You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Is it just me?' category.
Ambiguphobia—the fear of being misunderstood. (No, I did not just make that up. It’s a real thing, people.) I’ve always known I have it, but I don’t think I realized the depth of my ambiguphobia until yesterday when I discovered how many people had no idea what I meant by the title of my blog and my online handle. It was…distressing. I think particularly because I had spent so much time congratulating myself on the clever conception of the name when I started this whole blogging endeavor.
“Look, lbs like pounds and also like me! I’m lbs! And when I write something it’s like By lbs! And when you buy things, you can buy them by the lb! (Only there’s an “s” in my initials, so it would be by the lbs, which is even better because that makes the play on words even more obvious!) Buy things like nuts! I’m nutty! Nutty goodness! By the lbs: nutty goodness in bulk or by the pound! That’s it! That’s the name! The perfect name!”
I’m not sure why it never occurred to me before that this line of reasoning wouldn’t be completely obvious to everyone else, especially given how you all wouldn’t automatically know what my initials even are. I must have assumed that the bythelbs would be sufficiently odd (I mean, who says “Oh yeah, I buy these by the pounds.” You don’t buy by the pounds, you buy by the pound.) that one would naturally deduce that “lbs” must also represent something else like, say, initials. “Oh, this blog must be written by someone with the initials lbs. By the lbs. By the pounds. Snort. I get it. Clever girl.” I am an idiot.
Now that I think about it, it’s really very unlike me to take this kind of thing for granted. I am like the queen of over-explaining myself. Well, at least in my mind I am. I say something to a friend or type something in a comment on a blog, maybe something I think is witty or clever and then I sit there and wonder if anyone will get it, but when you have to explain a joke it’s not really funny, right? Particularly with the blogs (because you can’t add all those subtle nuances of voice inflection and delivery that are sometimes vital clues to how a joke is best interpreted or received), I’ll sit there staring at a comment I’ve just written, debating back and forth whether I’ve been sufficiently clear. Am I clear? AM I CLEAR?! Dare I submit? DARE I?! Sometimes in my lack of confidence I just erase my comment and click away. Better to say nothing than to have people mistakenly think I’m a dork.
And it’s not just about the joke. I worry about offending people with a misunderstanding. When I was walking my girls home from school yesterday, Goose and BigHugs had run out a few yards ahead of me. They are pretty good about stopping at each corner and waiting for me before crossing the street, but they were approaching this one crosswalk at kind of a jog and I noticed a big truck getting ready to turn through it so I yelled, “Stop!” And when the girls didn’t immediately stop, I yelled, “Stop! Stop! STOP!!!” And then the truck driver looked at me as he drove past with us all standing on the corner, and I was suddenly worried that perhaps he thought I was yelling at him to stop, so I immediately said in a voice I hoped was loud enough to carry the 20 feet down the street he had already gone, “GIRLS, YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE TO STOP AT THE CORNER AND WAIT FOR ME. THAT NICE TRUCK WAS TRYING TO TURN.” But in retrospect, he was most likely giving me the evil eye for letting my young children run wild on the sidewalks.
I’m not one for acknowledging strangers I pass on the street. As I’m walking, I usually just keep my head down and pretend I’m preoccupied with something. If I’m with BigHugs I might start talking to her just as I’m approaching someone so that they can think I am too engrossed in my conversation with my three year old to notice them rather than think that I’m unfriendly. I would be happy to be friendly. A “hi” or a head nod or even just a smile is not beyond my capacity for interaction with my fellow human beings, but I’m afraid of the possibility of that being misinterpreted as well. When I walk to pick up my girls after school, there’s this nice young Asian man sitting at the bus stop on the way. One day I just happened to look in his direction just as he was looking up from his book and I felt trapped, so I smiled. He smiled back. A perfectly lovely random encounter. Then the next time I walked to school, I made a special point of smiling at him because I figured we had already established this smiling relationship and it would just be rude to go back to ignoring him. He smiled again. Then the next time I did this kind of combo smile/quick head nod/staccatoed “Hi” thing and he just kind of looked away. No smile. Did he see me? Did I breech some kind of code of social etiquette progression by moving up to the “Hi” so soon after the smile relationship was established? Was he beginning to worry that this wacko old lady mom was trying to hit on him? Did he take my head nod/Hi as a mockery of his Asian culture? It was a nod, not a bow! A “hi”, not a “hai!” (No pick! No pick!!) Then last Monday I was driving the kids to piano in the opposite direction that I walk to the school, and I saw my young Asian man friend sitting at a different bus stop on the opposite side of the street. Did he change bus routes just to avoid me? Did I make him that uncomfortable? But then yesterday he was standing up at his regular bus stop, and as I approached him he shot me a big, beaming grin. So either I had nothing to worry about to begin with, my paranoid delusions getting the best of me yet again, or my young Asian man friend has thought about it, weighed the pros and cons, and decided to accept my unintentional advances. I suppose either way, I’m golden.
