Because this really annoys me....

When I dropped my son off at the junior high this morning, and my daughter at the high school, I couldn't help but notice the groups gathered around the flag poles at both schools.  In case some of you are unaware, today is See You At The Pole Day, and that means Christian students and teachers gather around the flag pole of their respective schools to pray and "fight" for their right to pray on taxpayer land.

And... of course, they are completely missing the point.

See, they're doing it under the mistaken notion that their faith is somehow under attack because they aren't allowed to officially pray in school.  They aren't allowed to have that moment after the pledge of allegiance to have someone lead a prayer over the loudspeakers, or before a football game, etc, etc.

And they think that means they are being persecuted.

Here is what is actually happening.  They aren't being prevented from praying in school or at school sanctioned events because they're Christian.  They're being prevented from doing it because school districts are unwilling to allow other faiths the same right and access.

In other words, Christians can't have officially sanctioned school prayer because Buddhists can't have officially sanctioned school chants, and Muslims can't have officially sanctioned calls to prayer throughout the day for interested students, and Wiccans can't have officially sanctioned circles...

Are you getting my drift?  It isn't the government that's doing this.  It's the school districts.  Because... if they let one faith group do their thing, then they have to let them all do their thing.  If they allow Christians to proselytize, then they have to allow all of them to proselytize.  If they allow Christians to pass out Bibles, they have to allow Muslims to pass out Korans, Jews to pass out Torahs, Wiccans to pass out Redes... you see?

If you allow one group to do it, you have to allow them all.  And school districts aren't prepared to have hysterical parents calling in because little Johnny brought home a Koran, or little Susie wants to go dance naked in the city park under a full moon at the next Sabbat.  Hysterical Christian parents.  Because, of course, the only true religion is Christianity, never mind that none of you can get your messages straight or even decide which one of your many, many denominations is the actual true faith.

So, my dear Christian friends, your rights aren't being trampled on.  ALL of us are having our rights trampled on... because of you.  Because you think you're more equal than us.  So basically, you're doing it to yourselves, and dragging the rest of us along with you.  And you know what?  We're kind of tired of that.  So stop.  Just stop.  And get over yourselves.  Because you don't see any of us at the schools, demanding the right to practice our faith, or not practice a faith, on the school grounds.  We're not there demanding those rights because we're perfectly happy to have the schools teach math, science, reading, history... you know, all the stuff the schools are supposed to be teaching?  And treating all our kids equally, no matter their ethnic origin, gender, religion, etc, etc?  That's part of the separation between the church and the state that Christians apparently don't quite grasp.  So, we're happy that there isn't religion in schools because it doesn't belong there.

So stop freaking out over the non-existent persecution.  The rest of us would like to be left in peace.

And The Growing Continues...

Last Tuesday, the Impossible Son was complaining of a headache, sore muscles, and nausea.  When I took his temperature, it was a stunning 96.4 F.  So... no fever.  I figured it was the result of not enough sleep after a three day weekend and pronounced him mostly fit for school.  However, in the car, he turned green and looked likely to hurl, so I turned around and brought him back home.

I knew something was off when I suggested a nap and he went without protest.

My son has been protesting naps since the advanced age of two.

But last Tuesday, he said, "Huh... good idea," and promptly went to bed.

When he woke up five and a half hours later, he'd grown an inch.  I am totally serious about this.  He was taller when he woke up than he was when he went to sleep.  Noticeably taller.

He's grown another inch since then, and I have a feeling he's going to do it again today.  Because, once again, he woke up complaining of a headache and nausea, but this time, he's added a sore throat to the mix.  I sent him to school after giving him something for the headache and congestion that had led to the sore throat, and they called me around 10:30 to come pick him up.

When we got home, as we were walking through the door, I said, "Maybe you should take a nap... wait, where'd you go?"

He was in bed before I could finish my sentence.  Taking a nap.

He's going to grow again, I just know it.  And dammit, that means MORE SOCKS.  And probably another pair of shoes.

Shoot.  Me.  Now.

Growing, Growing, Too Much Growing!

I cannot keep up with my son's rate of growth.

