information she needed from her unorganized jam packed file cabinet of a brain. It was too much for her, so she froze.
So, I have to do something. Before she flunks fourth grade, I have to help her find that information. Organize her thoughts, stop yelling and cursing and be sympathetic and try as hard as I can to understand something I have never known. What do I do? While she is currently undergoing a battery of psychological tests, I can file paperwork that can help her out in school a little bit. It's called a 504 plan and it exists to make allowances for people who need a little help. Like she can sit in front, have more time to copy the homework, be reminders of which books to take home, get a little extra test time. Not the moon on a silver platter, not Sir Paul McCartney's email address, just a little extra help for a nine year old girl struggling to stay afloat in educational waters that are murky for her. So my husband asks about it in the school office. The vice principal gives him the wrong form. He goes back in. The vice principal doesn't have the other form. By the way, this is the vice principal who told me to tell my 4 year old kindergartener not to do all of his homework if I thought it was too much. WTF? Of course 6 pages of homework including book summaries and letters written 220 times is too much, but I am no kinda telling a kid with at least 12 years of school ahead of him that he doesn't have to do his homework!!! Stupid doesn't begin to describe this woman. Unqualified merely scratches the surface.
Anyway, I have the form downloaded, so whatever, until I go pick up my kids from school, and the other vice principal stops me and coldly tells me she gave my daughter the right form. "That's cool," I tell her, "Thanks. I downloaded it anyway." Now I get the icy evil queen in Snow White glare, "Well, there are a lot of forms, are you sure you have the right one?" As if I am as stupid as her coworker. I take it from my purse, "Here is the one I printed. Does it look right?" She sneers and looks it over, "Yes but mine has the top filled out." Ok, you win Ice Queen. You wrote my daughters name and the school address on yours...AND you highlighted the section for the doctor to fill out (which is so ambiguously titled "Medical Professional fills out this part"). I ask what happens after the form goes in. She tells me it will be reviewed by a committee and accepted or not. "You will find out then if she gets extra test time," cackles Broomhildas evil twin. "Actually, ". I reply, "it's not really about test time. My daughter has executive functioning issues and she needs other things like extra time to copy home work and a reminder of which books to bring home. Maybe I could come in and help her." "You will NOT BE COMING IN!" She rages. "Someone from the school will do that." "Great, " is my reply, "I was just trying to help so it doesn't burden her teacher. Gotta go." And I leave Malificent to take kids to the bus...or maybe to a house in the woods made of candy.
I am not furious yet. I am confused. Why are these people so against me wanting to help my child? Don't they want to help her? Ummm,.... Isn't it kinda their FUCKING job? You work at Toys r Us, you can hate kids all you want. In fact, I'm sure 99% of TRU employees would be happy to never see a snotty faced slimey handed kid ever again ( of course there is always the 1% retired grandparent who's grand kids live out of state and can't wait to sell some whiny brat the latest video system, if only they knew how to work that newfangled computerized cash register...). But when you work at an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, or any school for that matter, helping kids is kinda on your agenda. Right? I mean run for congress if you want to be an obstacle in people's lives. So, I go get my kids, and I want to talk to my daughters teacher. I want to set up a meeting so I can tell her that she is a great teacher and the 504 has nothing to do with her teaching. She is awesome. She should know. We agree to meet. All good.... Oh, but it's not.
Don't ask me how I know, but the Evil Stepmother with the poison apple who steals all the puppies won't let the teacher talk to me. There will be no meeting. No chance for me to explain to this great teacher how much I appreciate her, and ask her if she has any ideas for the 504 that may help my daughter. NOW I SEE FIRE! I see Another Brick in the Wall Part 2.. Worse than indifference, I see interference! And again I ask myself "WHY?" Why don't they want to help my child? I am not asking them to love her. I don't even give a shit if they like her, just help her. It is your FUCKING job. It may not even work. You, Evil Ursula from the deep, what will you gain by denying my child? Will you feel powerful? Will you feel invincible wielding your shield of unwarranted position over a 49 pound girl who keeps forgetting her folder?
