OmegaMom

The scene:  OmegaDotter picks up the phone, dials a number.

“Hello?  This is OmegaDotter, who is this?…Can I please speak with A.?”

“Hi, A.?  It’s OmegaDotter.  I blew it.”

“I made a poor choice.”

“You can’t come to the fair with us tomorrow.  I’m sorry I said you probably could.”

The backstory:

A.–OmegaDotter’s current best buddy–is coming over for a sleepover tomorrow night, as a result of some parental badgering on the dotter’s part.  The Big Fair is running from yesterday through September 8.  We were planning to go tomorrow.  The dotter asked us prior to dinner–while on the phone with A.–if he could come to the fair with us.  We said we’d make our minds up later, but it was dinnertime and time to get off the phone.

During dinner, she asked again.  And again.  OmegaDad said that he had been wanting a “just family” day.  I personally was leaning towards saying, sure, why not, let’s bring A. along, it’ll be fun, but said we needed to decide later.

Dinner was over, the dotter cleared the table, I stepped out for a smoke, OmegaDad stepped out with the dawg to do the dawgly duty.

When we got back inside, the dotter was on the phone with A., telling him that yes, he could almost certainly come to the fair with us.

Oops.  Big mistake, kiddo.  Don’t go making plans with someone else based on no decision from your parents.  We told her to say goodbye to A., that she’d call him back later, and to get her cute little butt back to the dinner table so we could Talk To Her.  At which point, we laid out the fact that (a) we had not made the decision yet, (b) she called A. and told him we had, (c) as a result, our decision was that he was not coming with us, even though I had been leaning towards taking him along, and (d) she had to call A. back, tell him she was wrong, and apologize.

Oh, lordy.  Y’know, sometimes being a parent is just a plain old pain in the ass.  Damn.  Chores need to be supervised, so it’s more work than just doing it myself.  We need to remind her to do the chickens.  We have to explain that not everything is going to go her way.  We have to explain courtesy, and patience, and junk like that.  (We also have to explain that talking in class is a Bad Idea, that while it’s polite to listen to someone who is talking (!!!  Yes!  She claimed she was listening and talking to A. in class because he was talking to her and it was the polite thing to do!), the teacher talking takes precedence, and quiet time in class takes precedence, and, and, and…)

Bah.

On the good side, though, we applauded her phone call (she was saying it all very quietly, in another room, so it wasn’t for show), we all played five-card draw, and B.S., and Crazy Eights, and I read another chapter of her Karito Kids book to her before bedtime.  I guess it all balances out.

So what is the family doing with our spare time now that the dotter is back in school, in the second grade?  Are we doing Quality Time Things with her?  Teaching her great moral truths?  Helping her understand the principles behind basic mathematics?  Discussing the political situations of the day?

No.

We are teaching her to play poker.

At, I might add, her request.  I have no idea where she came up with the idea, but while OmegaDad was out of town on the East Coast, I gave it a (lousy) whirl.  When I concluded that I couldn’t remember it very well, and certainly couldn’t remember the ranking of the various hands, I copped out:  I told her to wait until Daddy came home, and ask him to teach her to play.

Which she did.  And he did.  And we’ve been having a grand old time playing five-card poker, not Stud, for pennies from the zippy full of one hundred pennies that the dotter took to school last year for the 100th Day festivities.  At the end of the game session, we check to see who has the most pennies to declare the winner, and then the pennies go back into the zippy.

Our first night, the dotter won just about everything, and wiped out OmegaDad’s funds.  Beginner’s luck!

The second night, OmegaDad won.  This will probably be the default, because he has been playing poker for many years.  (”Weyall…the boys and I was playin’ poker in Nebraska City one night…”, said in one’s best Western drawl, is one of our favorite family lines, because he was playing poker with the boys in Nebraska City one night, whilst on a business trip…)

Hopefully, one of these days the dotter will learn what a “poker face” is.

I have had a cold.  It laid me low Thursday and Friday, and kept me from re-starting my (new) exercise regimen on Saturday and Sunday.  Worst of all, I had this goopy cough, wheezy breath, and found myself getting tired just going up the stairs.

Ew, yuck.  Time to hie myself off to the doctor, I said.  So I hied to the doc-in-a-box.

