Because I do my best to keep my promises...

So... four years ago, I posted  this after I had made a soccer bet with the Impertinent Daughter.  Her coach had moved her to play forward, after several years of playing defense, and her confidence was shaky.  To boost it, I bet her that if she got a goal, I would get a tattoo.

She got a goal in her very next game, and the first words out of her mouth when she saw me were, "Mum, you're getting a TATTOO!!"

Well, it's only taken me four years to make good on that bet, but finally, here it is, designed by my own Lady Lion... the tattoo...

It's fresh, so forgive the swelling and shininess.  Still, I think the tattooist did a great job!

She's happy, and so am I.  

Because It's Just What Parents Do... Right?

Every once in a while, I will click "Like" on a Facebook post that I find... resonant, or that strikes a chord with me, and every once in an even greater while, I'll comment on one of these posts.

Now, these aren't posts made by my friends, necessarily.  Sometimes, it's a post from a page I've liked or I'm following.  Sometimes, it's a repost from something else.

Most of the time, I'm pretty quiet, even on Facebook, but then there's those times when I just... well... I have to say something.

What?  I'm Southern.  It's what we do.

Like, once, on the Amy Poehler's Smart Girls page, there was a post about school dress codes and what one girl was doing about a so-called violation at her school, and how ridiculous they could be, etc.  I couldn't help chiming in about an experience the Impertinent Daughter went through, how one of the Assistant Principals at her school (who was actually running things at the school, but that's a whole other jar of pickles) suddenly decided that girls at the junior high were no longer allowed to wear button down shirts, BUT... the boys could.  I, of course, went to find out why, because I knew the woman was nuts, but I kind of wanted to know what the logic (!) was on this particular issue.  "Because boys can unbutton them."

Riiiiiight...

I promptly informed the woman that if this was a genuine issue, then parents should be notified, assault charges should be filed, and the boys in question should be suspended, so what's going on with this?

Turned out there were no actual boys unbuttoning actual girls' shirts, and I pointed out the idiocy of that and basically, by the end of the week, that particular dress code issue disappeared.

My comment was much shorter than that, but basically, that was it.  This was an issue, this is how I dealt with it, this was the result.

It... pretty much blew up, and the last time I saw it, a couple of months ago, it was edging 900 some odd likes.  Plus lots of comments to MY comment about what an awesome/brave/cool mom I was to do this, and I thought, "but... isn't that what a parent does???  Your school lays down a ridiculous rule, YOU know it's ridiculous, your fellow parents know it's ridiculous, and so... one of you steps over and says it's ridiculous, the rest follow suit, and BANG... ridiculous rule gone.

So... today, the Richard Dawkins page posted about the ten reasons the new Texas textbooks are dangerous for students, and first, I face-palmed, because... OMG, Texas, why???  And then I commented.

Now, here's the thing.  As a parent in a small Texas town, I am often confronted with the ridiculous in my kids' education.  No, I'm not kidding.  I have had a teacher openly proselytize in class when my daughter was in 5th grade.  The woman wasn't my daughter's main teacher, she was her Language Arts teacher, and she figured, "hey, I'm retiring, I don't have to worry about these ridiculous rules that prevent me from acting on the tenets of my faith, here goes nothing!!"

Yeah, that went over real well.  After going to the school to talk to both the teacher and the principal about the reason We Don't Do That In Public Schools, also with a demonstration of what would happen if they did, Mrs. I'm About To Retire decided her pension was worth protecting and stopped.

There was the time my son was in first grade and his teacher, inexperienced and so new the ink on her degree was still smudgable, told me with great pride the way she and the other first grade teachers were going to teach their students about racism.  They were going to separate the classes into girls and boys, and the boys were going to be the privileged group and be allowed things like getting to drink from the water fountains first, being able to get their snacks first, etc. And the girls would be the oppressed group and have to go second.   I had to stop her in the middle of her enthusiasm to explain to her that if they did that, they weren't going to be teaching the kids about racism.  They were going to be teaching the kids about sexism.  "But... how else can we teach them about racism?" she asked, stunned.  