I am miles away, maybe light years from being the perfect parent. I yell, I scream, I swear, and sometimes I turn into a demon from hell trying to raise my children. Hell, it's like taming a wild animal sometimes and I was nowhere in line to replace Sigfried or Roy, or whichever one became a tiger chew toy. In fact, I probably have more in common with the chew toy than the tamer. But I love my children and will try anything to help them. They are kind and smart and funny.... And I know I am their mom so of course I see them in a special light. That is my place. That is my job. And you, Wicked Witch with all your evil henchmen and flying monkeys, you are running a public school. Helping my children is your job too.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Called A Cunt Before 9am
First of all, I am now writing this blog with severe trepidation. Turns out it is somehow connected to Google plus, which it turns out my 12 year old nephew is cruising around on. My sister apparently doesn't want him on Facebook, so I guess Google plus is like the gateway drug. The thing is, I love my nephew. I held him just days after he was born and he was the first baby I ever really loved. He stole my heart with those tiny hands and big fat cheeks... But he's 12, and 12 year old boys...well, they have cooties. Not to mention the fact that no one who is 12 should be reading a blog with the word "cunt" in it. I am sure my nephew will figure out what a nutcase I am eventually (unless of course he already has,) but I don't want to use words that there is no way a 12 year old boy should be reading. I also don't want to stifle myself. So, I put on some privacy settings, and we will see how it goes. Patrick, if you are reading this, go over to Amazon and find something cool. I'll send you a gift card. Or better yet, turn off your laptop and read a book. Finish your homework! And stop antagonizing your brother!
So, this morning started out like any other. The five year old was dressed, brushed, and packed with his finished homework. The nine year old was laying on her floor half naked whining about what to wear, what to eat, and why to brush. Lord knows where her backpack was or if anything was actually completed inside. It's kinda like one of those obstacle course runs that are so popular now. It's the Get-the-kids-to-school-on-time-without-Children's-Services-being-notified 5k. It's way better than those mud runs or paint runs though, because at the end, you may be a bit dirty and winded, but your kids have been turned over to our good intentioned horribly implemented department of education, ie, they are NOT in the car, and you can finally put in the new Five Finger Death Punch cd and wheel that volume button hard to the right!
Anyway, my husband and I drop the kids off at school, I have my mandatory parent chat about how much homework there is and how yesterday's field trip (that I totally forgot about) went, etc, etc, and I drop off my husband at the subway to get to work. It's about 6 blocks away from the school, so of course it takes 15 minutes to get there, and it is in one of the absolute worst neighborhoods to drive in in Brooklyn. Don't get me wrong, driving anywhere in Brooklyn sucks. It's like one of those racing game videos where you try not to hit the animals, but in Brooklyn, you try not to hit the van parked in one lane, the pedestrian illegally crossing in the other lane and the livery car making an illegal u- turn while simultaneously running a red light. I swear to God. Once I saw this car break so many laws at once I was dumbstruck. It like ran a red light to make an illegal left turn from the far right lane and almost clipped a pedestrian who was actually IN the crosswalk (something I had previously put in the same category as a unicorn or a leprechaun,) to go the wrong way down a one way street. And I have NEVER seen any car pulled over for a moving violation in the 10 years I have lived here. But I digress...
In the neighborhood we drive through every morning, people will drive on the sidewalk to pass you if you are in their way (turning, not going 90 mph...) and the second the light changes, everyone slams on their horn. Totally annoying, and try as I may to just get used to it, even Five Finger on 11 can't drown it out. What I did was adopt a tradition my Dad started. He carried a black and white checkered racing flag in the car so when people sped by him like their hair was on fire, he would wave it out the window. It kinda helps, but sometimes it's like putting a band aid on shark bite. This morning was one of those times. My husband was making a left turn, so he was (shock) waiting for the intersection to clear, and this guy behind us just starts blasting his horn. This guy is so mad that he has to wait for us to turn, that he's honking and honking, and I can't see his face, but I can only imagine it beet red. So my husband of course is like, "Piss off!" And slowly creeps closer to the intersection. Of course the guy behind us is livid now. I mean what if they give the fresh donor liver to someone else? Or worse yet, he's late for his brain transplant?? Or Starbucks runs out of Pumpkin Spice syrup??? The horror of it all! I of course am fishing for my checkered flag which I find and wave out the window. Speed racer finally has enough room to go around us as he genteelly yells, "Fuck you!" out the window, to which I reply, "Moron!" and then it comes, slicing through the air on a 90 mph headwind, "CUNT!!" I look at my husband. "He just called me a cunt! Can you believe it? What an asshole!" "Well, yeah, obviously," he replies. And that's when this cool thing hits me. It's this video I saw on Upworthy. A very cool website for inspirational and alternative thinking ideas. And this video was a young girl explaining why cunt is not an insult. I don't know If you saw this video, but you should check it out. This girl's basic point is that a cunt is a vagina, and a vagina is a beautiful thing that provides life and pleasure to the human race, so how can it be insulting to be called something so wonderful? And she's right. Totally. There is nothing wrong or bad about a vagina, but there are waaaaaaayyyy good things about it, and that's not even taking into consideration the whiny little tadpoles I just turned over to the dept of ed. At least from the girl in the video's perspective, and mine as well, vaginas rock! So you wanna call me a cunt? Bring it on baby!
