zig zag hide the bag…

I’m a horrible, neglectful blogger.  I hope you (yet again) forgive me for my negligence…

I’m teaching three classes, tutoring two days a week (for a few hours), run the little one to soccer (when I’m not melting down with time constraints), and am lacking adequate sleep…  and, I think I’m starting to NOT feel well.

*sighs*

Needless to say…

School is going “all right” I guess.  They’ve had a test (which they did well on because I dumbed it down to the point that retarded circus monkeys would be able to score a high grade), an on-line quiz (which they failed miserably), and a deal struck…

I am doing things a little differently this semester.  I do not want to become predictable… and fall into a pattern, necessarily… and I want to be a BETTER teacher, not a slave to mediocracy.

So…

We’ll see how things pan out.  I’m not helping some of them by going easy on them, but I’m hoping I can lull them into a false sense of security before I pull the rug out from beneath them.

Or… something like that.

What’s to bitch about?  I just saw my paycheck and it’s a couple hundred dollars MORE than the spring semester.  I’m also working my ass off, too.  Something’s gotta give, that’s for sure…

——-

Last night, at #3’s soccer game (mind you, its a clustermenagerie of 6 yr olds all scrumming to get the ball)… my little angel was misbehaving because of a lack of proper coaching-adult supervision… across the field from where I was sitting.

I put my hand, horizontally, in front of my neck and did this “knock it off” thing… and my LOVELY little 6 yr old stuck his tongue out at me and did a mini Neener Neener face.

I felt my eyes bulge.

I sent #1 son over to talk to him… because I would make a scene if I had to go over there (it has been an entire WEEK of his misbehaving)… when he was walking back to us, that little one was at it again.

So, I got up and walked over, trailing behind two other parents whose lovelies were misbehaving as well.

Just as I was passing a mother and granny at the corner of the field, the granny hollers out, “Don’t be beatin them kids cuz its illegal.”

I’m seething.  The LAST thing I need is some pointy-droopy boobed old lady to tell me how to not discipline my kid.  Would I have beaten him on the field? No… but, I was THIS close to grabbing him and taking him home.  To hell with the game, sort’ve thing…

Then, I hear the old bitty yelling out again, “Someone needs to teach them kids a lesson.”

First of all… they’re SIX goddamn years old.

Secondly… I’m HERE aren’t I?  Shut the fuck up.

Thirdly… weren’t you just the old bat who told me to NOT beat my kid?  Would you please make up your mind?

Finally… but the hell out of my business or I’ll have my son scissor kick you to the back of your head.  (/insert movie quote from Talladega Nights)

I get to my son and he IMMEDIATELY sits up and says with this pitiful face, “What? What did I do?”

“You made me get up and cross the field because you cannot behave.”

“I’m behaving.”

“No, apparently you’re not.”

I can STILL hear the heckling of that older woman and her daughter… related to a little girl in #3’s kindegarden class last year… “Beatin them kids is illegal.”

[Sorry to interrupt... I just got a phone call from "Steve" from the Chimney company.  Steve sounds 11, maybe 12.  His voice cracked like Peter Brady when he sang that "Sunshine" song.  I said, "Steve, I don't have a chimney, sorry." And I hung up.  I think I need to re-up on my DNC listing... ]

[Shit, I just dated myself, didn't I?]

[Oh well... it was bound to happen...]

I stood by #3 for a few minutes… squatting down to whisper to him that either he behaves or we go home.  At this point, my allergies were screaming… my skin was itching all over, my eyes were watering, my nose was getting congested… I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if we stayed… all I wanted to do was GO HOME and drink a bottle of Benedryll.

He behaved.

I walked back to my seat, keeping an ever villigant eye on my little spider monkey.  Whilst walking past the hecklers, I snarled, “Better call DYFS… “

And, no, I didn’t beat him.

However, when we got to the car, after the game had ended, my angellic little one stuck his tongue out at me and did that crappy face whilst saying, “I hate you, you’re a weiner.”

Did I mention that the mom who went to restrain her little girl ignored the child while she told her mother to “suck her weiner.”

Apparently, the kid is confused.  Girls can’t tell anyone to “suck their weiner” unless they’re harboring two different genitals… which was not the case, I don’t believe.

I tried to shut my mouth, but I felt my jaw drop.  My husband could see my face from across the field.  “What’s wrong,” he later asked me, “Why did your mouth drop?”

Out of ear-shot of #3, I told him… and HIS mouth fell open.

Ok, back to the car…

I wanted to clobber the little turd at this point.  He does this all of the time and my lovely husband doesn’t say a WORD unless I give him shit about it.  Back me up, will ya?  Is it that hard to do?  We need to be a team!  etc.. etc…

Last year, my little one apparently BIT this little girl.  Why?  She was sticking her fist in his face and he bit her.  No, he didn’t draw blood.  I was livid when I found out.  He lost his Nintendo DS for a month and was sent to his room.  Every day thereafter, he was in time out.  I almost used a little bar soap in his mouth (I wonder what that old bitch would’ve said had I pulled out a bar of zest and stuck it in #3’s mouth.  I think I’d hand my phone to her so she could expedite the call… and I’d even spell my name out for her.)

This little girl, after observing her for about 10 minutes, is the reason MY son says words like, “Weiner,” “You suck,” and “I hate you.” 

He never said it as much as he’s been doing lately… and the longer he sat next to her, the more he said it TO ME.

I’m tired… I’m cranky… I have nagging college students whining and nagging me for their grades every second of the goddamn day.  I have 3 essay questions to write for Monday, notes for an entire chapter, and grading of tests (that have written essays on them).  My eyes are crossing, my throat hurts, and my body aches.

I think I’m gonna go take a short nap… I’m cooking chicken soup on the stove and I should go check it.

Oh, so when we got home, #3 ended up spending some time in his room until dinner arrived (we ordered pizza b/c soccer ran late) and once he was finished, he was bathed and put to bed.  No television, no dessert, nothing.

I’m going to have to drop the hammer again on my husband.

Either back me up or I’m kicking everyone out of MY house… or I’ll run away to an undisclosed place… that way he’ll have to deal with the shit directly and for a longer amount of time… and perhaps he’ll “get” it …