Homeschool Co-op Strikes Again

Another day of our new coop down and this time I sent St. Nick armed with a notebook and box of pencils, to take notes. He didn't think this would help. "It's sooooo boring, Mom! What am I gonna do, WRITE?"

"No, no, you can take notes in pictures, sweetie."

"What kinda pictures? Pictures of dumb birds?" (Cue five minute rant about how birds have feathers and he already knows birds have feathers, etc.)

"Not if you don't want, you can draw whatever kind of pictures you want, that have a little to do with what the teacher is saying, maybe." Maybe was added because I really do know better.

"Anything I want?" (Cue that look of cogs and wheels turning up there in his head behind his eyes, a scary look that usually precedes something ingenious and often destructive.)

"Sure!" (But the look gets stronger so I backtrack.) "Well, nothing inappropriate or scary."

"Ok."

Ok.

After class his teacher came up to me saying, "St. Nick could hardly contain himself, he wanted me to see his picture so badly. Quite a kid, that St. Nick." Something in here eyes warned me.

At this point I'm a little annoyed (again) about the environment, the culture that's waaaay too close to what's shown in the previous post. So when I asked, "St. Nick, so what's this picture you drew during class?" I was pretty sure I didn't want to see a drawing of dollies in a field of daisies. Of course, I know St. Nick too well to think I'd ever get a drawing of dollies in daisies from him (though he did draw an adorable Apple Dumpling doll for his sister once). Still, I didn't know quite what to expect. This is what I got:

I laughed the whole way home.

We Actually Called

I shared my grumpiness with Dr. D yesterday and he got on the phone and called the Charter Academy. They do have openings in 2nd grade, but St. Nick would have to apply and start classes tomorrow (well, today now, since he called yesterday). That's just too fast. If we could have a week, even, I think we might have done it. I could have returned the curriculum I bought and gotten a refund (for the books that don't have red pop on them - Fish had a little spill at dinner last night) and I might have had some moments free to work with Fish and Mud Pie during the day instead of casting them off to whatever activity will keep them relatively occupied and quiet for the longest period of time while I work with their big brother.

I had the briefest glimmer of hope. School! Joy! But alas, I'll just have to quit moaning and get to work. I, of course, feel like the biggest fraud going to these homeschool activities thinking giddily, "One more year, just one more year and I'm done with this."

Math with Money

Math. We're on Singapore 2A, exercise 10 and I'm finding that St. Nick has no trouble at all doing math when we do the money-related problems, like Sam has $30 and wants to buy the book, how much more does he need? (The book costs $32 - must be a textbook - so he needs $2, obviously.) St. Nick hardly has to think about this, even when it's more complicated (like Sam has $86 and buys the pencil for $15 ...) and we break out the base ten blocks. Easy.

But working on the exact same types of problems using imaginary apples and pears or cupcakes and cookies? No good. Then it's tears and "I don't get it!" Which makes math about as fun as, say, handwriting.

Hmmm.

Oh, Sigh.

Our first homeschool coop was this past week and already I've gotten a call from the director to talk about my son's "special needs." Special needs? Like classes that are interesting?

Pardon the sarcasm; I'm such a horrible person. He, apparently, tried to hide, escape, etc. etc. during the second of his two classes, and when he saw me in the hall before his third class he put on his fiercest angry face, which is really pretty comical, but also embarrassing since no one else's little cherubs flashed angry faces. I don't think they even have angry faces. I'm beginning to wonder if they have wills, or if they've been drugged. Or maybe most homeschoolers just manage to breed sweet smiling obedient children who can sit in one room for two solid hours listening to somebody's mom talk about music or birds or whatever and not be bored out of their gourds. I can't breed that sort of child. It would, honestly, be a miracle of genetics if Dr. D and I managed to produce a child like that.

Anyway, I've had my required conversation with St. Nick about staying in the room, not being a distraction and so on. And I'm fantasizing about the local charter academy every time I drive by the sign that says Limited openings in K, 2nd and 5th! Oh, yeah, I'm so ready for that.

Dr. D has his "Sunday Personality" going on today. I.e. grouchy about everything. Right now he's cleaning toilets and muttering profanity under his breath because the Ajax was in the upstairs bathroom and not under the kitchen sink where I guess he thinks it belongs. Funny, since he uses it maybe once for every, say, hundred-seventy times that I use it. Of course, after cleaning both toilets he will insist for the next few years that he cleans the bathrooms more often than I do.

Whine whine whine. Too bad I'm out of cheese.

Attack at Playland!