Of course I am having this revelation as we are half way down the block and Captain Angry is honking his way through the McDonalds drive thru, but I tell my husband, "Man, I should have yelled out 'Thank You!' or 'What's wrong with you that you don't like vaginas?" My helpful husband, ever supportive of me, suggests that I should go with "Thank you!" Since I'm not looking at a lot of chat time. Good point, and dually noted.
So, I drop my husband at the train and look at the clock. It is 8:53am, and I have already been called a cunt. I decide it is going to be a great day, and I can't wait for the next time.
Peace, love, and vaginas!
Marielle
Check it out http://www.upworthy.com/so-youre-telling-me-you-dont-like-the-way-you-think-i-have-sex-cause-thats-all-im-hearing-2?g=2
So, this morning started out like any other. The five year old was dressed, brushed, and packed with his finished homework. The nine year old was laying on her floor half naked whining about what to wear, what to eat, and why to brush. Lord knows where her backpack was or if anything was actually completed inside. It's kinda like one of those obstacle course runs that are so popular now. It's the Get-the-kids-to-school-on-time-without-Children's-Services-being-notified 5k. It's way better than those mud runs or paint runs though, because at the end, you may be a bit dirty and winded, but your kids have been turned over to our good intentioned horribly implemented department of education, ie, they are NOT in the car, and you can finally put in the new Five Finger Death Punch cd and wheel that volume button hard to the right!
Anyway, my husband and I drop the kids off at school, I have my mandatory parent chat about how much homework there is and how yesterday's field trip (that I totally forgot about) went, etc, etc, and I drop off my husband at the subway to get to work. It's about 6 blocks away from the school, so of course it takes 15 minutes to get there, and it is in one of the absolute worst neighborhoods to drive in in Brooklyn. Don't get me wrong, driving anywhere in Brooklyn sucks. It's like one of those racing game videos where you try not to hit the animals, but in Brooklyn, you try not to hit the van parked in one lane, the pedestrian illegally crossing in the other lane and the livery car making an illegal u- turn while simultaneously running a red light. I swear to God. Once I saw this car break so many laws at once I was dumbstruck. It like ran a red light to make an illegal left turn from the far right lane and almost clipped a pedestrian who was actually IN the crosswalk (something I had previously put in the same category as a unicorn or a leprechaun,) to go the wrong way down a one way street. And I have NEVER seen any car pulled over for a moving violation in the 10 years I have lived here. But I digress...