And now I don’t remember where I thought I was going with this whole thing, but I’m afraid any further attempts to explain myself will only serve to muddy the waters into muddied waters oblvion, so I’ll just say, “Hi. My name is Bythelbs. I mean LBS. I mean my actual initials are L.B.S. But I go by Bythelbs. Like by the pounds, as in by the pound, and also by the lbs, as in my actual initials. And I’m an ambiguphobic.”
Are you?
Classic crazy.
Oh Jorge, Jorge. Is there no end to your social ineptitude?
My husband received (via Facebook) a second “invitation” to contribute to the groom’s gift for the bride:
Subject: Help for my Wedding Surprise
Dear Friend,
As you may know I am getting married soon. Elektra is a wonderful young woman who is everything I’ve ever wanted. Because of my current circumstances I am unable to buy her a nice wedding gift. I am writing this to see, if possible, if a few of you can donate just $10 to us so that I can buy her something nice.If you can, please go to (some website) and donate just $10 so that I can have something nice for her to enjoy. On the site just put in (some number) as our registry number and then using a Credit card you can donate.
I want to thank you all in advance for your generous help. You have all been great friends to Elektra and I.
Thanks,
Jorge
Sound familiar? Yeah, basically it’s just a condensed, cut-to-the-chase version of the first e-mail. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say he probably hasn’t had the response he’d hoped for. He’s coming off a little desperate. I’m halfway tempted to go to the stupid website and add $0.01 to his account, but there’s probably a minimum amount you can charge to a credit card, and there are limits to the lengths I will go to thumb my nose at someone—even someone as deserving as our friend Jorge.
I predict the next e-mail will say, “I want my ten dollars!” We’ll never know if I’m right, though, as Chuck has had enough and unfriended him today. I only wish he’d thought to send him a parting piece of flair:
My husband forwarded me this message he got from a Facebook “friend” (names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty):
Subject: Wedding Surprise Help!?!
Dear Friends of Jorge & Elektra,
As many of you may know I am getting married soon. Elektra is a wonderful young woman who is everything I’ve ever wanted. Because of my current circumstances I am unable to buy her a nice wedding gift. I am writing this to see, if possible, if any of you can donate just $10 to us so that I can buy her the thing that she wants most. The thing she wants is a nice Kitchen Aid Mixer. She loves to bake and cook in the kitchen but without the right tools she get frustrated, so I wanted to get this for her as a wedding gift.If you can, please go to (website) and donate just $10 so that I can have something nice for her to enjoy after we come back from the honeymoon. On the site just put in (a number) as our registry number and then using a Credit card you can donate.
I want to thank you all in advance for your generous help. You have all been great friends to Elektra and I.
Thanks,
Jorgep.s. Don’t let Elektra know about this email. I want it to be a surprise.
A little background: Jorge was a missionary who served in our area a few years back. Chuck served in our church congregation as mission leader for several years, so he has a few former missionaries as Facebook friends. So we kind of know him. Actually, one time when Chuck was giving this Elder and his companion a ride home after eating dinner at our house, he pulled out his camera and took a picture of DynaGirl in her carseat (she was three at the time). Chuck thought that was kind of odd, but whatever. Then the next time he goes to pick up the Elders from their apartment, he sees that this Elder has that picture of DynaGirl framed on his desk. Super odd! And creepy! We didn’t know what we were supposed to do about that, and then he was transferred to a different area before we made up our minds.
