There is no studying in my future

Making lists is boring. We leave, please God, for our annual road trip to good old St. Louie in approximately three weeks. I figured since all I’m really good for these days is sitting in one place, I could get a nice big jump start on the lists of things to bring (plural listS because there are many different categories, and each gets its own list), and that way G could get a jump start on the shopping, and then the packing (under my patient and gentle supervision, of course), and by the time it was time to load the car, maybe everything would be ready to load into the car. So I sat down to make the lists and quickly discovered that making these lists becomes sort of routine the sixth time around. Ziplocs, plastic silverware, grapes, DVDs, blah blah blah. Tell me something I don’t know. The medications list is slightly longer this year — we’ve got aspirin, psychostimulants, melatonin, useless anti-heartburn stuff, monstrous revolting pre-natals, iron supplements, etc. to add to the Tylenol, Benadryl, and other boring first aid stuff — but the whole exercise still took me less than 15 minutes. Feh. Now what?

What if I conveniently “forget” to tell Babysitter Allison that she shouldn’t do any laundry (our laundry, I mean; did I mention that she’s been doing our laundry since I’ve been sick? feh) during the 9 Days, and she “accidentally” continues to wash everything in the house, so that it’s all sort of done when the 9 Days are over? That would be just awful, wouldn’t it? Cackle

So it didn’t take long into this whole miserable IEP business before I started emailing all sorts of people and asking for names of special ed lawyers. I’ve learned a few things, see. One is that the Board of Ed appears to exist for the purpose of being unimaginably incompetent. At a certain point, you just have to laugh. Another thing I’ve learned is that people are wonderful, and they truly care about R. They even love R, and they definitely, definitely want what’s best for R — but at the end of the day, they get to go home, and R is not there with them. Because they are not her parents. And that means that as much as they care, they ARE capable of forgetting things that we are NOT capable of forgetting (ever). This means that we should never, ever assume that anyone else is “taking care” of anything. We can never, ever assume that R and her needs are EVER at the forefront of anyone else’s minds. Because nobody else is her parents. So, to skip over some idiotic stories, we’re now being told that the services that were supposed to start in April might not start until October. HA! Know what I say to that? Bull freaking s. October, my outsized rump. You can take your October and stick it in your….

Heh. Right. Hence: lawyer. I haven’t called one yet — there’s an itty bitty chance I may not need to — but I got numbers. Boy, have I got numbers. And I’m not afraid to use them.

[P.S. That was a lie. Just now, when I said I'm not afraid to use the numbers? I actually am afraid to use them. Very afraid. In fact, I'm afraid of all of this stuff. But that doesn't really make a difference, does it?]

The twins got their glasses. We went to Ye Big Ole’ Chain Store yesterday, and they both had their frames picked out within minutes. The Boy picked a few out also, and even broke the most expensive ones he could find, but for some reason they didn’t make us pay for them. I have no idea why. The twins both look adorable, especially YS, who actually looks like the frames were made for her face — or at least, I thought they looked adorable, until I picked them up from camp today and saw them for a split second before I registered who they were. And you know what I thought when I saw them? I thought the following: “Dorky little kids.” Then I felt awful, first for thinking that, and then about the fact that they don’t look like MY kids anymore. Feh. I miss their soft little faces. The good news is, aside from now being able to see, they seem to have adjusted to them extremely quickly. Here’s hoping I’m next.

I discovered something yesterday when we were in the mall. I caught a glimpse of my nice pregnant self in a wall mirror, and I discovered that I look like a big, lumbering, inflated pregnant balloon. I almost cried. I’d already noticed the difference in my face, but I suppose it’s the same sort of thing as when I saw my twins today at camp. When you see something familiar from an unfamiliar perspective, perhaps you see it the way others do, rather than in your familiar way. And you know how it seems other people see me right now? As a big, lumbering, inflated pregnant balloon. But there’s nothing to be done about that, is there. On the flip side, I’ve been feeling the baby a lot more, which is nice. It feels pretty cute.

Want to hear my future? YS forced me through this painful game this afternoon called “MASH”, wherein I had to name things, such as two boys I like and two boys I don’t like. I named G, of course (as one I like), and then I told her there are no other boys I like. She said it could be a brother-in-law, so I chose my non-baby brother, Uncle Y. Then I told her I couldn’t think of any boys I don’t like (this was a lie, of course, but I was trying to set a good example). She asked if there were any boys who used to annoy me when I was a kid. HA. Were there?! Then I had trouble keeping it down to just two, but I gave her the first two names who entered my mind. I named the first one, and told her he really used to annoy me, and she said “Well, he’s probably grown up by now.” Heh. Probably. Then I had to name some other stuff, and I had to pick some numbers, and the result of this exercise was… an outline of my future. Want to know what it is?

I’m going to marry my non-baby brother (fat chance; damn fool won’t even give me Botox).

I’m going to live in a mansion (apparently my non-baby brother is going to pull in some cash).

I’m going to have a golden retriever (so long as I have a mansion, I can live with that).

I’m going to have five children (sounds familiar).

I’m going to drive a Camry (oooh, exciting).

I’m going to be a teacher (HAHAHAHA).

Then she provided an illustration, as follows:

I hope that comes out ok. I’m the one holding the teacher’s pointer. That’s my mansion you see in the background.

In other news, my grandmother sort of randomly ended up in rehab, and she may or may not be moving to an assisted living facility when she gets out; my father may or may not need inpatient surgery to clear up some sort of icky infection deep in his ear; my mother may or may not be losing her mind (heh); my baby siSter and her family have already spent their last Shabbos in my shul (WAAAAAH), and are leaving for dumb old Cleveland in about two weeks; Babysitter Allison’s mother is recuperating nicely but still needs other stuff that won’t be nice at all; my son’s vocabulary continues to grow rapidly and he continues to be the funniest and cutest thing ever to exist; I’m still a cranky antisocial heartburn-plagued source of joy to all who know me; my dear, wonderful friend YK made a special משברך for R the other day at a special location in the Holy Land; and I still flatly refuse to study for my supposed MA exam, which is supposedly supposed to be administered before we leave. Before we leave on August 1, I mean. Heh. There are 23 books on the reading list my dearly beloved professor sent me. By the time I take the exam, it’s possible I might have finished one of them. There are hopeful signs. That doesn’t count what I read back when I was in grad school, of course, because that was a long time ago, and I don’t remember squat. So this ought to be quite fun. Oh yes, and I borrowed and read the other Twilight books. I’ll tell you about them some other time. Maybe they’ll show up on my exam?

Tags: Dept of Ed, Kids, Pregnancy, Relatives, Stroke