And at the doctor’s office, I waited.  And waited.  And waited.

While I waited, I saw parent after parent leading a child in–or out–for a shot.

Today, by the way, is the first day of school.

The first day when the new varicella vaccination rules are in place.

The “new” varicella vaccine rules which were communicated to me (a parent) multiple times waaaay back in March.  And April.  And May.  With handouts.  With notes from the school nurse.  In the newsletter.  There was even a special mailing, also from the school nurse.

All of which said:  No varicella vaccine, no school for your kid.  Period.  End of statement.

The nurse who was taking my vitals had to quickly leave the exam room to go help administer a shot to an eight-year-old who was screaming his head off in another exam room.

The doctor told me–when he finally got to me, two hours after I got there–that he was cross-eyed from seeing the kids and getting them their shots.  He estimated he had already seen twenty kids.

Helloooooooo!!!!

Folks!  Get a grip!  You’ve had plenty of notice!  Months of notice!  You’ve had a whole summer in which to get this thing done!  WHY ARE YOU WAITING UNTIL THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL TO TAKE CARE OF IT?!?!?!

Gah.  Twits.

OmegaMom wanders off, muttering darkly to herself and shaking her fist in the air.

The chores proceed apace, which is making me happy.  OmegaDad discovered the Internet Bonanza of American Girl doll accoutrements, and the dotter is agog.  And eager to buy, buy, buy!  Which, of course, means money, money, money!  Which leads to chores.

Ahhhh.  So the dotter is sweeping, and vacuuming, and cleaning the catbox, and sorting laundry, and carrying laundry back upstairs and putting it away (I know I mentioned every single one of these things before, but it’s so damn nice to have it done, even if I do have to follow around and give pointers and make sure she does more than a seven-year-old’s slapdash job).

OmegaDad has been making bread.  He recently made two loaves of challah, one for us, one for our next-door neighbor, who just got married.  The late afternoon sunshine just made the warmth and goodness pop out in the picture.  Aren’t they purty?

Also enjoying the afternoon warmth was one of our cats, Wooly.  Piggy, the scaredy cat, rarely (if ever) ventures upstairs, but Wooly is everywhere.  Including on our laptop.  Which means that, after I took this picture, I spent five minutes closing obscure Windows windows and making sure he hadn’t accidentally switched screen resolutions, or turned on Armenian language, or shut off all the keyboard shortcuts.  For reference, this was what he looked like a few years ago, when he was only five or six weeks old.

Our new chickens are laying eggs now–yay!  So we get a wide variety of egg sizes.  The big one is from one of our older girls; the little one is from one of the new layers.  Our Silkies lay eggs only a bit bigger than the little one, but the new girls’ eggs will end up as big as the one on the left in a few months.

Another shot of Cinderella, posing:

She starts second grade tomorrow.  She’s been wandering the house shouting excitedly about school starting; that excitement will disappear very soon.  Right now, she’s upset that her second-grade teacher is male:  “A dude?!  I don’t want a dude for a teacher!!”  There is an implied “WTF?!” in there that she hasn’t taken to using.  Yet.  (I, of course, am quite aware that she tends to get ferocious crushes on young men who are coaches or counselors or teachers, so fully expect her to be [occasionally] sighing about Mr. Snows.  When she’s not complaining about the homework.)

Oh, yes, and in the midst of all the early/mid August stuff, I totally spaced out that OmegaMom, the blog, is now four years old.  Whoa.

OmegaDad hauled the dotter and me out to pick various berries in the yard–he plans to make rose-hip and rhubarb jelly, and maybe tart it up with cranberries.

While we were out there, I came upon some pretty mushrooms and fungus:

The dotter and OmegaDad in the midst of foliage:

The takings - cranberries:

And rose hips:

Rose hips are chock-a-block full of pectin, but they’re not very tasty.  Fairly bland, as a matter of fact.  So hopefully the rhubarb and cranberries will make the end result more interesting.

As the majority noted, it was, indeed, Pippi in the dotter’s picture.  (Lauri–No, I wasn’t trying to get very deep!  ;-)  Just wanted to see if people who didn’t know beforehand could recognize the subject of the picture.)  I am torn at this point between the idea of sending the dotter off to take some “art lessons” so she can learn about perspective and shading and various techniques, and the fear that the same thing could kill her creativity.  If someone were to squish that outpouring of creativity, I think I’d get…violent.