Does anyone else find this more than a little tacky or is it just me? See, my eyes read that, but my mind sees:
Subject: Wedding Surprise Help!?!
Dear Friends of Jorge & Elektra,
As many of you may know I am getting married soon. (For those of you who didn’t know it’s because you’re not invite-worthy. But you’re certainly ”can you give us a handout since we’re such good friends” worthy.) Elektra is a wonderful young woman who is everything I’ve ever wanted. (See, she is really deserving.) Because of my current circumstances I am unable to buy her a nice wedding gift. (I’ve blown all my money on pyramid schemes and video games.) I am writing this to see, if possible, if any of you can donate just $10 to us so that I can buy her the thing that she wants most. (I need to sweeten the deal a bit.) The thing she wants is a nice Kitchen Aid Mixer. She loves to bake and cook in the kitchen but without the right tools she get frustrated (that’s what he said), so I wanted to get this for her as a wedding gift. (Don’t just give us a gift, help me buy a gift that I can put my name on and get all the credit for.)If you can, please go to (website) and donate just $10 (just the price of two lattes, you selfish b*******) so that I can have something nice for her to enjoy after we come back from the honeymoon. (She’s probably going to need some consolation.) On the site just put in (a number) as our registry number and then using a Credit card you can donate. (No personal checks, please)
I want to thank you all in advance for your generous help. You have all been great friends to Elektra and I. (Great friends give money.)
Thanks,
Jorge (Prince of Nigeria)p.s. Don’t let Elektra know about this email. I want it to be a surprise. (I don’t want Elektra to know it isn’t from me. Plus she’d be totally mortified if she knew I was panhandling on the internets.)
Apparently, it’s snarky Tuesday. Wow, sometimes I think I’m really not a very nice person. That’ll teach Jorge to ask for a favor when it’s that time of the month. Don’t mind me. Just go about your business in your usual generous, compassionate way while I slather on the SPF 5000.
Are you someone who keeps three sticks of anti-perspirant deoderant in various stages of use in your bathroom drawer?
See, when you start getting to the point where you can no longer twist up, you buy a new stick. And then not too long after you can no longer twist up, you’re dangerously close to the dipping below the rim and scraping the crud out of your armpit territory. So just to be safe, you start on the new stick because the scraping is not so nice you see, and even though you’re pretty sure you have a good 5-7 more uses before you get to scrapage you figure why risk it. But you don’t throw the almost to scrapage stick away because it might possibly have those 5-7 applications left (and maybe the 5-7 is really more of an 8-10—you don’t know for sure because you’ve never actually paid attention to how many passes you make under each arm every morning and you’re totally ignorant of the pass to wear-down ratio) and you’re not about the wasting of a perfectly good 5-7 or maybe 8-10 applications left stick of anti-perspirant deoderant plus also who knows when you might be in need of an emergency reserve stick because knowing yourself, you realize there have been times in your past when you’ve moved onto the new stick and worn it down to the scrapage point and beyond because even though you’ve been to Target 17 times in the past three weeks you manage to forget to buy a new stick every time regardless of whether or not it’s been on your shopping list and you’re about two seconds away from scooping out the dregs and rubbing them under your arms with your bare fingers when you realize that somewhere in the back of your drawer there is the reserve stick with 5-7 or maybe even 8-10 additional applications and then out comes the hallelujah chorus because you really don’t enjoy the scooping out of the dregs and the rubbing of them under the arms with the bare fingers thing. (And if I had any idea how to properly punctuate the preceding paragraph, I totally might consider some editing in there.)
Emergency preparedness is a good and wise thing, you see? Only in your bathroom drawer, the sticks look like this:
And you’re constantly forgetting which is which. Is the brand new stick staying on your skin and not on your clothes? Is the emergency reserve stick stickerless? Or does it have 6 ultimate benefits? Which is the stick you’re currently using again? What are those 6 ultimate benefits about anyways?