"You take the kids and get them to count off in ones and twos.  Then pick a day, and  ask all the ones to wear, say, a green shirt on that day, and the twos to wear a purple shirt.  And on that day, the purple shirts get to hit the water fountain first, get their snacks first, get the swings first, etc, and the greens have to wait," I said.

"But that's silly," she said.  "Just because of the color of a shirt!"

"Exactly," I said.  "That's racism.  Just because of the color of someone's skin."

It's horrifying how long it took her to get it. 

Oh, let's see, and how about the first year the Impossible Son was in junior high, and I had to go talk to the principal because one of the assistant principals told my son, when he had some open sores on his hand, that he needed to keep them bandaged because, and I quote, "you can get AIDS from touching the tables and desks in the school."

And this woman was a former science teacher.

There was my daughter's 8th grade year, when the algebra teachers at the junior high decided that they didn't like the textbooks the district selected to teach algebra, so they decided to write their own over the course of the year and basically winged it.  No textbook.  Just endless handouts, and if you missed a handout, tough cookies.  I hate to say this now, but... in a bizarre way, my daughter was fortunate when she caught mono a second time and missed something like thirteen weeks of school.  Why?  Because she then had myself and my husband as algebra teachers.  Between the two of us, we make a pretty decent algebra teacher, I have to say.  Well, the two of us, PatrickCMJ and ViHart on Youtube, several f-listers on Livejournal, and at least three websites online.  Every day during those thirteen weeks, I was at the junior high, either picking up or dropping off schoolwork.  It SUCKED, but I learned more about the quality of my daughter's education during the two years she had mono than I did at any other time, because I  was one of her teachers.  I already knew it sucked, but you could say I found out how much it sucked at that time.

But you know what?  She passed with straight A's that year.  And she was a Presidential Scholar that year.  Boo.  Yah.

Oh, and let's not forget the madness of her third grade year, when math education in her district got weird.  That was the year her class started taking the TAKS test, and she got this teacher that all the other parents raved about being so awesome.  And at that time, I still had faith in her teachers and the school.  Until her math scores started dropping, and after many tears trying to help her with her homework, and looking at her textbook, a tome entitled "Everyday Mathematics," and actually sitting in on her class a couple of times to try to figure out what the disconnect was, I was forced to tell the Impertinent Daughter to nod and smile when her teacher explained math problems in class, and bring her work home so the Husbandly One and I could teach her how to actually do it. I told her to repeat back all the strategies the teacher explained on how to do this stuff, and ignore it and do it the way we taught it to her. 

It drove her teacher nuts.  But I told her it was okay, and not to worry about it, just repeat back whatever the teacher tried to teach her, but do it our way.  

Do you know, she was the only kid her her class to pass the math TAKS with above a 90? She got a 98.  And one of only like... five or six kids in her entire grade to get Commended?

Or how I had to sometimes fight to have my kids' teachers assign them homework in the first place!!  Why?  Because there were times that that was the only way I could find out what my kids were being taught, and figure out how to even help them when there were problems!!!

When the Impertinent Daughter was in sixth grade, the junior high principal,who barely lasted a year, told his teachers, "if you can't teach it to them in the forty five minutes you have them in class, then they're not going to learn in when you give them homework that night."

Well, you know what, dude?  In my house, yes, they will.

I am sure some of you will wonder why I didn't just pull my kids out and homeschool them.

Why?  Because I know what I lack as a teacher.  I lack the patience and organization to do it full time every single day.  And while I know a lot, I don't know everything, and I don't know how to teach everything.  I realized that when I homeschooled the Impertinent Daughter for kindergarten.  If she'd been an only child?  Maybe.  Maybe I could have done it.  But... I couldn't do it with two.  But that's a personal limitation.  When the Impertinent One started first grade at the public school in town, she was the only kid in her class who could read (she was already reading at a third grade level), write more than a simple sentence, count up to 100, add and subtract... everything the state required a kindergartner to be able to do before starting the first grade.  The only one.  And all the other  kids had attended kindergarten in the district.

