Of grumpy children

I don't know what it is about grumpy children, but they set my teeth on edge. Not that I'm a bundle of optimism and joy myself, but gosh, when a kid is moody, it plays on my last nerve.

The Little Critter's new best friend is usually an ok kid. She's a messy one, she and her little sister both. They come from a home where that's okay. But it isn't okay in my house, and the last part of every visit they spend here is devoted to convincing them that they have to pick up after themselves. This is frequently followed by the younger one saying "mommy, I want you!" and refusing to leave her mom's side. Until mom makes her.

But yesterday from the best friend, it was "Why do we have to go over to LC's house?" and "I don't WANT LC to go to dinner with us!"

OK, now I have drilled in to the Little Critter's head that rudeness isn't tolerated. At all. And that if I ever found her being rude and ugly to one of her friends or classmates, my head would explode. And the LC is usually the friendliest thing, making new friends everywhere. But her new "BFF" (I HATE that phrase) is not only occasionally rude and ugly, but also jealous, and throws a fit if the LC wants another kid to come over. She's also ugly when other kids are here at the same time.

I finally told her mom yesterday she needed to handle it or I would. I NEVER say stuff like that, but I was past my limit, having her two over here whining nonstop.

And do you know what? I picked up all three kids today from school while she took her DH to the doctor, even though it's a day where I have to hold two meetings. They're ANGELS in there today.

Their mom said today that it must just be happening when she's around.

No! Really?

Because the key word I used above is "tolerate."

I don't, so they don't. She does, so they do.

I am so done - (I'm Every Woman)

Three weeks and it's over. A mere 502 hours left to prepare. I am counting every minute; I can't wait for it to be over. Remind me, never let me plan another event ever. I mean it. I'm putting JJ in charge of birthdays.

(The Bigun has asked for a knife for her 18th birthday.)

Oh, I am so done.

I requested maintenance guys on Thursday to come meet me at 12:30 at the campus mechanical closet, because that was where maintenance put all my carnival booths last fall when the fire marshal kicked the stuff out of the closet we were using. Oh, no, they told the secretary. We can't get there at 12:30. Maybe 1 or 1:30. So I make the change and arrange to meet some people there to unload and test everything. At 1:00.

Maintenance shows up at 12:30. And bitches that I'm not there. And bitches that the stuff isn't supposed to BE in that closet. (Um, did I put it there? No, I did not.) And bitches about having to wait around while we unload. I get hit with this when I walk in the door from the poor secretary they've been harrassing. Apparently she told them to get out there and wait; if they made me wait until 1:00 and then showed up early, that was their fault.

See, here's the deal. When I stepped into carnival last year, it was because nobody wanted it, and the person who could do it was term-limited. But I looked to the future, to the person (if any) who would do carnival after me. That means tidying up everything to do with my stuff. There's always been a collection of booths sitting in a closet because we had room. But since we're an expanding campus, we've lost storage space. Rumor has it that we will lose the workroom we DO have in a year or two. So where are we supposed to store all this bulky, heavy, used once-a-year stuff?

I've been nagging for us to get a storage space. When I got started this year, I spent HOURS cleaning, throwing out, making room, and trying to make space for stuff we need to keep. And when I went to convention I learned other campuses have on-site storage buildings they use. We could do that! Hello! Not a lot of money, convenient, accessible! What's so hard?

Then after the maintenance showdown, the president is saying "I think we need a storage space." And the administration doesn't want to help, because they don't WANT a carnival, they want a Sock Hop. Yeah. So whatever makes it difficult, well, it's good news to them, I guess.

So I got my dander up (wanna see?) and decided to pack everything into my van and take it to my house. THEN maintenance dudes decide to be helpful and load the van. When we get it home, we unpack everything, set it all up, and spend an hour playing carnival games in the front yard. (Did you know I stink at ring toss? I haven't tried bottle toss, but that's next.) So four women unloaded, set up, played everything, took down, stored and fit everything into my garage with ROOM FOR THE VAN LEFT OVER!

Take that, men people. I'm every woman.

A Cheap Thrill

I am so crazy.

Because carnival is having a karaoke booth and I don't know how to work a karaoke machine, I rented one today and called some friends to bring their kiddos over. Ohmigosh, it was a fabulous time. We had nine kids and five women and JJ and everyone had a ball.

The kids each got to sing at least twice, and I even did a pitiful rendition of "Heard It Through the Grapevine." Let me tell you, I did much better after everyone left with "Crazy Little Thing Called Love." That's my new song.

It cost all of $50 and we did potluck food, so I spent a couple of dollars on meatballs (that I made) and a couple more on fruit and dip and chicken nuggets. The party handled itself and everyone wants to do it again, like next week or something! With adult beverages. And a cover charge to help with the cost of the machine. Oh, boy, what did I start?

The only sad part was that Austin was a terror, jumping, hitting, pushing, until I had to take him aside and tell him forcefuly to calm down. Then Joy took him outside for a talk and then took him home. I know it was hard, but he has to learn how to control himself. He can act like a maniac in his own house, not mine. Poor thing. All that energy and anger and nothing to do with it.

If Wishes Were Horses...

...then beggars would ride.

Yeah, I'm in a mood. Again.

I wish that people who drive in the fast lane below the speed limit would get zits. Big fat ones.