Does anyone buy deoderant that says “like maybe half a day of wetness and odor protection”? Why hasn’t Dove moved up to 1/2 moisturizers? They’ve been doing this 1/4 thing for years. Who doesn’t want more moisturizing? And wait a minute, beautiful frangrances?
Um, hello, are they trying to pull some kind of fast one here? I’m buying the sensitive skin frangrance free for a reason, I think. It’s all so confusing.
Speaking of confusing, so all of your sticks look basically the same, right? And sometimes you just grab any old stick, absent-mindedly rip off the lid and get down to business. Totally no big deal if you grab the currently using stick or even the emergency reserve stick, as long as you haven’t accidentally grabbed the reserve stick more than 5-7 or 8-10 times. But trust me, you do not want to find yourself on the business end of the brand-new, never before used, sealed for your protection stick.
Not a pleasant surprise, by which I mean “Good frick, that smarts!” I can hardly believe there’s not blood or some other DNA evidence dripping from the protruding plastic pokers of pain! Ouch! And frick! And also FRICK!
So let that be a lesson to you, my friends—a little note to self, if you will. Always, always, always remove the devil’s protection cap of pain from your anti-perspirant deoderant before chucking it into your drawer with your currently using and emergency reserve sticks. Frick!
(I considered photographing the crime scene, but it’s been over 24 hours since I’ve done any grooming in the pittal area, and I’m just not sure I’m ready to take that step in our relationship.)
Have you ever been offered hard liquor at two in the afternoon at a 7 year-old’s birthday party? Yeah, me neither. Until Saturday.
So Friday Goose comes home all excited because she’s been invited to her not-so-secret crush’s (we’ll call him B) birthday party the next day. She hands me the invitation. It’s a scrap of notebook paper with an address, date and time. She says B’s mother handed it to her personally, so I figure it’s probably legit. She adores the birthday boy, so I don’t see how I can get out of taking her to this one. On Saturday we go to B’s house. It’s in a decent neighborhood, the house is well-kept, and the parents seem like normal, responsible adults, so I’m not too worried.
There’s only one other guest–another little boy from Goose’s class. It’s a pretty low-key party. They just expected the kids to play. I’m a little surprised at the number of birthday parties that do not include any sort of organized games or activities. I’m beginning to think I’m kind of a freak about the birthday parties as the ones I throw always have something going on. But I think that’s mostly because I’m afraid to just let the kids run loose or get bored. In my experience, bored kids can be dangerous.
Anyway, every 20 minutes or so B’s mom says to your husband “Where’s Crazy Grandma? Why isn’t she here yet?” Crazy Grandma? They explain it’s the nickname they’ve given his mom. I’m thinking this must be a fun lady—the life of the party—to have earned such a name. Finally about an hour and a half into the party, Crazy Grandma shows up. She drives up in a big ol’ truck and comes to a near shrieking halt at the end of the driveway. And she’s brought a “friend” who I suspect is actually a “life partner”. Though no-one specifically spells that out, it’s seems pretty obvious. But hey, that’s cool. Crazy Grandma has a girlfriend–no big deal.
Crazy Grandma comes bearing gifts–grocery sacks filled with all kinds of packages wrapped in Christmas wrap and newspaper. She chucks most of them on the floor of the garage (that’s where the party was), and then takes the last bag filled with cylindrical newspaper wrapped items into the house. She comes back out with a tall glass of somekind of non-carbonated brown liquid on ice and proceeds to introduce herself. I tell her I’m Goose’s mother and she says, “Oh, the girlfriend!” Pardon? Apparently, B’s family gets even more of an earful about Goose than we do about B. I knew that there was a mutual affection there, but it was still a little disconcerting to have my 6 year-old be referred to as the “girlfriend” by Crazy Grandma.
Crazy Grandma is a lovely woman. Very lively. Very friendly. A very gracious and attentive hostess even at someone else’s home. About 2 minutes into our conversation she says, “Can I get you a drink? I have some vodka in the house.” I politely decline and then instantly feel like I’ve been transported into some kind of alternate reality. Is this normal? The service of hard liquor at 1st graders’ birthday parties? I don’t have a lot of friends who drink, so I’m wondering is it just me or is being offered vodka at a kid’s birthday party at 2 pm not totally whacked?