I know what I lack as a teacher.  But... that doesn't mean I can't supplement what my kids are learning from their public school education.  Because... that's a parent's job.  My mother did that for me.  So... I guess I just kind of assumed that all parents do this.  My kids were watching the Discovery Channel and The Learning Channel back when they were actually educational channels.  And they were watching PBS.  My husband and I took them to the library, and the zoo, and the museums, and everywhere else we could think of, and we read (and still read) to them, and discuss things.  We read the newspaper, and the internet, we watch the news, we watch movies and historical films, and documentaries, and we visit antique stores and discuss the wild and crazy things we find in them.  We talk to old people, and we take trips, and... do everything we possibly can to expose them to as much as we can so we can raise a couple of well rounded people with open minds.

Because that's what we do.  What parents do.  Our children are world citizens, right?  So... we want them to reach out and embrace it and love it and be endlessly curious about it.

So... when I saw that post on the Richard Dawkins page, I liked it and commented on it.  I said, "I am going to try not to hyperventilate over this, then do what I have always done, go through my son's textbooks, point out the obvious omissions, go to the library, dig out books for him to read, and encourage discussion.  So tired of being ashamed of the state I live in... ugh..."

Because I am.  So very tired of being ashamed of Texas.  Very tired.

I commented on this yesterday.

The comment itself is already up to 218 likes.

Apparently, this resonated with a lot of people.  

This makes me wonder if we can get this reversed... again.

Come on, Texas.  Get your shit together.  

We can do this.  It's what parents do.  We need to fix this, because it's not going to get any better without us.

Let's go.  Let's do this thing!!!

Because This Breathing Thing Is Harder Than It Looks....

This has been a really tough winter for us.  First, the Husbandly One brought home the flu for Christmas.  We were extraordinarily lucky that neither of the kids got it, but he got the H1N1 version... and I got the other one.  For once, our kids took care of us, and wasn't that a switch??

While the Husbandly One was initially much sicker, getting a dangerously high fever one night, high enough that I was ready to drag his stubborn hide to the emergency room, he recovered much quicker than I have.  We both took Tamiflu to reduce our symptoms, and the kids took it as a preventative, and we got through it.

But the flu hung on to me a little longer.  And when it finally left, we discovered it left friends.

Say hello to Mr. Secondary Infection.  Oh, and Mr. Bronchitis.  And let's not forget Mr. Lingering Cough!

But, I did start feeling better.  And I was kind of getting back into the groove when what is known here in Central Texas as Cedar Season hit... early.  And this year?  It was a doozy.  Think... CEDARPOCALYPSE.

Yeah.  That bad.

Guess who's allergic to cedar pollen in this house.  Well... all of us, actually.

But guess who it knocked completely flat?

Yeah.  Me.

The Impertinent Daughter got a sinus infection.  The Husbandly One got a sinus infection.  The Impossible Son hovered on the edge of a sinus infection, but seemed to avoid it.  Barely.

Me?  Well, I have asthma.  Asthma that has been remarkably quiet in the four or so years since I started taking Dexilant for gastric reflux.  I haven't had to take asthma medications in all that time.  Except the rare use of my rescue inhaler because of nearby grass fires, etc.  It's been wonderful!  It was like having my life back!

Until cedar season hit and all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe any more.  And the next thing I know, I'm back on Advair, I'm back on the nebulizer, I'm back to using my inhaler every four hours, and shaking like a leaf all the time.

Finally, the Husbandly One whisked us all away to Rockport for the weekend to see if it would help.  And it did.  I was finally able to draw in a deep breath for the first time in two and a half months, and we were all better for the clearer air.

It made coming back home a real bummer though.

And... I was back at the doctor's again today, because... now I'm coughing up yellow stuff, and for someone with asthma... that is a very bad sign.  So... now I'm on a antibiotic because the doctor informed me, as have many over the last few weeks, "You are absolutely not allowed to get pneumonia!"  Which would just be the total capper to the season, right?