In the neighborhood we drive through every morning, people will drive on the sidewalk to pass you if you are in their way (turning, not going 90 mph...) and the second the light changes, everyone slams on their horn. Totally annoying, and try as I may to just get used to it, even Five Finger on 11 can't drown it out. What I did was adopt a tradition my Dad started. He carried a black and white checkered racing flag in the car so when people sped by him like their hair was on fire, he would wave it out the window. It kinda helps, but sometimes it's like putting a band aid on shark bite. This morning was one of those times. My husband was making a left turn, so he was (shock) waiting for the intersection to clear, and this guy behind us just starts blasting his horn. This guy is so mad that he has to wait for us to turn, that he's honking and honking, and I can't see his face, but I can only imagine it beet red. So my husband of course is like, "Piss off!" And slowly creeps closer to the intersection. Of course the guy behind us is livid now. I mean what if they give the fresh donor liver to someone else? Or worse yet, he's late for his brain transplant?? Or Starbucks runs out of Pumpkin Spice syrup??? The horror of it all! I of course am fishing for my checkered flag which I find and wave out the window. Speed racer finally has enough room to go around us as he genteelly yells, "Fuck you!" out the window, to which I reply, "Moron!" and then it comes, slicing through the air on a 90 mph headwind, "CUNT!!" I look at my husband. "He just called me a cunt! Can you believe it? What an asshole!" "Well, yeah, obviously," he replies. And that's when this cool thing hits me. It's this video I saw on Upworthy. A very cool website for inspirational and alternative thinking ideas. And this video was a young girl explaining why cunt is not an insult. I don't know If you saw this video, but you should check it out. This girl's basic point is that a cunt is a vagina, and a vagina is a beautiful thing that provides life and pleasure to the human race, so how can it be insulting to be called something so wonderful? And she's right. Totally. There is nothing wrong or bad about a vagina, but there are waaaaaaayyyy good things about it, and that's not even taking into consideration the whiny little tadpoles I just turned over to the dept of ed. At least from the girl in the video's perspective, and mine as well, vaginas rock! So you wanna call me a cunt? Bring it on baby!
Of course I am having this revelation as we are half way down the block and Captain Angry is honking his way through the McDonalds drive thru, but I tell my husband, "Man, I should have yelled out 'Thank You!' or 'What's wrong with you that you don't like vaginas?" My helpful husband, ever supportive of me, suggests that I should go with "Thank you!" Since I'm not looking at a lot of chat time. Good point, and dually noted.
So, I drop my husband at the train and look at the clock. It is 8:53am, and I have already been called a cunt. I decide it is going to be a great day, and I can't wait for the next time.
Peace, love, and vaginas!
Marielle
Check it out http://www.upworthy.com/so-youre-telling-me-you-dont-like-the-way-you-think-i-have-sex-cause-thats-all-im-hearing-2?g=2
Friday, October 25, 2013
Gym Enlightenment
I have to admit, I had eye on them for months. The latest in workout pants technology! Testimonial after testimonial, "I lost 4" off my hips in 2 weeks!" "I went down 2 dress sizes just wearing these pants around the house!" And so on. I admit, I am a sucker for most things advertised. I am the person they put all that stupid stuff on the store counter for, and I usually buy more crap winding through the product stocked line at Marshall's than I came into the line with. But state of the art weight dropping off workout pants??? I am so in! That is until I went to the website and saw the price: $100! Wtf? I mean I guess it's cheaper than liposuction, but waaaaay more than the sale rack at TJ Maxx! Enter, my lord an savior, the mighty GROUPON! Fifty dollars for one hundred dollars worth of merchandise from the best-invention-in-history workout pants! Half price! Problem solved!
As I spend my days making excuses to drive by my house and check the mail for my new pants, I envision my tiny waist and slim legs finally fitting into anything made by Gwen Stefani. My miracle pants will be here to change my life, and one day, they are! I rip open the package with a shriek and dance around the house basking in the glory of my life changing garment I never thought I could afford! And just think, I have personal training in 2 days! Welcome to my new life!
And then, I am in the locker room changing for my training. My new pants are kinda thick and tight, obviously the perfect texture to unleash my fat! I peel into them, and into the gym I go.
Boxing was fine. Good cardio, no real difference. Weight lifting was even better. The thicker pants made it easier to slide the weight bar down my thighs. Good training, now an hour on the eliptical, and it's off to get the kids. And that's when it happens... Holy crap! These pants are so heavy and tight, each step starts to turn into a marathon. What, it's only 20 minutes? I swear I've been on this thing for at least 45! And the sweat... My shirt is soaked through. My face is dripping. My ponytail meandered into the glue factory. Seriously, I am walking through the Mohave starting to hallucinate about seven virgins holding out iced shots of Patron.