He's twelve years old, and already looks like a teenager, all arms, legs, and lankiness.  Yesterday morning, while getting ready for school, he came to me and said, "Mom, I'm out of socks."

"Look in your drawer," I said while finishing up lunches, "I know there were four pair in there two days ago."

"There are no socks in my drawer, Mom, I looked!" he insisted.

Grumbling to myself, I went to check and sure enough, lots of underwear, no socks.  So, I headed for my bedroom and the Sock Basket.

In case you're wondering, the Sock Basket is a small laundry basket where we toss all the socks with missing partners.  Sometimes, the missing socks turn up buried in the furniture, hidden under the bookcases or, even more surprisingly, on the shelves of the bookcases.  I have found socks where you expect, jammed into shoes or hidden under beds or the kitchen table.  And I have found socks where you don't expect, like... in a box of music CDs, or on top of the XBox.  And I've found them where you shouldn't expect to, like... between the pages of a book?  Really???  Stuffed into one of the drawers of the china cabinet?   Seriously, guys?? What possible reason would any of you have for stuffing your dirty smelly socks in there???

It's moments like those that I realize my children are strange, strange people.  But I love them anyway.

So, I went to the sock basket, figuring I could at least give the Impossible Son a mis-matched pair of socks, which seems to be all the rage among the teenagers of our small town anyway.  No, really.  They buy pairs of wildly colored or striped or spotted or patterned socks and deliberately mix them up, and wear the resulting mis-matched pairs.  I was dubious at first because, hey, grownup here, raised by parents who kept all our clothes strictly matched and handed down ironclad rules of dressing: 

1.  "No plaids and stripes shall be worn at the same time!!"

2.  "White shoes shall not be worn before Memorial Day nor after Labor Day, unless you are in the Navy and serving in Florida or the Tropics, and you, Young Lady, are not in the Navy!"

3.  "Sandals will not be worn before May, nor after September, I don't care if it's December 25th and it's 90 degrees F and we live in Texas.  It's just Not Done."

4.  "All socks shall be matched and be the same color, and they shall be a color the same as or complimentary to the outfit you are wearing.  And if no matching socks are clean, you shall wear sandals, unless it's before May or after September, in which case, you are Out Of Luck."

However, I got over it, and have seen the mismatched sock thing as a good way to empty out the Sock Basket.  So getting into the spirit of it, I found a mismatched pair for the Impossible Son and handed them over.

Ten seconds later, "Mom... they're too small."

"What do you mean?  We just got you those socks."  

I looked down.  Now, these are what my kids call "footie" socks.  They're the short little socks that barely show over the top of your sneakers, and my son is particularly fond of them.  The sock should come up over the top of his foot and up the back of his heel.  But it doesn't.  It doesn't come up over his heel.  It's too short.

Jaw dropping, I grab another pair of large socks and hand them over.  These are supposed to come up to the ankle.  Except... they don't come up over his heel, either.  So... I grabbed a pair of the Husbandly One's socks, a mismatched pair as well, and they fit.  Kind of.

"How does Papa stand these?" the Impossible Son asks conversationally as he tilts his feet side to side, peering at them dubiously.

"He loves them," I said, putting the other socks back in the basket.  "He says they're very comfortable."

"They're kind of tight around the top," and I look down and sure enough, I see red lines pressing into his skin where the socks end.

I stare at him.  "Honey," I said slowly, "I can't give you any of my socks, because my feet are much smaller than yours.  And I can't give you any of your sister's socks, because her feet are smaller than mine!"

"I know," he said miserably.  "I'll... just wear these."

I had just bought my son socks.  And he had outgrown them in less than two weeks. 

*pauses to hyperventilate*

You know, I thought I was prepared for this.  I thought, because I've already been through the teenaged thing with the Impertinent Daughter, that I at least had an idea of what to expect.  And it sank in.

This... is going to be totally different.  Teenaged boys have a completely different growth rate than girls.  I knew this intellectually, of course.  But I was basically being slapped upside the head with it.  