*sigh*

The thing is, the very frustrating thing is, after you've gotten your life back, and you're used to doing things again, like getting out and doing stuff with your family, and going places, and just... being outside without worrying it's going to set you off or make you miserable... you kind of get to liking it and wanting to do it as much as possible.

And when you can't... it's very discouraging.  I have things I want to do.  My son will be starting his track season next week.  I would really, really like to go to his meets without worrying that I'll either have an asthma attack, make myself sicker, or have to go home after an hour because I'm too tired to stay awake.  Not to mention how crap-tastic that would be for the Impossible Son, because he wants his mom there.  He wants his mom cheering for him, taking ridiculous photos of him, and just being his best cheerleader ever.  Not curled up in bed at home.

My doctor, and my sister, who is a nurse and more than familiar with me, and with allergies and asthma in general, have pointed out that this was a huge shock to my system and I've got to give it time to... recalibrate.

My family needs me, and I need them.

Can you tell I'm frustrated?  Because I am.

I won't let this beat me.  But... it's very frustrating, inconvenient, and... did I mention frustrating?

Just breathe.  Just breathe.  Just breathe....

SHINY!!!

The Husbandly One surprised me yesterday with a brand new MacBook Air!!!

I was not expecting a new laptop this soon at all.  I mean, I was hoping for one, since my Vaio died such an ignominious death (and I'm still hoping I can recover the hard drive), but not expecting one at any time before my birthday... maybe.  So... I'm really happy!

Writing while out and about has been difficult since losing the Vaio.  In fact, the last two times at the library while the kids were at their summer Animanga Club meetings was... frustrating.  Trying to use THO's netbook sucked, because... one, it's Windows, and two, THO spilled liquid in the keyboard and thus, some of the keys are sticky, plus it's only got a partial version of Windows 7 (it came that way, if you want the actual full OS... you have to buy it.  Extra.  Yeah.) so it runs a little slow and it doesn't like using Word.  I mean, it will run it, but it considers Word a bit dodgy and thinks less of you for using it.

I admire the Husbandly One's fortitude in using the damn thing.

The second time we were at the library, I borrowed the Impertinent Daughter's MacBook, and realized only after getting to the library that while I had installed Word for Mac on it (at her request, since her school uses Windows), I had not yet installed Pages... and the files on my USB drive were for Pages.  I managed a work-around and did fine after that, but that should be one of my goals today, to install iWork on her Mac.

I finally asked THO about taking the Vaio somewhere to get it fixed, because, dammit, I need something to write on, something portable!!  Dammit!!

And it wasn't like yesterday wasn't surreal on its own, you know?  The Impertinent Daughter finished up the classroom instruction part of the driving course offered at the high school (by an independent driving school) and came home much earlier than I expected, and hit her own version of the Wall of Fatigue.  So I left her at home to take a nap, with a guardian little brother, and went for a blissfully peaceful grocery shopping trip.  And I'm glad, too, because that's where the surreal part of my day started.

It started with an unexpectedly deep voice behind me saying, "Can I get that for you, Mrs. J?" when I was on my tiptoes trying to get to a package well out of my reach.  And I turned around, fully expecting to see my usual Helpful Tall Shop Assistant... and discovered one of my daughter's friends standing there.  And I realized three things.

1.  He was VERY tall.

2.  His voice has gotten deeper since I last spoke to him five weeks ago.

3.  He's old enough to work at the grocery store.




Two weeks ago, he was in first grade, shyly introducing himself to the Impertinent Daughter, with pale blond hair and apple red cheeks.  Last week, he was sitting on the sidelines of a soccer game, tears streaming down his cheeks as I cleaned and bandaged his bloody knee while his mom was gone on a snacks run for half-time because the parent who was supposed to have brought snacks forgot.  Yesterday, he was in fifth grade and excitedly telling me how he was going to be in marching band when he started junior high.