Fifteen minutes left and I'm doing my best to ignore the fact that I feel like I just stepped out of a hot tub in my clothes. Ten minutes, five minutes, two minutes, two minutes and 50 seconds, two minutes and 45 seconds, one minute, one minute and 28 seconds, 40 seconds, and finally I am done. It takes me a few minutes for my heat stroked brain to figure out how to get off the machine, and I almost fall down two flights of stairs to the locker room. I am panting. I have to sit down. No, I have to get these fucking pants off. I take off my shoes and literally have to peel these nuclear pants from my body. My legs are soaked, my underwear is soaked, but all I care about is the smooth, cold tile of the locker ledge. Germ laden as it may be, damn, it feels amazing on my heat stroked body.
Eventually I get dressed and squeeze my soaking clothes into my gym bag. Into the laundry everything goes the minute I get home. But how do I wash these pants? Hand wash in cold water? I guess even Satan has a sense of humor.
Will I wear them again? Absolutely! Maybe not every workout, but I've always been a glutton for punishment. Especially when I will lose 4" off my hips in two weeks!
Now where is that ice cold Patron?
Peace!
Marielle
As I spend my days making excuses to drive by my house and check the mail for my new pants, I envision my tiny waist and slim legs finally fitting into anything made by Gwen Stefani. My miracle pants will be here to change my life, and one day, they are! I rip open the package with a shriek and dance around the house basking in the glory of my life changing garment I never thought I could afford! And just think, I have personal training in 2 days! Welcome to my new life!
And then, I am in the locker room changing for my training. My new pants are kinda thick and tight, obviously the perfect texture to unleash my fat! I peel into them, and into the gym I go.
Boxing was fine. Good cardio, no real difference. Weight lifting was even better. The thicker pants made it easier to slide the weight bar down my thighs. Good training, now an hour on the eliptical, and it's off to get the kids. And that's when it happens... Holy crap! These pants are so heavy and tight, each step starts to turn into a marathon. What, it's only 20 minutes? I swear I've been on this thing for at least 45! And the sweat... My shirt is soaked through. My face is dripping. My ponytail meandered into the glue factory. Seriously, I am walking through the Mohave starting to hallucinate about seven virgins holding out iced shots of Patron.
Fifteen minutes left and I'm doing my best to ignore the fact that I feel like I just stepped out of a hot tub in my clothes. Ten minutes, five minutes, two minutes, two minutes and 50 seconds, two minutes and 45 seconds, one minute, one minute and 28 seconds, 40 seconds, and finally I am done. It takes me a few minutes for my heat stroked brain to figure out how to get off the machine, and I almost fall down two flights of stairs to the locker room. I am panting. I have to sit down. No, I have to get these fucking pants off. I take off my shoes and literally have to peel these nuclear pants from my body. My legs are soaked, my underwear is soaked, but all I care about is the smooth, cold tile of the locker ledge. Germ laden as it may be, damn, it feels amazing on my heat stroked body.
Eventually I get dressed and squeeze my soaking clothes into my gym bag. Into the laundry everything goes the minute I get home. But how do I wash these pants? Hand wash in cold water? I guess even Satan has a sense of humor.
Will I wear them again? Absolutely! Maybe not every workout, but I've always been a glutton for punishment. Especially when I will lose 4" off my hips in two weeks!
Now where is that ice cold Patron?
Peace!
Marielle
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Studded Jacket Parenting
So, I realize I started this blog like last year or something and haven't added anything new, so today, as I was watching my 4 year old do his 9 pages of homework and first book summary at the dining room table while by 9 year old read the cereal box, it occurred to me that I should be more current. I write so much stuff on facebook, I don't really do the blog thing. So, I have decided to make a concerted effort to blog first, facebook later. We will see how that goes. Plus I have no following, so I guess this is just a trial thing.
At the moment, my schedule is busy. Of the every-single-day activities, 2 are for me. That's ok though. At first I have to admit I was not happy about leaving the music business to be a full time mom, but now (with the right meds, my fave being klonipin!) I am digging it! It is not everyone who gets to watch their kids grow up. Watch their eyes light up kicking the heavy bag in karate for the first time (and second time, and third time..., and singing along with Cheap Trick and Paramore in the car at the top of their lungs. I realize I am still me, and my kids are finally able to understand that. My Dad used to carry a checkered flag in his car so he could wave it out the window when people flew by him. I am carrying on the tradition, and my flag gets way more use in Brooklyn than Chicago. In the beginning I explained it to my children, and as they watched me in action once, my 9 year old said, "Mom, do you know you are crazy?" To which I replied, "Yeah, and it's ok. Makes life interesting don't you think? Plus it saves me from saying a lot of bad words your father doesn't want me to say around you. I say it's win-win, don't you?" "I guess so," she replied smugly, "but you're still crazy." I can live with that. I want them to know who I am in addition to the mom nagging about homework and yelling at her to clean her room.
