Busy. Busy. Busy day. First, I took the girls to piano lesson and, yes, say it with me, dropped them off. The two munchkins and I then went to Target to buy Tank Boy some much needed warm-weather-type clothes. But that is not what I really want to blog about today.
When we got home from shopping and picking up the oldest two, there were a gazillion phone messages to sift through. Unusual, really. When we went to Washington D.C. for the better part of a week we came home to zero phone messages, so coming home after an hour and a half to four phone messages was surprising. One was my sister, one was my best friend, one was a company McH interviewed with last Friday. The owner wants to have lunch with him this week and, apparently, make him an offer. We’ll see what happens.
The last one — gah! — the last one was from a virtual charter school “testing coordinator” wondering why A~ hadn’t shown up for her proficiency testing this morning. Hmm . . . might that be because she took this test already last fall and scored in the highest possible category, therefore making it unnecessary for her to take it again? MIGHT IT?
Then I find an email from our “teacher,” you know, the woman who has never met my kids face-to-face but has monthly phone conferences or internet “classroom sessions” with them; the one who “grades” the occasional work sample and diagnostic test but can’t tell me how she arrived at the scores she gave my children; the one who can’t differentiate between the words than and then; the one who can’t conjugate regular verbs, let alone irregular ones; the one who can’t make her verbs and subjects agree in written or verbal communication; the one who told L~ she got a math problem wrong during an internet classroom session, even though L~ was right. (She did apologize. Later. After all of the kids were gone and there were just parents online). Yes, that one. She sent me an email saying I would need to schedule a make up test time for A~ and to make sure I have her at testing tomorrow.
So I called the testing coordinator.
“Oh!” she says. “If A~ scored at the advanced level, then you’re right. She didn’t need to be here today. There should have been a notation by her name saying she didn’t have to be here.”
“And who should have made that notation?” I asked. “The ‘teacher’?”
Hmm . . . why, yes. What a huge, freaking surprise.
People, there are reasons I home school, and stupid teachers are one of them. I know they aren’t all stupid, but statistically speaking, many of them are. Really, sorry if you’re a teacher. I was one myself. So I know they aren’t all stupid. Just most. Anyway, I’ve been really happy with this whole virtual charter thing until this year when, suddenly, I’ve got this stupid woman interfering with my children’s education and, by extension, my life. If McH gets a new, much higher paying job we may drop the virtual school thing and just buy the curriculum outright. If our idiot governor gets his way virtual charter schools will disappear from our educational landscape anyway.
GAH!!! I seem a tad angry today, no? But that is not really what I want to blog about either.
Speaking of phone messages, I got one the other day from my mother. It said something about cleaning up the back of the woods by the fence row and finding evidence that Blue Barb had been there. Something about dollicide and a possible long-lost relative? Hmm . . . we’ll see. But that is not what I want to blog about either.
Here is what I really want to blog about:
I remember once, during my pre-mommy days, when I went to a baby shower and left utterly disgusted. I mean, I didn’t leave early or anything, just by the time it was over and we all left, I was utterly disgusted. I could not believe the lengths and depths those women went to in their seemingly ceaseless discussion of their children’s defecation habits and fecal matter. “Were their lives really that empty and sorry?” I wondered.
Well, obviously I have a new perspective on things now because, woo hoo! Tank Boy, oh what’s the word, voided? in the toilet. In other words, he had a bowel movement (the 3BMS guy would be so proud) in the proper receptacle. Yes, he pooped in the potty. Hence the cupcakes you see pictured above and my blogging about poop. Those baby shower women would be so proud of how far I’ve come.
For weeks we’ve been telling Tank Boy that he could have cupcakes and a balloon if he would just do his business in the bathroom, more specifically while sitting on the porcelain throne. Today, finally, he did. Shock. Dismay. Excitement. Hugs and snotty nosed kisses!
We dropped everything and abandoned our schooling to rush to the grocery store and buy cupcakes and a balloon. I have never bought cupcakes. I usually make all things cake on my own. Dear Mother of Heaven, I had no idea how expensive cupcakes are. Six dollars for a dozen! Really?
Of course he picked the ones with the purple and brown swirled icing. What could be more appropriate for a Potty Party than sticky brown icing?
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello, and suggests staying away from the brown icing.
5 points to McH for being the first to say (via an instant message) which movie that line about pretention and manure came from. He had to Google it to find the answer, but you have to admire that he cared enough to rise to the challenge. 4 points to Traci for being the second to name the movie and doing it without Googling anything, and 3 points to Colleen: 1 for naming the movie and 2 for quoting another line from it. Maybe I should set up a scoreboard. Oh, and 6 points to Nicki for nominating me for the Thinking Blogger Award despite the fact I got it last week. Which then means another 6 to Christina for nominating me to begin with. Yep, stroke my ego and score more bonus points.