There is no way he's old enough to be working at the grocery store!!!  NO!!!

Later, I was grabbing a bag of sugar, and heard, "Hi, Mrs. J!!" And there was a girl my daughter has known since... third grade.  And... no.  Just... no.

I found yet another teenager that my daughter played youth soccer with in the paper aisle.  And it just went on and on, all these kids that in my head are still... little... and they're not.  And then, when I was checking out, again, a girl from my daughter's class at the cash register, and a boy sacking my groceries, and saying, "Hey, Mrs. J, let me get the ice for you so you don't forget it."

AAAAAAAAH!!!! STAHP!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!

*hyperventilating*

It was bad enough when I realized three years ago that I could no longer perv on the high school boy's cross country track team, because... it was now half populated with boys I had known since they were four and five.  But now, they're... turning into people!!

Totally skewed my world view, man!!

My daughter pretty much laughed at me when I got home and related all of this to her, and I had to confront the fact that my daughter is a senior and will be graduating next MAY!!!

*more hyperventilating*

Then, I went to get my hair cut, and she went along with me, and as my uber-awesome stylist was cutting my hair, she started saying, "Oh... my God."  She'd cut more, huff, then go, "Oh.  My.  God."  Then a grimace, another huff, and, "Omigod."  Then, "Oh, my fucking GOD."

After the seventh repetition of this, I finally said, "Uh... what's going on?"  Because the last time I heard that, I was 18 and the lady who had been cutting my hair since I was 11 was ready to kill my hair.

Ms. Stylist grimaced and said, "Your hair is frustrating me.  It's never frustrated me before!  I've been cutting your hair a long time, Jo, and I've never seen it do this."

"Do what?" I asked, stunned.

"Well... it's... baby fine, and so... thick... and it's just... every time I cut a section and start to move on, something pops out and I realized I missed something, and I have to go back and cut it, and then something else pops out, and... it's kinda making me nuts here," she said grimly.

And that's when it dawned on me.  My hair was coming back.  The endocrinologist changed me off the Synthroid/Cytomel combo he had me on and put me on Armour Thyroid, because the S/C combo just wasn't helping.  My hair was still falling out, I was still very fatigued, and just not getting better.

I knew my hair was coming back, and I was getting it cut because it was like wearing a wool mop on my head.  And I knew it was getting thicker, because I was having to use heavier pony tail holders to pull it back.  But... I didn't realize it had come back to the original texture of being baby fine and deceptively thick.

Ms. Stylist kept cutting and cutting, and fluffing and fluffing, and cutting more, and finally, she said, "Next hair cut, we're thinning this shit out!"

*dies laughing*

After we got home, the Impertinent One and I settled in for a "Bones" marathon while the Impossible Son went off to do boy things with his friend across the street, and the Husbandly One texted that he was going to have to work late.

Yeah, he was totally off buying my new SHINY!!!

*dance of joy, dance of joy*

Coolest.  Husband.  EVER.

Ch-ch-ch-changes....

My daughter went to her first prom this weekend, and it was one of those rites of passage that her father and I anticipated and tried to prepare ourselves for only to find those mental preparations were... well... woefully inadequate.

I tried not to make too big of a production of it, because I didn't want the Impertinent Daughter to freak out and hide.  After all, this was a big step for her, my wild tomboy daughter who doesn't think she's pretty (must be genetic, I swear).  First date, first time wearing makeup, first time wearing a dress and heels in public where it didn't involve a cosplay... all pretty huge steps for her.

So, she went to prom with a boy she's known since sixth grade, whom we will call "Toast Boy," because I crocheted a scarf for him that looked like joined pieces of toast with pats of butter on them.  He still wears it, I understand.

I had made an appointment at the salon we habitually go to for her to have her hair, face, and nails done (for which I am extremely grateful, because while I could have done her makeup, her hair would have probably broken me), so Saturday afternoon, that's where we went.

