What a Fabulous Role Model You Are

NOT.

The sad thing is, D-Man was actually excited about Home Economics this year. He really thought it would be cool to learn how to make biscuits from scratch, sew a button, how to stay accountable, job/life skills, etc. And quite frankly, I was looking forward to it as well. The day when a button falling off doesn't herald "time for new pants!" is the dawn of a new era.

A dream deferred. It's been no such story. D-Man, you see, is not very fond of this so called teacher. And he has good reason.  Let's just call this lame woman, who is simply waiting for retirement like a sorry lump of dough, Mrs. Fescrock. Seriously, the Dough Boy himself has more personality.

This morning, we had our meeting at the school to talk about progress thus far and to plan for next year. At this meeting, all of his teachers are required to attend, along with the supervising instructor in charge of special accommodations.  Mrs. Fescrock plops herself down wearing a thick red, fugly coat as if to make sure we knew she wasn't planning to stay.

• Fescrock: "Well. I don't know how this escaped my notice. But this meeting wasn't on my calendar. And I have some deadlines. So I'm asking to be excused."
• Gropius (Silently. While laughing? Fuming? Not sure which.): "Are you SERIOUS? You're teaching my kid about accountability and job skills? WTF?  Deadlines? Let me tell you about the 25 deadlines I have waiting for me at work."
• Fescrock moved on: "Thank goodness you're involved. If you weren't, I can see the situation with your son going...spiraling out of control."
• Gropius: "That's a pretty strong statement. I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

Fescrock then moved on to tell us that "just about every day" D-Man has gum in his mouth. And as if we didn't hear it the first time, "Just about EVERY day," she repeated.

Well you know what, Mrs. Fescrock? I really couldn't give a crap about the gum. And if you care so much about it, I have a newsflash for you. It's March 8. School started in August. We haven't heard anything about this until now. I guess it's those deadlines getting you, right?

Now if Mrs. Fescrock was the science, math or language arts teacher, I might make a greater point of reaching out to the principle. Since she's Queen of Pillsbury in a Can, I could care less. (Yeah, that's right--have you ever seen a home ec teacher who teaches kids to use ready-made?) I hate it that poor D-man has wasted nearly a year putting up with her doodoo.

Thank goodness the rest of the faculty are lovely. It sure does make a difference in how much our son develops a passion for the subject. Looks like we'll still be getting new pants when we lose a button. I'd like to give Mrs. Fescrock a new pair of pants--in honor of her retirement, of course.

So Industrious

I amaze myself. I can accomplish tasks like no one's business, build a base of blog posts from now through eternity, form an army of lists, rid my house of even the most miniscule dust mite, and do just about anything I set my mind to...when there's something else I should be doing that I don't want to do.

For the love of Pete, is it POSSIBLE for me to avoid working on this presentation any longer? It's not that I hate the thought of doing it. I enjoy the subject matter and have had a blast giving a similar presentation multiple times. But every time I do it, I tweak it, add more, take away some and customize it a little for my audience. Like a good little marketing girl.

But the truth is I'm getting sick of it. Maybe not sick of it. I'm just tired of obsessing over whether or not it will be new and exciting for each audience. You know how it is when you become insanely familiar with something. You assume everyone else is too. My biggest fear is presenting something that everyone already knows, thus making myself a bore and wasting everyone's time.

There's also the fact that when I come home from work, I don't want to work anymore. I know I'll change my mind like tomorrow, when I'm obsessing over something different. But sometimes I really yearn to leave the job at work. I suppose I can do that. It's just a matter of mental self-control, right?

Husband just said "I'll bet if we got a padded toilet seat, you'd spend all of your time in the bathroom. You would have a nice, soft space for your computer activities and could stay in the bathroom all the time."  Nice, Husband, nice.

How do you balance your work and play? Do you obsess over weird things?

Do Yourself A Favor And Visit GoFugYourself

Most of the time, I don't even know who these snarky girls are tearing down, but regardless, they're funny as hell. And after the Oscars, I afford myself the luxury of taking more than a cursury glance at their incredibly hilarious website, GoFugYourself.  Yes, one day it's my goal to launch a similar blog here in Sarasota/Bradenton to fug all of the outfits worn to our overfilled charity ball calendar. I will make no friends doing it, but it would be a riot.

I hate to admit it, but I could spend a LOT of time on this site. Here's my favorite fug from their overactive Oscar Fugging:

"I'd have been curious to see where that bodice was going. Unfortunately, on the way there, it got hijacked by an Amelia Earhart fetishist, and then left to die in a cheap science-fair volcano that erupts plastic leis."

(Photo and copy from GoFugYourself.)

Now is that damn good writing or what? That was sooo much better than I could have done. I thought the dress looked like the haphazard melting of a Snoopy Snowcone.

If you did happen to watch the Oscars last night, maybe you're like me: that is, you got incredibly depressed when they did the John Hughes commemoration, displaying very scary versions of Anthony Michael Hall, Molly Ringwald, Judd Nelson, Ally Sheedy and the rest of the clan on the stage. This accomplished two things: a.) Making me feel 10 days older than water and b.) Making me really glad I do not and never have abused drugs.

Did you have a favorite Oscar moment? Or do you hate them like Husband does?

Personally, I haven't seen half the films that were nominated but feel a secret pleasure that James Cameron didn't win. Honestly, I had enough of his giant ego-head when the Titanic was around. That ship has sailed.