When the Impertinent Daughter started her growth spurts, she outgrew a brand new pair of shoes in less than an hour.  They had fit just fine in the store, had plenty of wiggle room, and were comfortable.  We put the shoes back in the box, took them to the cash register, bought them, and went home.  She took the shoes out of the box, put them on, took three steps and cried out, "They're too tight!!"

Understand, she's still wearing the same socks she'd worn to try the shoes on.

I knelt in front of her, just like I had in the store, and felt her feet in the shoes, and it felt like her feet were about to burst out of them.  Literally.  I made her take them off and put her old shoes back on.  

She couldn't get them on.

I thought maybe her feet had swollen for... whatever reason feet swell, so I said, "Hey, run around barefoot for now, we'll try them again in the morning."

She couldn't get them on in the morning.

When we went back to the store, her feet had grown a whole size bigger!

So... I thought, when it came to the Impossible Son, hey, I can handle it!

Riiiiiiight.

He's grown nearly four and a half inches since last May.  Which doesn't sound like much, until I tell you that three of them were just in the last two and a half weeks!!  And his hands are now officially bigger than mine, which I know isn't saying much because I have small hands.  His feet are huge right now (think Sora from Kingdom Hearts), and I know that means he's going to grow again, to fit those big feet.

He's going to be taller than me.

I knew that.  I expect that, but it was always in the distant future, when he would be sixteen, seventeen... not now.  Not... like... by next summer, when he'll be thirteen.

Holy Mackinoly... he's going to be thirteen.

*hyperventilates*

He's my youngest child, and all of a sudden, time's passage is rushing by me as I watch his jaw lengthen, his chin lose it's pointy-ness, his face taking on a more adult aspect, and my baby is receding further and further into the past.  I no longer see the cheerful toddler, or the bouncy kid with the big grin, I see the adult that is to come, and whoa!

Then he catches a toad and brings it to show me. And goes flying awkwardly after it when it hops out of his hands.

Yep.  The kid is still there.  And I can still smoke his butt at Smash Brothers.

Hey, it's the little things...

Impertinent Fan-Art

I've been sitting on this for a while, and kept meaning to post it, but life and stuff, you know?  Gets in the way.

Anyhow, this came about because of a conversation the Impertinent Daughter and I had after one of the "turning the Wraith human" episodes on Stargate Atlantis.  Because we wondered how much of their human characteristics would they retain, how much of the behavior they'd witnessed among the guards would they remember and try to imitate...

What would happen if two Wraith tried to... high five each other?

I don't know what I like most... the verbally challenged drone, or the "Oh, crap!" moment, followed by flailing.

Library Day...

For the past four or five summers, Mondays have been Animanga Club days for my kids at the San Marcos public library.  For my kids, this means three hours to hang out with other kids who not only understand anime and manga, they truly, truly get it.

For me, this means three hours of interruption free writing time.

In the past, because my old laptop had a very short battery life, and... it was big, I was limited to places wherever I could find a plug, and had a nice big table to set up on.  And believe me, the tables with plugs at the San Marcos library fill up fast.

This also meant people being able to look over my shoulder to see what I was typing away at so industriously, often to their (and my) chagrin.  And as I've said in the past, I have issues with people being able to look over my shoulder when I'm working, whether it's writing, sketching, sewing... I don't like it.

Now, however, I have my new SHINY, and I'm sitting with my back to a wall.  It's... nice.  Plus, the MacBook is light, and doesn't get hot, so... I can have it in my lap.  If I get really adventurous, I might go hole up in one of the library's out of the way corners to write... except then, the kids would panic because they wouldn't be able to find me when the club lets out.  Oh well.

I can't get over how quiet this laptop is.  There's no optical drive, so... no whirring, no clicks, no fan noise... just the gentle clicking of my keyboard.  And wow, isn't that miles and miles away from the loud percussive clacking of the IBM Selectric I first learned to type on in junior high?

Yes, I'm that old.  Typing was required when I was in junior high.

So... it's nice to only hear quiet when I sit here and write.

Just thought I'd mention it...

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.

Because cats, they love the technology, too...

Why, yes, I DID allow my cat to play on my iPad mini... why do you ask???