I also found out something new about myself. I enrolled her in an after school math enrichment program (a fancy term for saying she sucks in math and is going to flunk the state tests without tutoring and my 20 year old babysitter, google, and I have no idea how to do this new fucking math,) and when I met with the director while wearing my sweatpants and studded jacket, I actually had a lot of important things to say. I have goals for her, and I am really trying to help her achieve them.. I want her to feel confident and good about herself. I want her to feel smart and capable. I have her in therapy and dance, and I think the dance is working better. I tried ADD medicines (which didn't work,) and plan on trying some OT to ease her fear of writing. I honestly think she doesn't really know how to hold the pencil properly. I remember my kindergarten teacher (Mrs. Gruel, a name which sounds like she eats children inside a rather than candy house rather than teaches them,) spending entire classes showing us how to hold a pencil properly and apply the right pressure. And she went from table to table correcting and helping us individually. Now, they just say, "Here is an F. Trace it and write 220 of them." No lie. My kindergartner has to write 220 letters along with 6 other worksheets at least 3 times a week! And the director of the fancy we-will-enrich-your-child-and-make-them-a-genius really was impressed with what I had to say, spiked jacked, sweatpants, tattoos, and all.
In any case, I am finally embracing this motherhood thing. My husband is doing phenomenal in the music business, and I am truly not jealous. I am not doing so bad in the Mom business.
Anyway, I have to get dressed for another getting-manis and pedis-birthday party. And I am excited because my nails actually look like crap. This mom thing, it's harder than scheduling Metallica songs to play in sync with the 4th of July fireworks display, but I'm digging it!
xx
Marielle
At the moment, my schedule is busy. Of the every-single-day activities, 2 are for me. That's ok though. At first I have to admit I was not happy about leaving the music business to be a full time mom, but now (with the right meds, my fave being klonipin!) I am digging it! It is not everyone who gets to watch their kids grow up. Watch their eyes light up kicking the heavy bag in karate for the first time (and second time, and third time..., and singing along with Cheap Trick and Paramore in the car at the top of their lungs. I realize I am still me, and my kids are finally able to understand that. My Dad used to carry a checkered flag in his car so he could wave it out the window when people flew by him. I am carrying on the tradition, and my flag gets way more use in Brooklyn than Chicago. In the beginning I explained it to my children, and as they watched me in action once, my 9 year old said, "Mom, do you know you are crazy?" To which I replied, "Yeah, and it's ok. Makes life interesting don't you think? Plus it saves me from saying a lot of bad words your father doesn't want me to say around you. I say it's win-win, don't you?" "I guess so," she replied smugly, "but you're still crazy." I can live with that. I want them to know who I am in addition to the mom nagging about homework and yelling at her to clean her room.
I also found out something new about myself. I enrolled her in an after school math enrichment program (a fancy term for saying she sucks in math and is going to flunk the state tests without tutoring and my 20 year old babysitter, google, and I have no idea how to do this new fucking math,) and when I met with the director while wearing my sweatpants and studded jacket, I actually had a lot of important things to say. I have goals for her, and I am really trying to help her achieve them.. I want her to feel confident and good about herself. I want her to feel smart and capable. I have her in therapy and dance, and I think the dance is working better. I tried ADD medicines (which didn't work,) and plan on trying some OT to ease her fear of writing. I honestly think she doesn't really know how to hold the pencil properly. I remember my kindergarten teacher (Mrs. Gruel, a name which sounds like she eats children inside a rather than candy house rather than teaches them,) spending entire classes showing us how to hold a pencil properly and apply the right pressure. And she went from table to table correcting and helping us individually. Now, they just say, "Here is an F. Trace it and write 220 of them." No lie. My kindergartner has to write 220 letters along with 6 other worksheets at least 3 times a week! And the director of the fancy we-will-enrich-your-child-and-make-them-a-genius really was impressed with what I had to say, spiked jacked, sweatpants, tattoos, and all.