After dinner, I was heading out to the kitchen porch for a smoke whilst the dotter cleared the table and chatted with OmegaDad.  While I was lighting my ciggie, I heard a crunch-crash-crunch noise; I poked my head out to peer in the direction the noises were coming from.  Lo and behold, we had a Mama Moose and Baby Moose chowing down on the cow parsnips in our front yard.

Of course, I had to alert the dotter and OmegaDad, and we spent much time “ooh”ing and “ahh”ing, and OmegaDad managed to dash down to the office, grab the battery charger, run upstairs with it, reload the batteries in the camera, and snap off a few pictures.

The colors are off because it is cloudy and dim right now; the second shot, I believe OmegaDad managed to get some flash into the ambient environment.

So we were delighted and amused (baby doesn’t look too very old to me).

But then…

…then…

THEN OmegaDad decided to check the veggie garden:

The moose had knocked off our veggie garden covering on one of the veggie beds (you can see the pipes and [just barely] some of the netting behind the bed), and they had mown our chard and beet greens down like machines.  Sigh.

They were very luxurious, leafy plants only a few hours ago!  The beets themselves are still okay; the moose and baby didn’t eat those.  But boy howdy, they really liked the greens!  And the big lettuce that we were letting go in the next-over veggie bed.  They didn’t touch the celery and carrot greens, though–the devastation stopped where the chard stopped.

I guess it’s time to get out the firecrackers again…

While we were at GrannyJ’s house, the dotter produced this piece of art:

I was truly wowed by this, and wanted to share.  See how the horse has knobby knees?!  And muscles?!  See how the house is all tilty?!  (It’s supposed to be.) 

I happen to know what it represents; I was wondering if others could figure it out.  Put your guesses in the comments!

It’s August, and–as every parent of a school-aged kid knows–that means it’s time for registration.

Registration for school, for gymnastics, for dance or ice skating.  Checking to be sure the shots are up to date.  Perusing the school supply list.  Time to check winter coats and boots for fit.  Eyeing schedules.  Considering how to transition to “school year” bedtime, as opposed to happy-go-lucky summer bedtime.

I schlepped over to the elementary school this afternoon to do the annual signature-fest, and was just as irritated this year as last.

See, for returning students, the school has you check a printout with a variety of information on it (name, DOB, address, parents’ names, phone numbers, emergency contacts, ethnicity, yadda yadda yadda).  And then you have a sheaf of additional paperwork to fill out–still more emergency contact information, permissions for Internet use (or not), permission to use pictures (or not), permission to dispense ibuprofen/tylenol/cough drops/etc. (or not), signatures that you’ve received (and read and agreed to) the school’s student handbook, and the borough’s student handbook.

And on and on.

The thing that makes this database programmer’s stomach churn is that you get that printout, which has name, DOB, student ID number, and a variety of other information…all printed out, spit out straight from the belly of the Great Database in the Borough School District Offices.  But all those other forms?  The endless sheets, in the endless array of colors?

Those you have to fill out by hand.

Including all that information that is already on the printout.

Twenty sheets of info.  (Well, okay, ten.)  All with student name, DOB, student ID number.  Some with parent name and phone number.  All of which could be generated by a mail-merge using the data direct from the Great Database in the Borough School District Offices.  None of which are.

So folks, there you have it:  Here we are, in the year of our Lord 2009.  We have to fill out forms about Internet permissions–Internet permissions!!!–by hand.

We’re lucky in that we have only one kid to do this for.  When I sat down at the array of tables with my sheaf of color-coded paperwork in my hand, girding my fist to do battle with the pen, next to me was Mike, parent of A., OmegaDotter’s best bud from school.  He has four kids.  One is in middle school, so he has a different sheaf of paperwork to do for her; the middle two were returning students, and the last is going into kindergarten this year.  He had three sets of paperwork he was filling out mindlessly.

We commiserated, swapped names and phone numbers as emergency contacts (he and his family arrived in Alaska after us, and they are about as sociable as we are, which is to say, not very), and wrote.  And wrote.  And wrote.