Now, salons in a small town are somewhat different from those in larger towns.  And I say this having grown up in Houston and having gone to small neighborhood salons.  You get to know the stylists, and some of the regulars, you chat and all, but you don't get to really know them.

In a small town, where everybody knows everybody, and knows everybody's business, it's a whole new ballgame.  You know the stylists because their kids go to school with yours, or played soccer with yours, or you know the same people.  Or you had to serve on the same parent volunteer groups at school.  Or your kids are in band together.   Or they live down the street from you.  So, you go in with your kid, and they already know what they're going to do to her and you'll hear them say things like, "I've been waiting to do your hair for prom for x number of years!!" or "I can't believe you're old enough to go to prom!  I gave you your first haircut when you were so small, you had to sit on two phone books just so I could reach you!  That was just last week, right?"

I heard a lot of that from the other girls getting their hair, nails, and makeup done, because, of course, small town, only one high school, of course the salons were packed with girls (and guys) getting ready for prom!  And a couple of the stylists, who I am shocked to now realize I have known for ten years, came over to chat with me and check on Miss Impertinent's progress.

What you need to know is this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Was transformed into this...

(photo by Erin Hurd)

After we got home, her best friend's mom called, and they came by for photos, and this...

(photo by C. Jandrok)

became this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Which is amazing.  Looking at them in that photo, you'd never have any clue they're both kick-ass soccer players who have played on co-ed teams and sent guys bigger than they are flying.

The look on the Husbandly One's face when we came home, by the way, was priceless.  I think in a lot of ways, he still sees the Impertinent Daughter at eight, with dirt smeared on one cheek and chocolate in the corners of her mouth, tangled hair and a big grin, ready for the next adventure.  Seeing her like this, though, was a major shock to the system, and I don't think he was ready for it.  Neither was I, really.  

Of course, I can't leave you with this... dignified photo of the girls, because really... it's just not them.  So, about ten seconds after the above photo was snapped, we got this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Followed by a sisterly photobomb, courtesy of Super Goalie's younger sister...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

And then it was time for Super Goalie to leave for dinner with her date, and the Impertinent Daughter to leave for dinner with her date and the group of friends they were going with.  And I got another shock.  Because this...

(photo by C. Jandrok)

Became this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Of course, it later devolved into this...

(photo by B. Schaub)

Which shows my daughter and her friends have a propensity for dramatic gestures.  

Oh, and by the way, did I mention that my daughter actually had not one, but two dates to the prom?

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

They had an extra ticket, and can you believe, the Demon Lord Nevitz was actually not going to go???  Well, Miss Impertinent and Toast Boy had to fix that, so they promptly asked him to go, and here you see them, Demon Lord, Impertinence, and Toast, all ready to go to the prom.  The Three Amigos.  Or the Three Formal -Wearing-Teens of the Apocalypse (notice the formal skulls on the Impertinent One's wrist bag).    

Of course, they said the prom was boring (and I can imagine that it was, for them), and the high school should really worry if those three get it into their heads to take over next year's prom, because I am sure there would be Cards Against Humanity, actual danceable music that wasn't rap or country (apparently, the country music wasn't danceable, either) which may or may not include J-Pop and K-Pop, and decorations that don't consist of a box of popcorn and a movie clapper on each table.  There may even be some C4 involved, or zombies.  Maybe even pirates!  (She wanted to wear a pirate themed dress, but we didn't really have time to plan it this year).  I think if the Impertinent One had her way, it would be strictly cosplay, period.  

She'd make an awesome Black Widow, don't you think?

Anyhow, I think she did have some fun at least, and I can say that her father and I survived our first prom experience.  It was... challenging, and did require a margarita on my part.  Did I mention that the Husbandly One makes really good margaritas?

And that was our adventure with prom night!

"It was just my imagination, running away with me...."

So, after the Impossible Son's soccer practice, it was decided to head to our favorite local Tex-Mex restaurant, Mr. Taco. We were in the mood for fajitas, or at least the Husbandly One, the Impertinent Daughter, and I were. We have discovered that Mr. Taco's "fajitas for two" plate feeds the three of us nicely. The Impossible Son had his usual chicken strips, no gravy.