I don’t think I see much of a long-term future for this Goose and B romance.
What did you do this weekend?
I usually walk my girls to school every morning as it is only a few blocks away, but this morning it was cold and Goose has a cold and, well, let’s be honest, I was feeling kind of lazy so I decided to drop them off. There are no words to describe the depth of my loathing for that special circle of hell that is the elementary school parking lot. The parking lot has a lane designated for drop offs. You pull into the lane and wait until you are in the safe drop off zone, let your child out, and then get the heck out of there so that the other parents can do the same. And, of course, all the while remembering to pull forward as to not waste any of the precious drop off zone space. It’s really not that hard until you have some joker who takes a good 5 minutes to push their kid out the door, and then you’re screwed. Everything’s all backed up. And then you have the other jokers who just can’t wait, so they completely bypass the drop off lane and pull directly into the drop off zone. There is no bypassing, people. No bypassing!
Today I was in the zone letting out my girls. The code of the zone is sacred, people. Wait your turn, pull forward, drop off quickly, move along. I know the code. I live by the code. And poor Goose this morning pinches her finger in the handle as she’s trying to pull the van door shut. Do I get out of the car to comfort her? No, you don’t get out of the car. There is no drivers exiting the vehicles in the code. Only pulling forward and moving along. I do my best to console her through the window, making my sincerest face of sympathy, blowing a kiss, and then nodding vigorously with a smile to reassure her she would be fine. The two cars ahead of me pull out and just as I’m easing my way out after them, another car cuts right in front of me, blocking off my exit. She’s not even pulled in next to the curb, so I can’t get around her. Finally, after her kid is out the door, she realizes she’s going to have to back up to get out and almost hits me! I have nowhere to back up—there’s a line of cars behind me, for crying out loud! This woman does not live by the code. Who is she to think she can live outside of the code?
So I’m good and bothered by the time I get home. And hungry. I figure a forkful of leftover birthday cake will be just the thing to chase my troubles away. But there’s no birthday cake. Nope. Uh-uh. The cake is gone. No trace of the cake. Not a sprinkle. Not a crumb. I can only assume that Chuck took the entire container of leftover birthday cake (which was easily like three pieces worth) to work with him. The whole thing! I’m totally not telling him where the Halloween candy’s stashed. When I get the Halloween candy.
DynaGirl’s birthday is tomorrow. I had asked her to make me a wish list, so I would have some idea of what she might like. Here’s what she gave me.
DynaGirl’s Birthay (her typo, not mine) List!
Webkinz 1. Alligator 2. Sheep 3. Deer 4. Dolphin 5. Frog 6. Chipmunk 7. Simeese cat 8. Chicken 9. Rottwiler 10. Google 12. Manity 11. Ali Cat 13. Girl lion 14. Carmel lion 15. Leopard (Please, don’t get me all the webkinz on my list)
Mini white Board
original Checkers
live Puppy
Half couch
$50.07¢
50 dollars
Sewing Machine (Sewing Lessonds)
Picture frames
pens
two Mirrors
Flamingo Posters
Rock BAND (then there’s a little picture of a microphone, drums, and two guitars)
More sticy Tac
Scarfs
Sticky notes
very BIG Boxes
I loved that she felt the need to request that I not buy every Webkinz on her list. As if. I did buy her one of those—the one that Goose begged me not to buy because she wants the same one. My girls have this perpetual “copying” feud going on where if someone wants the same thing as the other, the other just assumes the someone only wants it because the other wants it, and then if the someone gets it then the other no longer wants it because the someone has it, and even though the other still secretly really, really wants it and will remind the someone that the someone is just a big fat copycat jerk who deprived the other of the other’s heart’s desire, the other will not allow the other’s own anger and grief over the situation to be appeased by the receiving of the same thing because the someone already has it, so the thing is just dead to the other now.
I also asked her to clarify the very BIG boxes request. She said, “Like cardboard boxes. Really BIG boxes.”