Gah.  What century are we in now?  Why are universities and community colleges all set up to do this stuff by web, and the local schools aren’t?  I know it’s expensive, but surely the borough school district has an IT staff, whose job it is to do things like this?

Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Answers to questions and comments from yesterday’s post:  Mamasan–We had totally forgotten the camera, so no need to feel guilt!  Tonggu Mama–We haven’t read the book yet, so don’t know whether it’s any good or not.  There is a website with games and what-not, and the games emphasize different cultures, different countries, and the “tokens” you win (passport stamps) can be redeemed for $$ to go to charities.  VinegarMartini–I’d like to claim that the dollar-a-missed-turn-signal was all the dotter’s idea, but am not sure.  She was, however, relentless in catching the misses!  Also, thanks for the tip on Target vis-a-vis the outfits; that will help immensely!  Jean–Alas, I think OmegaDad did not miss any turn signals on purpose.  He truly has a problem with being distracted by conversation or the radio, and howls with frustration when he is caught.

This is Ling, from Karito Kids.  Ling is very expensive, like the American Girls dolls.

OmegaDad spotted her first, at the local fancy toy store (very Waldorf-y place…lots of wooden toys, silky dress-up, fabric dolls, that kind of thing).  So he showed her to the dotter, who swooned with delight:  “She could be my little sister!”  Then came the catch:  No, we wouldn’t buy it for her.  She had to buy it, with her very own money.

Then we hammered out the list of possible ways to make money:  Sweep and Swiffer the living room and kitchen twice a week.  Unload the laundry chute and sort clothes.  Put clothes away after Mommy was done washing and folding them.  Brush the dawg.  Vacuum the downstairs.  Clean the cat box every night.

Then she came up with her very own idea.

OmegaDad, you see, has this…problem…with using his turn signal.  In other words, he often forgets.  The dotter has noticed this, and is a regular little back-seat driver about it.  (She also gives me approval, because I don’t forget the turn signal.  Ah, little victories!)

So one or the other of them proposed a deal:  If she caught him not using his turn signal while driving, he would give her…

…A DOLLAR!!!…PER WHACK!!!

Um.  Now, if I had been consulted before this little dealio went down, I would have put my foot down, and proposed a quarter per offense.  However, the first I heard of it was after the deal was pinkie sealed.

The girl is destined to be a wheeler-dealer scam artist, fer shur.  Because she made sure that daddy would pick her up from summer camp almost every day–and this was a source of $2, $3, or more per drive!  (I told you he had a problem with turn signals!)

Every night, she and OmegaDad would count up the dollars in her Mason jar.  Finally, on Friday night, she came bouncing down to the office, where I was watching a YouTube of the Chinese Brittney Spears, Jolin Tsai, shouting out, “How can I make three dollars and fifty cents before tomorrow?!”  See, that brass ring was in sight.  She wanted Ling so much she ached.  She had already created a bed for Ling in her bedroom.  She had set up her pseudo-computer (gift from Grandma Jeannie) so that Ling could sit in front of it.  She had pulled out her biggest horse, ready for Ling to ride.  And all she needed now was $3.50.

So she spent Friday evening in a frenzy–she swept, she Swiffered, she vacuumed, she cleaned the cat box.  She got her extra money.

Saturday morning, she grabbed her Mason jar of money:

…and we drove off to the swanky toy store, where she got this huge bag:

And mommy spent half-an-hour releasing Ling from durance vile (aka the packaging).  Lemme tell you, this doll is pretty cool.  Her head tilts and bends.  Her arms and legs have ball-and-socket type joints, so you can move them in more natural style than other big dolls.  And, like the American Girls dolls, she comes with a book:

At which point, poor OmegaDotter had to schlep off to her previously arranged sleep-over with A., her best bud from school.  OmegaDad and I were instructed to make sure Ling got to bed–in OmegaDotter’s bed, since she wouldn’t be there–and get her up and put her in front of her computer.

I, in the meanwhile, am hoping that we can get more chore-work out of the dotter without major whining–it’s been nice to have her so motivated!  There are plenty of accessories for Ling, so we’ll probably be able to get the dotter into the habit of doing chores for weekly allowance.