We forgot that Thursdays are live mariachi band night.

Did I mention there are all hard surfaces at Mr. Taco, with nothing to absorb sound?

o_O

Anyhow, yeah, it was loud, but the food was worth it! Once we'd eaten ourselves to a lull, the Impertinent One begged a pen off me, grabbed a clean napkin, and immediately began to sketch the mariachi band members, then took it to them before fleeing back to our table.

They passed it around among themselves, looking at it intently, then marched over to our table and serenaded her with "Just My Imagination," and a Spanish/English version of "I Just Called To Say I Love You."

Her smile was incandescent, and she giggled almost the entire time, hiding her face every once in a while, but mostly beaming at them with delight. I rubbed her back from time to time when it looked like she was getting overwhelmed, but mostly? She absolutely loved it!

I think she was also chuffed that two of the mariachi singers actually fought over who would get to sing to her! And if you've never seen a violinist and a trumpet player arguing over who is gonna sing to the pretty girl, then you have no idea what you missed!

I think she's just beginning to have an inkling of the doors her art can open for her. This is going to be an interesting journey to watch!

Of Midnight Movies and Geeky Mom/Daughter Bonding...

So... the Impertinent Daughter and I went and saw "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pt 1" last night at our tiny local cinema.

It was hard to talk the Husbandly One into letting us go without him, but I pointed out that the Impossible Son now gets very freaked out at scary things, whether it's on TV, in the movies, or in a book, so it made sense to scout out the movie first and get a feel for whether we thought he could handle it or not.

I missed most of the ending of "Half Blood Prince," because the Impossible Son and I hadn't gotten to Dumbledore's death yet (we were still reading the book), so he was completely unprepared for it when it happened in the movie. I can't believe I was so stupid about it, but I didn't want to spoil the book for him, and had one of those, "Duh, Stupid," moments of thinking waaaay too hard and not clicking that, duh, he'll see the movie and know how the book ends!! *head-desk* I spent most of the time after Dumbledore's death holding him while he cried quietly with his face buried in my shirt and his hands cutting off the circulation in my arms. Not one of my more brilliant mom moments, no.

He very much wants to see this movie, so... I wanted to be sure and see how many "Impossible Freak-Outs" there would be, and... there's a lot. So... I'll have to balance how much he wants to see it against how many nights I want to spend several hours guiding him through pushing the bad dreams that will inevitably result away.

Anyhow, the Impertinent One and I were determined to go, so after receiving THO's blessings (and possible forgiveness for seeing it before he does), I went early to buy tickets... just in case. Small town, small movie cinema... it just pays be be prepared. I asked if they had sold a lot of tickets yet (it was almost 7 p.m.) and the cashier smiled and said, "So far, we've sold about 60, but we're anticipating selling out. There's been a lot of phone calls over the last week, and there's probably going to be a lot of people buying tickets just before we start the movie."

That sounded about right, so I paid for the tickets and hurried home, because it was getting COLD!! A front moved in last night, so the temperature was dropping, which... sort of added to the mood, you know?

Anyhow, Miss Priss and I had to repress our excitement and do our usual evening things. Eating dinner. Doing homework. Pretending to read the paper or watch TV while really watching the clock. Heh.

When it was finally time and we got to the cinema, we found that so many people had come to watch the movie that they had to open a second theater! And that one was filling up!! It was awesome!!

I had no idea there were so many Harry Potter geeks in our town!!

They had a trivia game for free movie passes, and I was polite and only answered one of the questions, and we got two free movie passes!! SQUEE!! So when (and if) the four of us go to see it a second time, two of us will go free! SWEET!!

And we had a lot of fun, too! At 14, the Impertinent One is old enough to whisper back and forth with me as we make jokes, or complain about things they changed from the book, or notice Things (Or People) That Should Not Be There, like the hapless member of the film crew who got caught in a shot during one of the forest scenes, and had to creep away through the trees in the background. That was worth a bit muffled laughter on our parts!

