First of all, I am having “quiet writing time” now. So naturally the Frug is playing “What Does the Fox Say” on repeat. Kill. Kill. Kill.
Craptastic week. I have the killer man cold/flu that is crushing the globe. Honestly, EVERYONE IS SICK. I’m usually pretty hearty. I can pop some Sudafed and get on with my day. Not this time. Spent half of Monday in bed…and Weds. too. What about Tuesday, you ask? Oh, that day I spent with 12 and his fellow 6th graders on the Rhode River, exploring Native American life AND the local oyster and crab population. Sadly, the “Oyster Bar” listed on the agenda was NOT the kind I was hoping for.
Last night was Halloween. I fear Otis will never recover from the heroic barkfest he put forth. I heard several groups of younger kids say “that house is way too scary” what with our spooky sound CD, fog machine, AND the 107 lb howling hellhound. Pfft. Walk away, ‘fraidy cats. Mo candy for mama.
Let’s see. What else? Hmmm. Oh, both boys are finishing up their first quarters of the school year. For conscientious 12, that means a frantic race to finish, polish and perfect all outstanding projects, request extra credit. etc.
For Sarcasmo? Yeah, not so much. Been watching his grades. There’s a fantastic Big Brother thing that allows you to see every single grade for each class. He bemoans my access to this tool. Muahaha. Anyway, I also get alerts when teachers assign tasks. The Spanish teacher send alerts daily for about a week. He needed a marble composition book. NBD. We have tons of them. Asked him repeatedly about it. Responses varied — “yeah yeah yeah” or a *dead eyed stare* or the ever-popular “OMG MOM!!!” Welp, saw his overall grade drop one entire letter. A zero in the “bring proper notebook to class” column.
S: “OMG MOM! He’s crazy! I had a notebook!”
Me: “Was it the ‘marble composition notebook’ he asked for?”
S: *dead eyed stare*
Today, last day of the quarter, I harass him at 6:45am “for the love of God, bring that notebook in“…
He gets into the car and pulls out an ancient, used marble composition notebook and begins ripping 2/3 of the pages out.
Me: “WE HAVE 3497 OF THESE NOTEBOOKS UPSTAIRS!”
S: “I couldn’t find one. OMG, chill out, Mom.”
Me: *dead eyed stare*
This is what he left in the Fail Wagon. I’m leaving it there until he decides to properly dispose of it. *snorts*
I always wondered why mothers of teens looked so pinched and angry and, frankly, hagged out…Now, I know.