Democracy is not welcome at SubCasa, but pizza is.

Today I have been outvoted 3:1 on what we were going to eat for supper.  We were on the way back from a long-awaited trip to see my friend's cats.  The whole trip was a stroke of genius that occurred to me while explaining DS the difference between C and G.  I told him about my friend's cat  - Cat George.  C and G.  Once DS learned to differentiate between C and G, he would be rewarded with a trip to visit Cat George.  We scheduled a trip a bit prematurely as DS still couldn't recognize either letter and mixed them up.  Oh well.  Education is overrated.  Cats, on the other hand, are cool.  I mean, Cat George doesn't know that his name starts with a G and how that letter differs from C, and he's doing just fine.  So we are on the right track of doing "just fine" with DS.  

But back to the voting business.  On the way home from this trip we are talking about supper when I heard DD saying something about me making pizza.  Before I knew it, the little monsters were taking a vote.  Even the one who still needs my help putting her on on a toilet and wiping her tush, was raising her hand and said, "Pizza! Pizza!"

So there I was, in the chilly winter wind, tired and outvoted, and, let me be absolutely clear, in no mood to make pizza.  I looked at all three of them menacingly and asked to recount the votes.  Again 3:1.  Yep, I might be a screaming banshee from time to time, but I am not menace.  No one's afraid of my evil eye.  I didn't want to use "Because I said so" card just yet, so I asked, again the stroke of genius, "Out of the people present here, how many of you can make pizza?"  DD raised her hand.  So did the baby, but we disqualified her vote because we are ageists.  "From scratch?!" I insist.  Only one hand went up.  Mine.  "Out of the people who can make pizza, how many wish to make it tonight?"   No hands went up, even the baby felt beaten.

"Chicken soup it is!"  I looked at their little disappointed faces and acquiesced, "All right, with croutons."  Even us, despots, have hearts.  But we also have memories, and I distinctly remember who voted against me. (Please insert the look of menace as I am clearly unable to produce one.  Thank you.)

(Source:  Rutgers.edu)

Guess whose mother is getting him an R/C monster truck?

(This picture contains Amazon affiliate link.)

DS was supposed to have a special speaker come into his class.

SubWife:  DS, did the special teacher come to school to today?
DS:  Who?
SW:  You know, the special lady who was supposed to come and talk to you guys?
DS:  Ah, the skinny lady?
SW:  What?  Skinny lady?
DS:  Yeah, skinny lady.  She is very skinny.  She is much skinnier that my teacher.
SW:  And you notice these things?
DS:  Yeah, her stomach is like this, - and he shows concave stomach.  - She is very skinny.  Like you.

I have to wrap up here because I am busy searching for a blue R/C monster truck.

One could see this as reason to lose weight #69, you know, to have less ways to be manipulated by your 5 year old, but I am a glass half full person and no longer see any reason to lose weight.  Now, where's my chocolate stash?

Are you cute?

"Are you cute?" I asked my baby.
"No," dramatic pause, "I'm adorable."

Reason to get organized #672

We read the books, attend the lectures, ask advice from professionals and those with experience, and still, there are things in parenting that catch us completely off guard.  I was caught off guard today.  I tried to brush it away, to dip into the knowledge acquired from books, lectures and discussions with professionals.  I ended up yelling a little, expressing my disappointment and largely tried to avoid thinking about it.  And now, when everyone is asleep, the clock is showing about 2 a.m. and I am scrambling, as usual, to find that piece of paper that I absolutely need, it hits me and I start crying.

In the grand scheme of thing it really is not that important.  It could be one of those things I will not recall a few years from now.  But it still eats at me.  My daughter, my lovely, kind, bright, absolutely delightful daughter has failed her Hebrew test, and she failed it miserably.  I knew there were problems in this subject; I spoke with the teacher several times.  DD has been having academic issues this year, but eventually math and English have picked up.  Hebrew - not so much.  And even though I was aware of it, nothing seals the fact that my child is not succeeding in school like seeing the failing grade on top of the test paper.  It sits there, along with the note that DD needs individual help in this subject, and I can feel it accusing me of somehow letting this happen, of being a bad, irresponsible, neglectful mother.

Rationally I know that I can't fault myself for every bad grade and I definitely shouldn't beat myself up over it.  Yet I can't help but feel guilty: for being such a disorganized mess, for quite possibly passing this on to my kid either through genes or through observation, and possibly both.  For working full time and not being at home enough to help her out or organize her studying time better.  For not having enough patience when I do help out.  For not having the means to hire a tutor and for not really knowing the subject myself.  For taking time to myself when I could've been studying with her.  It feels that it wasn't the test that she failed, it feels like I failed her in some major way.

I have always been a proponent of the very sound advice on homework: make it a kid's responsibility.   My own parents never checked my homework and helped only when asked.  It was never spoken, but I knew that school work, academic success and studying were solely my responsibility.  And even though I was a disorganized mess as far as I can remember myself, the first time I struggled academically was at the age of 12 or 13.  Even then, the onus of figuring it out was on me, with help available if asked for.  And it worked; as far as I can remember, I have never failed a test.  And I didn't expect my daughter to either, at least not at 7.  Armed with my personal experience and all the advice from all the books I read, I planned to employ the same approach to my kids' academics as my parents.  And it worked, until it no longer did.

It was apparent that I had to take over homework, in some way.  DD obviously needed someone to explain what she missed in class, help her focus and organize her work, check answers and drill, drill, drill, But mainly help her focus and get organized.  Ladies and gentlemen, how can someone struggling her entire life with organization and focus teach her child those same things?  How can I help her fight the monsters I haven't conquered myself?  Somehow I was always, or almost always, able to wing it, improvise, come through at the eleventh hour, which allowed me to compensate.  I don't know how to teach that.  I don't know whether I should.

I am  not in despair.  I am not upset at DD.  Well, I try not to be even though it drives me up the wall seeing how easily she loses focus.  We have a plan of how to improve.  Isn't what this life is all about - improving?  I should put getting organized  on top of my "to do" list.  Heck, it's been there as far as I can remember myself.  But I must get better, and sometimes it is easier to improve for someone else than for myself.  And now I have that reason.