I wish that one day the construction in Houston on the freeway would be magically complete, thus avoiding the wondrous game of "Dude, Where's My Lane?"

I also wish that Odysseys got fabulous gas mileage, or ran on margarine.

I wish that people who assume I know what's going on would go ahead and talk to me as if I didn't know. Really. I don't mind being clued in.

I wish I had the nerve to look for a better job doing what I used to do before that got sidetracked. I used to love going to work. Now it's a grievous thing, full of anxiety and depression. Even when I'm right, it feels wrong.

Or I wish I could get one of the many businesses I've wanted to launch out there. That'd be more fun, calling the shots and making the decisions. I'm an administrator at heart, not a salesperson, so it's tempting to get to it next week. Or next year. Plus, we're poor just now, so no capital.

I wish Ross would record my kids song so I can hear it. It's been months since I handed it over.

I wish I had another song in me. In fact, I wish I had eleventy. All I got now is one on manners. Half of it anyway.

I wish I had more help with carnival. One friend is kicking the crap out of the to-do lists. Everyone else is just looking at me, waiting for something to happen, or avoiding me so I won't ask them to do anything.

I wish that I had bookshelves for all the books I have. I'd have lots of freed-up storage boxes.

I wish puppeteers without the name "Henson" or "Oz" were better respected.

I wish the Dyson fairy would visit me.

I wish that I didn't feel so outside my skin lately.

In Other News

I am still not a precinct chair. Apparently 7 people decided they had to wash their hair or something, so we were that shy of a quorum. This is frustrating. Soon I'll just file like normal people and it will have been a non-issue. On the plus side, if you run unopposed (like anyone else wants THIS job) your name doesn't go on the ballot, it's automatic.

In carnival news, my playroom has been transformed into Silent Auction Central. It's ugly, don't go in there. I'm also having trouble nailing the school personnel down on any of the things I need to know, like when I can have a meeting, whether we can order the electrical extras from Maintenance or whether we have to rent them from outside, whether I can ask staff to sign up to do things, all that. The school secretary says she'll get to me soon, because she's working on something for the principal. Isn't she always? And then she never gets back to it. Then when I planned my meeting, I was informed that there's a PTA meeting for that night. You would think I would know that, but apparently no one thought to tell me. And I'm on the board. Color me stupid.

Work is excruciating, but I'm still going. It's money. Not a lot, but a wee bit. I'm actually doing better making bon-bons and giving them to JJ to sell at work. They're gooooood, too. Right now with an investment of around $20 I've made $65. Not bad.

The Bigun has applied to, and been accepted to U of H. So apartment hunting is in the near future. She thought the dorms were trashy, and thinks she can afford an apartment, and she really wants one so she can have a kitchen. And, she tells me, a counter to spread out all her coupons. (Where's the pod? This is the kid who laughed at my feminine products stockpile until her friends all cleaned me out.) She declares, and I quote: "I am not going through college on Ramen Noodles!"

You go, baby. Now you know you don't have to.

I'm rereading Pilgrim's Progress. I love that book. Thank you, Louisa May Alcott for referring to it in Little Women, which made me chase down that and Dickens as well. It's time for taking another hack at the classics, I feel it coming on. Especially when summer comes and there's no more carnival ever to plan, and days are long and spent by the pool.

I wish my life wasn't so boring; I'd have so much more to say.

Well, I did remember that I didn't retail the trip to San Antonio in February. I was about to describe it when I heard that Tim had died. Put it right out of my mind, it did.

But the PTA State Convention was there, and it was wicked cold, and I discovered a new guilty pleasure. It's called Dick's Last Resort, and it's waaaaay down there on the Riverwalk. Apparently the theme is to insult patrons and be generally rude to them. On purpose. So don't ask a server where the bathroom is; they will give you detailed directions to the roof. If they really want to mock you, they take paper off a roll and fashion a hat from it, and write something snarky on it, or insulting, like "Viagra causes hair loss" on a bald guy and "My boyfriend pays me for sex" on a lady with big hair.

Being forewarned about the nature of the place, three PTA buddies and I went on Friday night to check out the music. The band was not bad at all, and they were funny, playing a few measures of a sucky song and then saying "OK, thanks for the request, we're bored with that one. Someone else request something!" I swear they did a snippet of Barbie Girl.

When the drummer/singer cast about for requests, my friends obliged. Loudly. So he asked "Where you guys from?" Of course, being PTA, we aren't supposed to drink while wearing anything that says PTA. So they replied "We can't say!" Whereupon, at the next break, he proceeds to come over and chat us up, getting out of the Parliamentarian where we are from and what we're doing in town. She's had several brews, and I've matched her 7&7 for beer, and I'm not spilling my guts! Wimp.

And of course, when Joe Drummer got back on stage what did he do but bust out "This one goes out to the Katy PTA!"

So of course, Saturday we had to go back.

This time, positioning ourselves at the bar, we proceeded to harrass the bartenders. One of them, taking a meal break, ate nearby, and when a slimy older guy started hitting on the Parliamentarian, the bartender called her over to chat to get her out of dealing with it. I swear that woman makes friends anywhere. The 3rd VP ended up on stage both nights playing the tamborine, and me? I snagged a bar towel from an unsuspecting server guy and threatened to pop each one that walked by in the rear. I actually got one, too.

And for the record, no headaches, no hangovers, and no way I'm doing that again.

Until next convention.