In any case, I am finally embracing this motherhood thing. My husband is doing phenomenal in the music business, and I am truly not jealous. I am not doing so bad in the Mom business.
Anyway, I have to get dressed for another getting-manis and pedis-birthday party. And I am excited because my nails actually look like crap. This mom thing, it's harder than scheduling Metallica songs to play in sync with the 4th of July fireworks display, but I'm digging it!
xx
Marielle
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Boxing Lessons
Ever since I bought the Groupon ("Honey, I have to go to this sushi place, get my hair lasered and spend the day in a Russian Banya on Coney Island Avenue by next Tuesday!) I have been really looking forward to boxing lessons! I mean c'mon, 4 private lessons! How stupid can I look? AND I get to wear boxing gloves so the stupidity factor is already elevated to way cool! So, the lesson is at noon, and in my infinite wisdom I decide to warm up with 2 hours at the gym: an hour on the eliptical, some weights, 100 situps... in retrospect, not one of my best plans (of course far from one of my worst plans. Can you say "drinking two bottles of wine and showing up late and rowdy to my front row seats at Rent on Broadway?" Yeah, well.... it sucked anyway until we were asked to leave after 15 minutes!)
Anyway, boxing gym, cool. Anthony who is laid back and knows how to throw a punch, cool. Getting my hands wrapped, wearing boxing gloves and punching a 200 lb bag, way cool. Thirty minutes of warm up exercises broken down into intervals of 3 and a half minutes each, sucks ass. And one of the worst parts, you have to look in the mirror the whole time! Definitely not one of my strong suits. After all, nothing says "kick ass" like watching your breasts bounce around in the supposedly best sports bra available while sweat is pouring down your face. And there is no kinda happiness in big Anthony watching you throw a punch and that loose ball of fat under your arm springs forth as if it could assist in some way, like, "Hey! Watch out! If I punch hard enough this underarm granny fat it going to fly off and smack you in the face and you will be grossed out for life!"
All in all, I made it through my first lesson. And even with Anthony saying such inspirational things like, "Well you're not really going to learn that much in 4 lessons so you really have to pay attention to the technique." That was yesterday, and everything hurts! And I have to buy a garment bag to wash my wraps. My bras, I just throw that in with my regular clothes, but not my boxing wraps! I am definitely in for at least these 3 more lessons. Pain equals strength, right? And I am certainly going to get a lot of use out of the boxing gloves, which I very well could be wearing all day today as diva sits at the table and whines about her 3rd grade homework. Oh, and I just got a report/tattle that JBear is throwing legos at the tv. Guess it's time to wrap my hands.
Anyway, boxing gym, cool. Anthony who is laid back and knows how to throw a punch, cool. Getting my hands wrapped, wearing boxing gloves and punching a 200 lb bag, way cool. Thirty minutes of warm up exercises broken down into intervals of 3 and a half minutes each, sucks ass. And one of the worst parts, you have to look in the mirror the whole time! Definitely not one of my strong suits. After all, nothing says "kick ass" like watching your breasts bounce around in the supposedly best sports bra available while sweat is pouring down your face. And there is no kinda happiness in big Anthony watching you throw a punch and that loose ball of fat under your arm springs forth as if it could assist in some way, like, "Hey! Watch out! If I punch hard enough this underarm granny fat it going to fly off and smack you in the face and you will be grossed out for life!"
All in all, I made it through my first lesson. And even with Anthony saying such inspirational things like, "Well you're not really going to learn that much in 4 lessons so you really have to pay attention to the technique." That was yesterday, and everything hurts! And I have to buy a garment bag to wash my wraps. My bras, I just throw that in with my regular clothes, but not my boxing wraps! I am definitely in for at least these 3 more lessons. Pain equals strength, right? And I am certainly going to get a lot of use out of the boxing gloves, which I very well could be wearing all day today as diva sits at the table and whines about her 3rd grade homework. Oh, and I just got a report/tattle that JBear is throwing legos at the tv. Guess it's time to wrap my hands.
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