Peerenting

...And while I'm on the subject of parenting, I'll just drop an unpaid advertisement for Modern Family. Husband and I think this show is an absolute riot. It adequately portrays the plight of husband, wife, kids, gay couple raising an adopted daughter, mixed raced couples....everything that exemplifies today's fam. We adore all of the characters. And the show provides such a good laugh, precisely because it's so right on.

In light of Friday night's post, I'd just like to throw this out there for those with kids and those without kids:

Did your mom/dad ever try to play the "friend" role instead of that more formal "parent" role? Did it work? Did you see through it? Do you do this with your kids?

I'm always on Husband to enjoy his relationship with D-Man but to do it less in a "hey, I'm just another one of your buddies" role and more in a "let's have some quality time together but don't talk to me like I'm an abused peer" role.

D-Man is frequently using a new set of words--like "that's so BEAST" to describe coolness and a dramatic "Woooooow" to describe an unfair decision we've made. We've started using them too. Maybe because we know if we do, it may reduce the number of times we hear D-Man say them. It's just not as cool if your parents are saying them. 

Enjoy this typical clip from Modern Family on peerenting:

The Boys' Club

It's Friday night and I just awoke from a 3 hour nap. Exhausted from a stressful week, I fell asleep after a couple of slices of cold pizza and two articles in this month's Audubon magazine. What's going on at 11:12 p.m.? 

Apparently, Husband is treating D-Man to "Alien Vs. Predator." I'm so, so not amused. The second I walk in the den, I hear "Okay, it's time for bed, D-Man." 

Maybe I'm just being ultra-sensitive here, but I feel like this completely enforces the "Gropius as Dark Overlord" theme--one for which I do not care.

It seems that as D-Man has gotten older, all of "those things" that I knew I would never allow my kid to do-- like watch violent films, play video games for more than 30 minutes a day, and spend more than half of every weekend at someone else's house--all happen on a regular basis.

Honestly, I think a huge part of it is two very different views of parenting. And I'm not saying Husband is wrong. But I don't like my role as regulator, breaker up of the Boys' Club activities. Husband doesn't realize it, but always, it makes me the bad one. Something that's extra uncool since I'm the step parent.


I'm not so silly to think that today's 13 year old isn't experiencing a whole different level of media, conversation and exposure to unfavorable crap than I did at that age, but I would like to think that as a parent, I can control the level of exposure.  Parenting is hard. Being part of a united parental duo is hard. And increasingly, I'm finding that my expectations are countered by the fun of the Boys' Club pair, my 35 year old Husband-Kid and my 13 year old stepson.  Thankfully, only one of them may read this posting, and he'll get over it.

By the way, I've never seen Alien vs. Predator until the last little bit tonight. It's completely inappropriate for a young audience, but for adults, it's pretty ridiculous and could be funny if you have a few drinks. I'll put that on my to-do list. Way at the bottom.

P.S. Husband is a super good dad. I don't mean to intimate that he isn't. We just--diverge--on a few things.

The Things I Feel Guilty About Hating

Doctor's appointments. Car maintenance.  Trips to the grocery store.

My goodness, what the hell is wrong with me?  I have access to health care, transportation and food, and I dread the very vehicles that allow me to thrive as a free and healthy individual. It's terrible and I'm working to change my perspective on it all.

Yes, I'm one of those people who believes that once you buy a car, it should give itself oil changes, change its own tires, you know...anything that might need to be taken care of after 8,976 miles.

Today's short visit to the Honda dealership wasn't so bad. I was carefully anticipating that moment, however, that we all know will come. The tech appears in the waiting room with a clipboard and a look of seriousness to explain an additional $300 service I need to add to the oil change. Oh, okay! I don't think so, buddy. But thanks anyway.

In a way, it's frighteningly similar to the doctor's office. Although my true hatred of the doctor's office began with the start of annuals, it didn't help a few years ago when I went in and had a nurse freak out on me. I'd always had very low blood pressure. That was before the craziness of family, intense work and volunteer life overtook me. So I went in for an annual several years back and sat down for the mandatory blood pressure check. Here's what happened:

Nurse:  "Um. This can't be right."
Me: "What?! What?!
Nurse: "Uncross your legs, maybe that will help."
Me: "Is something wrong?"
Nurse: "Hey, Betsy...could you come in here and do this reading for me?"
Me (freaking out): "Could you PLEASE tell me why you're freaking out?"
Nurse: "Your blood pressure is REALLY high."
Me (thinking): "You are a complete and total idiot. You should work in a place where you have no human contact."

So it turned out by THIS time, after all of this unprofessional BS, my blood pressure was really high. Of course.

It wasn't high enough to be on medication, but I still get full of anticipation about what my blood pressure could be everytime I go in. We'll see tomorrow morning. I, um, posponed my appointment by like 6 months.

Terrible, I know. Too bad I can't postpone grocery shopping that long.

And really, I am grateful everyday for the opportunities I have for such gifts in my life.

While You Were Sleeping...

Oh, Flanders, Flanders, Flanders....

I know it must get tiring to be on the alert all the time.

Sometimes you just have to chill. And take a soothing nap.

But be no fool, the squirrels are taking full advantage of your afternoon siestas.

Yes, one eye open is a compromise. I know you work hard. Just sayin.'