Frazzled already and it was only Wednesday morning, so I decided to treat the little ones to some time at the McDonald's playland. As usual, I got in, sent the big kids to play while I ordered with Mud Pie. The boys hurried back out for their food, gulped it down, and headed back in, only I noticed a handful of other kids were in the playland too, older ones. So instead of sitting right outside the playland doors (where it's quieter), I braved the shrieks and found a table right by the twisty slide. Good thing I did.

No sooner had I set my soda down Fish and Pie came running, crying that they'd been pushed on the slide. The culprit was a developmentally challenged youngster who was there with a couple of others like him and a couple of adults (chatting across the room). I convinced my kids to let it go, to return to the slides, and throughout the next hour the pushing child managed to hit, push, even spit on every other kid in the place. One family left in disgust after the spitting; I just warned Fish and St. Nick to keep their distance.

They tried, but in those plastic tunnels anything can happen. Right as I was thinking we should leave, St. Nick ran out of the play area, steaming mad. "That kid scratched my eye! Right here! He's a bad kid, what a BULLY!" (Thanks, Grandma, for making my kids bully-phobes.)

I calmly started explaining (once I saw that the scratch was really tiny) that the boy was different, that he didn't understand how to behave because of his limitations and whatnot. That's when Fish let out with a shriek.

He shrieks a lot, but something in the tone, the sheer shock and terror of it caught me. I closed my computer, got up. "Fish? Fish? St. Nick, go see what's wrong with him."

St. Nick scurried into the tunnel while Fish continued to shriek hysterically. Several other adults came to make sure it wasn't their own kid screaming (since they do often sound alike at this age).

"He's biting him! He's biting him!"

Finally, finally the adults with the special needs kids roused themselves. One scurried into the tunnels and said, "He's ok, but there's a kid in here who's bleeding."

Fish emerged from the slide slowly, hand cupped over his nose, blood mixing with tears, flowing over his fingers, down his chin. A mom behind me gasped. I choked back a cry and gathered Fish up and took him to our table where I gave him a napkin and set to seeing, first, where the blood was coming from. Out of the nose, on the nose, his cheek. Everywhere, it seemed. Before I knew it, the McDonald's staff was taking down my address for an incident report, the nurse at the next table over was handing me baby wipes, I was digging into my purse for an emergency Xanax. I found it but had blood and tears to wipe, and vomit now too, thanks to Fish's reflux issues. Fears flooded me - a bite, a human bite. This could mean infection or worse: hepatitis, rabies, HIV.

The kind McDonald's folk found antiseptic wipes, a bandaid, and I searched the crowd to make sure the other child and his ... parent? had stuck around. They were still there.

I approached. "Um, I just wanted to know, if, well, sorry to ask this, but does your boy have any medical issues I should be aware of? Hepatitis? Anything like that?"

No, but they'd have to check his file back at the school, they're his teachers, see, and really he's never done anything like this before and wow, you're so calm, thank you for being calm, mom's usually aren't so calm ...

I went back to my table and took that Xanax.

Eventually all the questions were answered, the biter's teacher joked with the McDonald's manager about insurance ("I dunno about that," the manager said, "I don't think it would apply cause this wasn't our fault." "But we couldn't see through those tunnels," the teacher said, then backtracked at the evil look the manager gave her. Just a joke, she said.). Finally I got what might have been an apology from the teacher, and the nurse kindly urged me to take my little guy to the ER.

After a call to Dr. D, who called the pediatrician, and another nudging from the nurse, we did just that (Urgent Care Center up the road) and Fish got put on some seriously strong antibiotics. And, after a supper of salami sandwich on potato roll, a Fish favorite, we went out for ice cream. He's in bed now, but Dr. D just had to settle him again - he's afraid of having a nightmare about bullies. I don't blame him. It's not every day you meet a seven-year-old vampire in McDonald's playland.

Here he is, bitten Fish:

First Field Trip of the School Year

And my was it ... WET. We hooked up with our new homsechool group to attend a historical encampment/reenactment, and the forecast called for morning showers. Well, it was indeed raining when we were picked up, raining as we drove, raining as we unloaded, raining as we waited for the event to start .... Don't take my word for it. Here are the highlights in pictures:

First tent, storytellers and singers about the French settlers. Entertaining, even if we were shivering and wet. (Thoughts: Ahhh, this is so refreshing! A nice light rain; surely it will let up soon.)

Next demonstration, musket drills! What fun! The muskets were a little damp.

St. Nick enjoying the musket drill. (I had to "trick" him into participating by taking a wooden musket, then handing it to him saying, "Oh! I just want to get some pictures!!!" To which he replied, "I'm so not falling for this, Mom. I'm not doing it.") By the way, it's still raining.

The rain stopped briefly for a cannon shooting and lunch.

St. Nick and his friend L loved the cannon.

Which was about the only thing St. Nick really did enjoy. Incidentally, he was about the driest among us with his yellow fleece shedding water. L and I had to change when we got home that afternoon.

We also saw a woodworker and a blacksmith. Exciting, but nowhere near as engaging as the reenactment we went to last fall. I'll have to go back in my files and see where on earth that was so we can go again, unless it's raining. Heck, even if it is raining. We have lots of practice at being wet.

Oatmeal Cookie Cobbler

To finish off our rough day yesterday, I thought I'd make something especially healthy ...

I was going to make peach crisp from a recipe, but I got a little carried away. This is what I ended up with: a peach-apple base with oatmeal cookie crust. Amazing! Served with mini egg fritatas (slices of deli ham in muffin cups filled with whisked egg, milk, salt, pepper and a dash of garlic powder, topped with swiss, baked for 20 mins at 350), this was an amazing comfort meal. I think the cobbler would likely be amazing with cranberries and apples for a Thanksgiving desert.

Oatmeal Cookie Cobbler

Fruit base:

5-6 chopped peaches

2 chopped tart apples

1/4 C orange juice

1 T brown sugar

2 T whole wheat flour

1/2 t cinnamon

1/4 t ginger

*put chopped fruit into a greased 8x8 pan, mix other ingredients and pour over fruit*

Topping:

1 stick butter, softened

1 egg

1/2 C sugar

3/4 C brown sugar

1/4 C water

1 t vanilla

*mix together*

1/2 t salt

1/2 t soda

3/4 C whole wheat flour

3+ C quick cooking oats

*mix into dough, drop by large spoonfulls onto fruit mixture so covers, bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes or until beginning to brown*

I would have taken a picture, but we honestly ate it so fast, I didn't get a chance!

Our First "Vacation" Day

Or Mental Health Day or sick day (more mental illness than anything, though the kids do have colds). Whatever you want to call it, school just isn't happening today.

And here's why:

The morning started typically. We had breakfast, I nuked my coffee about fifteen times because it kept getting cold, St. Nick wanted to try tea, didn't like it, so it got dumped and he got coffee instead, I took a shower and the little ones decided a bath would be nice.

And then ...

Well, let me backtrack. As I was getting St. Nick's tea, I noticed the door under the sink open. Huh? Had I left it dangling? Maybe. I shrugged, closed it, went on with tea making. A few minutes later I had to run into another room, and when I came back the door was hanging open again. Fish or Pie throwing something in the trash, I assumed. Why else would it be open?

Now fast forward. Bath is drawn, Mud Pie is in the water, I'm in the midst of getting my own tea and I'm chatting with St. Nick about his friend's birthday the following day. Fish heads up to jump in the bath and asks if he can bring his Noah's Ark. Sure, sure, whatever. Just get in there so I can start school with your brother!

Splish, splash, the little two are taking a bath and I realize, Oh! The water! It's still on, and this tub fills up faster than our old house's tub, so I go up and wonder what the nice smell is. Did they already get into the soap?

Well, no. And yes.

The water is blue and flecked with dark navy things. And there's something icky, sort of slimy in the water. I pick one slimy blue glob up, stare at it a moment. Then it hits me.

The dishwasher soap! We'd had a coupon for Electrasol gel packs and there was a brand new, month's-worth box ... under the kitchen sink.

The open door, Fish and Pie's squirrelly eagerness to get in that water. It's all coming together as I scoop partially-dissolved gel packs out of the bath. I scoop the kids out too, drain, wash the tub, rinse the toys, draw a new bath and scrub the thick film of dishwasher soap off their little hides (which were in danger of being tanned at that point, I was so upset with them). I took their drippy little selves, wrapped in towels, down to the scene of the crime and told them to never, ever, EVER!!!!!! get into the cupboard again.

We started the day with 31 gel packs, and since not all would fit in the ark and some I found on the family room floor, we now have 12.

And school didn't happen. We made Autumn placemats out of last year's dried leaves and clear contact paper instead.

First Week of School: Absolute Essentials

Three non-negotiable essentials for the first week of school:

1. Caffeinated beverages.
2. Gourmet chocolate.
3. Tissues.

Duh

That's essentials for Mom, in case it wasn't obvious.