My children know that they will never get everything on their lists. Partly because I make that verbally clear every time they hand me a list, and partly from past experience of never having it happen before. Even the years when they’ve given me a very short and modest list that I could easily purchase everything and still stay within the budget, I still make it a point to not get everything on the list. I just don’t want to set that kind of precedent. Plus, I like them to be surprised. The only thing that is more fun than providing them with their requested hearts’ desires is surprising them with their previously unrealized hearts’ desires. Oh, and also the idea that their wish lists are just them writing my shopping lists for me really torques me off.
I know we hear a lot of talk about the sense of entitlement kids seem to have these days, but it’s true. Last year, for my neighbor’s daughter’s (one of DynaGirl’s BFFs) birthday party, my neighbor hired a limo to take everyone to Build-a-Bear and then out to lunch at a trendy (read non-cheap) restaurant. That was in addition to all of the birthday gifts she was already receiving. OK, that’s her perogative as a parent. But I’ve had a really hard time holding my tongue when my neighbor complains about her daughter always asking and whining for things and complaining about the things she does get. Some of these behaviors are learned. We play a part in setting our children’s expectations. (I should add that my neighbor is a wonderful parent in many, many respects. Probably more wonderful than me in many ways. She just has this tendency at times to try to make her kids happy by giving them everything they want.)
My kids do not want for much, but I’m trying really hard to teach them gratitude, and that I don’t owe them anything more than food, clothing, shelter and all of my love. What more should they ask for, right?
So I sent a note with DynaGirl’s math homework, saying I didn’t understand how she was supposed to answer these questions without any context. Her teacher told her that since there was not enough information to really determine the answer, she was to mark one of the middle boxes. Wha? Since when does “there’s no way of knowing based on the information provided” = “kind of unlikely or kind of very likely”? Whatever. It’s still a dumb math program.
As for Mr. T’s teacher, I questioned Mr. T a little more about it today. He said he likes his teacher. She’s nice and fun. Hmmm… Apparently he wasn’t traumatized by the experience. It sounds like she’s fairly young, so I’m going to give her a break and chalk up this particular incident to poor judgment and inexperience. We’ll just have to wait and see if a pattern develops.
And for those of you who are interested, here are the answers to the non-IQ test “test”:
1. 26 L of the A (26 letters of the alphabet)
2. 7 D of the W (7 days of the week)
3. 7 W of the W (7 wonders of the world)
4. 12 S of the Z (12 signs of the zodiac)
5. 66 B of the B (66 books of the bible)
6. 18 H on a G C (18 holes on a golf course)
7. 39 B of the O T (39 books of the old testament)
8. 5 T on a F (5 toes on a foot)
9. 90 D in a R A (90 degrees in a right angle)
10. 3 B M (S H T R) (3 blind mice, see how they run)
11. 32 is the T in D F at which W F (32 is the temperature in degrees Fahrenheit at which water freezes)
12. 15 P in a R T (15 players in a rugby team)
13. 3 W on a T (3 wheels on a tricycle)
14. 100 C in a D (100 coins in a dollar—I think this should have been 100 P in a D)
15. 11 P in a F (S) T (11 players in a football team—I’m guessing the “S” is for starting?)
16. 12 M in a Y (12 months in a year)
17. 13 is U F S (13 is unlucky for some)
18. 8 T on an O (8 tentacles on an octopus)
19. 29 D in F in a L Y (29 days in February in a leap year)
20. 27 B in the N T (27 books in the new testament)
21. 365 D in a Y (365 days in a year)
22. 13 L in a B D (13 loaves in a baker’s dozen)
23. 52 W in a Y (52 weeks in a year)
24. 9 L of a C (9 lives of a cat)
25. 60 M in an H (60 minutes in an hour)
26. 23 P of C in the H B (23 pairs of chromosomes in the human body)
27. 64 S on a C B (64 squares on a chess/checker board)
28. 9 P in S A (9 provinces in South Africa—well, duh)
29. 6 B to an O in C (6 balls to an over in cricket—wha?)
30. 1000 Y in a M (1000 years in a millenium)
31. 15 M on a D M C (15 men on a dead man’s chest)
32. 52 C in a P (W J) ( 52 cards in a pack without jokers)
33. 13 S in the U S F (13 stripes in the United States flag)
I used to be one of those people who thought homeschooling was insane. Why would anyone do that? Why would you want to do that? But now that I’m older and see the differences in children’s needs and learning styles and am better acquainted with the public education system in general, I can understand why some parents would choose this road. It’s still not for me, but I no longer think they’re off their rockers. For the most part.
