"Smile Spawnling! You're three months old today and your subjects are awaiting your gorgeous self!"
"Quiet, food source! I'm far too attractive to be photographed with the likes of you. I shall look serious and perhaps even embarrassed to be sharing pixels with you."
I just sat down to begin the long, tedious process of typing a blog entry. Gutsy is at school for another hour or so, but this will probably take longer than that. After I pick him up we'll be grabbing a quick bite to eat (read: something nasty involving not having to remove one's sizeable ass and one's tired children from one's minivan), pick up Intrepid two hours early from school, get some gas, and head off to speech therapy.
After speech we'll be making another drive-through drive-by and coming home for some C&S, which is short for 'cleanin' and screamin'', which pretty much sums up what happens when I try to do anything domesticated in nature while the gremlins attempt cooperative play.
Speech has been so wonderful for them. We happened upon a great private practice with four therapists. We have the second in command, as far as I can tell. She's the only one besides the owner who has her own office. The other two therapists have to share one, which means either they both work part time or they like to make out in there with the door closed. I don't ask.
Our therapist, McWordy, I plan on befriending when my children no longer require her services. She's really nice, funny and loves to work with children. My children. She tells me all the time how sweet they are, how intelligent they are and how quickly they pick up new things.
I'd like to believe her without a trace of doubt in my mind. Maybe the gremlins really are sweet and intelligent and learn things quickly. Maybe they're her star clients. Maybe they rock at this pronunciation thing after all.
Maybe we don't pay her $80/half hour.
Oh, wait. We do.
If you pay me $160 for an hour's work, I'll tell you whatever you want about your kids, too. I think it's probably in the speech therapy training manual in the 'client retention' section.
Seriously, though. She's a really great person and we just adore her. Ironically, she lives about 2km from our house, yet we both drive across the clogged Ontario/Quebec bridge and a good 20 minutes beyond to see each other. She drew a map to her house for Intrepid once, so he'd know how close she lives. I wonder if he could remember it. Maybe if I drop them off, ring the doorbell and speed back out of the driveway she'll give them free therapy and cookies?
Maven, you are so great at this pipe dream thing.
Last night was the board meeting at Intrepid's school. I love being on the board because it's such a riot. It's devised of several parents and teachers as well as the principal, and we make a lot of fairly important decisions about the direction of the school. I had no idea we dictated the cafeteria menu, what fundraisers are allowed, what extracurricular activities we have and what moral themes are taught to the students (respect, kindness, etc).
My favourite part is watching the drama unfold on meeting night. Our board seems to be mostly full of sound-of-mind people (yes, I realize I'm on the board. I said 'mostly'.) I sit around the table with Spawnling, who has been unofficially dubbed the mascot. I make motions, second motions and vote on other people's motions. I've had several years of board experience, but this one is by far the most fun.
We get the most interesting complaints and situations. People drinking beer while coaching sports in our gym. People getting up in arms because we don't want hot dogs in our cafetria anymore. Residents around the school getting downright nasty because they can't cut across the school yard anymore. I love meeting nights. Something fun always happens. I can't believe what people will get upset about. Sometimes I want to hit them over the heads with a laptop and tell them to go fight something useful with all that energy, like world hunger. Come on, people. It's an elementary school, not the UN. Calm down already.
Or don't, because then I might have to call it a bored meeting, which it is anything but right now thanks to you.
After the meeting, I made my way to The Madre's house to eat chocolate with her.
That was the guise, anyway. It was actually so she could tell me I wasn't feeding Spawnling enough. Then, when he barfed on me, she took him and said 'That mean old mom. Is she overfeeding you again?'
I just don't know what to do with that woman. I'm a sucker for abuse, though. I keep going back.
Anyway, I'm going to cut this short and possibly post a bit later on. It's time to pick up Gutsy from I-hate-school. I'm rather impressed I managed to get so much typing done in such a short period of time. Go, me! Now I can catch up on other people's blogs later. I've been rather suckish at that lately. And I know what those people are thinking: why even post if The Maven isn't going to comment?
Sorry Spawnling, but two can play at that game, even if I have to buy off my fans.