I do want to make one querulous complaint.

Okay, so... we see Bellatrix Lestrange in "Order of the Phoenix" in prison. She's dirty, has matted hair, torn clothes, but... her teeth are clean and quite nice. And they look even better when she shows up in the Ministry. Then we see her again in "Half-Blood Prince," and again, nice, clean teeth.

So... where the hell did the mossy, snaggly, possibly-borrowed-from-a-dental-hygiene-challenged-troll teeth come from??? I'm just sayin'...

Anyhow, we sat there for a moment after it was over, going, "WHOA!!" and just ... trying to process it all. OMG... it was... like riding a roller coaster on a cold day with a sharp wind, and you forgot your hat and your eyes are constantly watering, but you don't want to stop or close your eyes, and... WHOA!!!

And Steve Kloves? Thanks for giving Hedwig a total BAMF moment. I think I fell in love with you a little bit for that!

WHOA!!! Just... WHOA!!!

Oy, what a long day...

What I really want to do right now is fall face first into my bed and pass out for the next... oh, 72 hours, maybe?

It's been a long, long day, because I spent most of it with the Impertinent Daughter in the emergency room of South Austin Hospital. She woke up with stomach pain this morning, then started throwing up, and got very dehydrated. I took her in to see our family doctor, who was worried about appendicitis, so... he sent us to the emergency room in South Austin.

Since she had no fever, and her labs looked good, only showing dehydration from the vomiting, they gave her anti-nausea medication, pain meds, and put her on an I.V. We came home around 5 p.m., and she's now in bed with her Calcifer curled up against her neck, a paw placed proprietarily on her head so he can keep an eye on her. She's basically on "watch and wait" status at the moment, no school tomorrow, plenty of rest, plenty of fluids, that sort of thing.

Are we having fun yet?

*looks longingly at the bed*

Y'all have any idea how uncomfortable the chairs in E.R. bays tend to be? And you can only knit for so long before you start going buggy. I'll just keep my fingers crossed tonight that she's over whatever this was, and we don't have to go back to the E. R. or the doctor any time soon. And now, I'm going to go face-plant on the bed. Good night, everybody!

ETA: I should add that I knew she was doing better when she sat up and said, "I feel like drawing." When we'd left to go to the doctor, she forgot her sketchbook (which she never, ever does. Ever.) and when I stopped at the house to pick up a few necessary items before rushing on to the E.R., she sort of listlessly picked up her DS bag out of habit... but not her sketchbook. It was profoundly disturbing!

When Ketchup Meets Impertinent Force

Dear Bill Nye the Science Guy,

Thank you so much for teaching my children, especially the Impertinent Daughter, all about physics. You made learning science so much fun, and you also made it easy to apply what they learned.

In fact, my daughter learned a whole new way to apply the physics of centrifugal force! She learned that if you're running low on ketchup and want to get all that ketchup at the bottom of the jar to the top quickly, you can apply centrifugal force and this is what happens!!





Oh, and this, too!



As you can see, it made quite a splatter pattern. What you can't see is the ketchup that was on the floor, up the utility room door (and window), and, as I discovered later, across Calcifer's back! It was very impressive!!

She thought she had pushed the lid closed. As you can see, it wasn't.

I am sure that sometime, when the Husbandly One and I are about sixty, and ready for the kitchen remodel, we'll finally get rid of the ketchup on the ceiling. Why not now?

That stipple on the ceiling? It's called a "Popcorn" ceiling. And let me tell you something. That stuff is a BITCH to clean! You can't even vacuum spider webs off a popcorn ceiling without knocking the little white "popcorns" off, and if you're not careful, you'll end up with a big blank hole.

I hate the damn popcorn ceilings in this house.

Well, anyway, Mr. Nye, thanks for teaching my daughter all about centrifugal force. I can't wait until she remembers your lessons on particle physics!!

sardonically,

Jo