Last year our school district implemented a new math program at the elementary level designed to teach math skills in a way that students could apply them in everyday life. I guess the idea is that if they can see the practical applications they will more readily understand the concepts. This sounds like a good idea in theory, but I think the execution still leaves something to be desired.
This worksheet was part of DynaGirl’s homework last night:
Number 6 says, “How likely is it that my head will explode?”
DynaGirl (who is in 3rd grade this year) started her homework while I was out running errands. When I came home she was very frustrated. After reading over this worksheet, I totally understood why. There was no accompanying sheet of instructions or story or math book to consult in reference to these questions. We determined that number 1 was very unlikely because turkeys just don’t get that big, do they? But the other questions? Who the hell is Hugh, and how are we supposed to know how old he is likely to be? What do they mean by “mosquitoes for company”? If they’re asking how likely it is that Hugh invited them over for tea, I would say not likely, but if Hugh’s camping or hanging out by a lake or something, then sure he’s more than likely to have a few mosquitoes hanging around. And apparently Hugh is hanging out by a lake because he’s catching a million fish. Only a million likely an exaggeration—you know how men (or boys named Hugh who may or may not be 8 years old) are with their fish stories. And where did these pirates come from? Why cypress trees? Would the answer be any different if they were palm trees?
It’s all so random. Where is the context? What exactly is the lesson here? It’s just stupid. And pointless.
Mr. T is in 7th grade this year and is part of an honors program, which includes advanced math and social studies and English classes for the “gifted” students. On Monday, his social studies teacher told his class that they had over-enrolled the honors classes that year and would be administering an IQ test to determine which kids would stay in the class and which would be dropped. She gave them a 33 question test, and before they started told them that if they got 19 questions right, they would be assured a place in the program and if the got 15 questions right they still had a really good chance, but anything less than that would be iffy.
Needless to say, a lot of the kids were stressed out, and Mr. T said one boy was near tears while taking the test. The test was a series of word puzzles or phrases that included numbers and letters. The letters represented the first letter of a word in a phrases. For example, 24 H in a D would be 24 hours in a day. After the test was over, the teacher informed the class that it was all a joke and that they had just taken the test for fun. Mr. T said he was very relieved as after they corrected the test he found that he had only answered 12 questions correctly.
Are you kidding me? It was a joke? Most of these kids were all freaked out about the possibility of being dropped from the program, and some of them, close to tears, had nearly cracked under the pressure. What kind of teacher does this? So. Lame. And. Wrong.
Just out of curiosity, I took the test and got 18 1/2 right. How many can you get? If anyone gets #28 right, I’ll eat my hat.
1. 26 L of the A
2. 7 D of the W
3. 7 W of the W
4. 12 S of the Z
5. 66 B of the B
6. 18 H on a G C
7. 39 B of the O T
8. 5 T on a F
9. 90 D in a R A
10. 3 B M (S H T R)
11. 32 is the T in D F at which W F
12. 15 P in a R T
13. 3 W on a T
14. 100 C in a D
15. 11 P in a F (S) T
16. 12 M in a Y
17. 13 is U F S
18. 8 T on an O
19. 29 D in F in a L Y
20. 27 B in the N T
21. 365 D in a Y
22. 13 L in a B D
23. 52 W in a Y
24. 9 L of a C
25. 60 M in an H
26. 23 P of C in the H B
27. 64 S on a C B
28. 9 P in S A
29. 6 B to an O in C
30. 1000 Y in a M
31. 15 M on a D M C
32. 52 C in a P (W J)
33. 13 S in the U S F
Yesterday DynaGirl came home with her first homework assignment for third grade.
Dear Parents,
This year I am going to live as a writer. I am bringing home my writer’s notebook to decorate the covers as homework this evening. I can use copies of pictures, stickers, scrapbooking paper, magazine pictures, or anything that is flate, tells something about me and is important to me. I can put clear contact paper over the covers to protect my pictures, if I want to.
My teacher shared her writer’s notebook with me today and she explained how the items on the notebook were important to her. She also told me that I can jot down ideas (or story seeds) in my notebook. We are starting a unit on personal narratives, which means that we are writing about things that have really happened in our lives.
Whenever I bring my writer’s notebook home, it is becase I have homework in it. I will not write entire stories in my notebook, but I will get down some ideas that I might want to write more about in class.
Any way, could you please help me gather some items that I can put on my notebook? I need to decorate it tonight. I want to be proud of the work I do and I need to bring it back to school to share in the morning. I am not ever supposed to leave my writer’s notebook at home.
Here are a couple of example. (Two pictures of students holding they’re notebooks up that you can clearly see.)
Thank you,
Ms. V
I can already tell I am going to love this teacher (despite the fact that she started out the letter as one of the kids and then signed her own name). There is nothing more frustrating as a parent than dealing with vague homework instructions. OK, there are probably a few things more frustrating, but this is definitely a pet peeve of mine. I can’t tell you how many times my kids have been almost completely clueless when it comes to a specific project or assignment. I ask for details and the response is inevitably, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember. She didn’t say. I don’t think we have to worry about it.” But I always worry about it. This teacher thoroughly explains the assignment, what is expected and suggests how to accomplish it. She tells me exactly what this notebook will be used for in very specific terms and even makes it clear where this notebook should be (school/home). And she provides examples! In color! I love it! Plus, it just sounds like a great idea.
So DynaGirl and I spent all afternoon on this thing, leafing through magazines, cutting out pictures, printing stuff out on the computer, arranging, pasting, etc. I do not keep a supply of clear contact paper in my crafty bag of tricks (aka the laundry room), and while the teacher said that the clear contact paper cover was optional, it occurred to me that glue-stick and magazine cutouts and frequently handled notebooks was not a recipe for durability, so I decided to make a quick run to the store.
I headed to my friendly neighborhood Freddy’s because it’s conveniently close, and there’s always the possibility I might run into Jananne (I did give her another chance and she has not let me down—yet). I searched high and low in Freddy’s for clear contact paper. They didn’t appear to have any, so I looked around for laminating sheets. They didn’t appear to have any of those either. I headed up to the customer service desk just to make sure they didn’t have some stashed some place that had never occurred to me to check. The gal said, “I don’t know. I guess if we had some they’d either be in (the first place I checked) or (the second place I checked).” She didn’t know. And didn’t offer to try to find out. Customer service my…
We do have a Staples, but it’s across town and it was already 8:30 pm and I really needed to get home to get the kids in bed. I had one other option—a last resort I don’t usually bother to even entertain the idea of using unless I’m seriously desperate. Seriously. I’m speaking, of course, of Kmart. The Big K. As in Krapfest. I hate Kmart. Despise. Detest. Loathe. I don’t know what it is exactly about that store that so disgusts me. Maybe it’s the haphazard stocking of aisles (not shelves, aisles) with random wares. Maybe it’s the lack of prices on 75% of their goods. Maybe it’s the fact the Kmart is more expensive than more desirable places to shop. Maybe it’s the distinct Kmarty smell—a moth balls meets body odor meets picked up fast food in my car three days ago but the ghost of crappy meals past lingers on kind of smell. I don’t know. I just don’t like it.
But I was a woman on a mission—a mission to safely encase her daughter’s customized writer’s notebook in a protective cocoon of clear contact paper. And flip-dee-dippin’-hurray, what do you know? Kmart had what I needed. I checked in office supplies first thing, and found a 10 pack of single-sided 8 1/2×11 laminating sheets perfectly suited for the protection of my daughter’s notebook. It was a Krapfest miracle. I paid for my item and got the hell out of there. (Incidentally, the woman ahead of me was purchasing a padded toilet seat. I hadn’t realized that they still sold padded toilet seats. A beige padded toilet seat with pink roses with mint green leaves. She had the toilet seat and a small package of trash liners. Who goes to Kmart at 9 o’clock at night to buy a padded toilet seat? Who buys a padded toilet seat?!)
Long story short, