Banana bread, a bistro and some cheese

I’m bored.

I should be cleaning my house or reading my new book, but I don’t feel like it.

It’s a weird, blustery day outside.

I’d really like to put on my jammies and curl up in front of the boob tube with a slab of the banana nut bread I baked this morning.

But it’s only 4:00 p.m, daylight saving time, probably not going to be dark for a few hours.

Do I really want to turn on the t.v.?  Mom sort of raised us not to do that during the day.

What then?

I don’t feel creative.

I haven’t sewn anything in months.  Not even sure why.  Probably just no real time to do it.

And no goals for it.  Gotta have a goal for those kind of things.

Maybe I should be thinking about Halloween and making some friends for Sergio.  Friends to sell.

But the banana bread came out so well.

I need to paint the little boy’s room some time soon.

I told myself today that I will complete it before his birthday.  That’s two months.

I can do it!  He can help!  Or he can hinder.  😐  You know how it goes.

Banana bread.  Did I just hear my name?

The Fairy Princess is sitting a few feet away from me.  She wants her Friskies.

She’s only insistent when it’s late and I’ve forgotten, but she puts herself in my path a few minutes early to help me remember.

Her eyes are closing, but she doesn’t move because she knows she has to tell me it’s time.

Husband and the little boy don’t notice her when she sits like that.

It’s only me.  She sits there for me.  I’m the supplier of her banana bread.

Okay, I fed her.  Does she look fatter?

(Please ignore well loved scratching post and excess fur matted into curtains.)

Moving on (or back) to boredom.

Husband and I had some relief from it yesterday.

My mom watched the boy while we had a very pleasant grown-up lunch with two other couples.

No kids!  Woohoo!

We went to the Stone Brewing World Bistro in Escondido.

It’s a huge place with interesting food and a zillion different beers.  Even the iced tea tasted kind of hoppy.

If you go, be sure to order the mushroom pillow appetizers.  Yummy.

It was nice not to worry about the little boy and whether or not there were chicken stars or pancakes on the menu.

Wish we could do that more often.  Sigh.  Someday.

Maybe you can babysit.  🙂  No pressure.

We might still have banana nut bread left for you.

Don’t forget to watch 24 tomorrow!!  😀

It’s the last one.  😐

Cheese!

Happy Weekend!

♥♥

Just Children

Today was such a normal day.  We’re back in the routine.

That’s really nice, because last night I dreamed that the school was planning to do surgery on my son.  The school, surgery, on my son.

I said “you are not.”

The secretary said, all syrupy sweet, “oh dear, we’ve already scheduled it and he really does need it.”

More emphatically, I replied “you will not do any surgery on my son!”

But for some reason, I still had to take him there.  😦

In real life?  Um, no.  Wouldn’t take him.

In the dream, all I could do was write on him with sharpie markers.

I lifted his shirt and scribbled “DO NOT perform surgery on my son!” across his stomach, and again on his back and arms.

But the ink was smearing.  I wasn’t sure it would be legible by the time he got there.

Then, you guessed it, the alarm rang and I woke up without resolution to this frightful nightmare.  Hate that.  HATE that.

Before I go all psychoanalytical on myself, I feel it fair to tell you that my husband and I watched 24 and ate nachos right before bed last night.

We were supposed to get to sleep early.  I’ve been sick, the boy has been sick, husband wants to stay well.  Early turn-in, that was our plan.

Instead we opted for torture and melted cheese.  Obviously, not our best decision.

Back to the dream.

I think  closing my eyes on a crappy meal leaves me a lot less creative, energetic and clear-headed.  Nachos make me less of a problem solver.  My defenses are down, so my subconscious dishes out everything it has.  Everything.

On some level, I obviously believe that school is the ultimate subversion of my free will (or my son’s).  Dreaming about it in conjunction with mandated surgery?  Can’t get more invasive than that.  I guess I sometimes (always??) feel like the school controls our lives (or our bodies) without our consent or cooperation.

That’s not good.

This week I have been engaged (albeit not very well) in a Facebook conversation about a six-year-old girl who was handcuffed and taken to an adult mental health facility after her tantrum became difficult to handle by school officials.  I don’t know all of the details.  I doubt anyone does, but my heart goes out to her family because I’ve been through those tantrums with my son.

Last year, we moved him to a new school.  (Have I mentioned this before??)  The staff didn’t know how to communicate with him.  He spent several weeks agitated and confused about what was expected.

The teacher and aides were unfamiliar and the other children didn’t understand why he didn’t talk and do as they did.  His tantrums were extreme.  He scared them.

He threw whatever he could reach.  He shoved the furniture and he screamed.  He hit an older boy and once pushed a little girl so hard she toppled over a desk and began crying and screaming herself.  It was bad.  And sadly, I think it all could have been prevented.  No one at the school had enough training to teach my son and most of them talked right over my recommendations.

My son hated the place.  I did too.  And the minute they mentioned the words “potential lawsuit,” we moved him back to the old location and discovered the grass there wasn’t quite as brown as we had thought.  We got lucky.  Again.

I guess what I’m getting at here is that I have spent the last few days examining my feelings about my son’s education and how best to accelerate and enhance it.

Blabbing on that Facebook thread made me realize that I feel burdened by public education as much as I feel grateful for it.

The friend who posted the link just wanted to know why a six-year-old is even in school.  Despite all of my comments on his page, I realize I can’t answer his question.  I’m not always sure that I know why my own kid goes everyday.

Right now he gets more from it than I can give him at home, but I won’t sell myself short.  That may not always be the case.

Someday, if you ask me how my son is doing in school, I might tell you that he doesn’t go to one, but in the same breath I will explain why his education is even better without it.  Until I can do that, he will go.

And I’ll try not to imagine scalpels in the pencil cups.

A few weeks ago I posted a link about Zakh Price, an autistic eleven year old who has been charged with felony battery.  His circumstances are not so different from those I’ve described in my son’s life.  Time is running out for Zakh.  He needs help as soon as anyone can give it.  I implore you to read about him and do whatever you can.  Here is a link to an essay by blogger Shannon Des Roches Rosa, a far more learned and eloquent writer than I.

Happy Tuesday!

♥♥

a.m.

We had the heater on for a while yesterday afternoon, so now my throat feels a little sore.

I’m chanting this hypothetical cause and effect because my son is sick and I don’t want to be getting it too.

Heater on.  Throat sore.  Not sick.  Heater on.  Throat sore.  Not sick.  Not sick!

I feel like a big useless slug.  Yeah, probably not the heater.  Sick?

My son is home from school again and I feel a little guilty that I don’t have the energy required to make up for his two days of missed education.

I called to cancel his therapy session too.  Not driving all the way there today!

So, what to do?

My friend’s daughter also stayed home sick this morning, so that means I don’t have my daily dog walking responsibility either.

No exercise on the schedule.  Danger, danger.  Slug alert.

Sigh.  Not much of a post, is it?  Rhetorical question.  It isn’t.

Okay, new direction…

My husband got me hooked on the show 24 a few years ago.

Oh, wait a minute, maybe Kiefer Sutherland did that.

I long ago realized there wouldn’t be a shred of plausible plot line or a single realistic character on any episode, but I watch it anyway.

Gotta love me some Jack Bauer.  🙂

The scenes for next week’s show seem to threaten another big dose of unnecessary torture.  I’ll have to leave the room for that.

Not sure why they include stuff that makes you leave the room.  Why do the sponsors stay around if the audience ducks out?  Puzzling.

Anyhoo, there is something else about the show that I really detest.  Or at least, there is one thing I will complain about.  (Go here for some real discussions of the evil that is 24.  I agree with a lot of it, but my complaint today is fluffier.)

Every episode starts with an announcement of the hour.  “The following takes place between 8:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m.”  Or whatever.

This week’s completely ridiculous scenes occurred between 10:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m.

Okay, no problem, but that means that next week’s episode happens between 11:00 p.m. and 12 midnight.

Unfortunately, when Jack Bauer announces the hour, he won’t say that.  He will say “The following takes place between 11:00 p.m. and 12:00 a.m.”

And my eye will twitch, because there’s no such thing as “12:00 a.m.”

The “a”  in “a.m.” stands for the Latin word “ante”, meaning “before.”  The “m” stands for the Latin word “meridiem,” meaning “midday” or “noon.”

Saying “12:00 a.m.” is akin to saying “12:00 before noon” and I think we can all agree, that makes no sense.

The “p” in p.m. stands for “post”, meaning “after.”

Are you confused?

It is correct to say “12 noon” or “12 midnight.”  It is not correct to follow 12 with an a.m. or p.m. designation.

12 noon is the meridiem.  It is neither before nor after the meridiem.  12 noon is 12 noon.

Everything before noon, or ante meridiem, gets the a.m. designation and everything after noon, or post meridiem, gets the p.m. designation.

Got it?

12 midnight is 12 midnight.  It is actually before and after the meridiem, a.m. and p.m.  So just say “12 midnight”, okay?

If you really want to avoid confusion, you can side with the military and use a 24 hour clock.

Whatever you choose, I wish you would convince Jack Bauer to do the same.

He would be perfect if he would only correct this one little error.

Well, that, and stop torturing people and shooting stuff.

Sigh.

♥♥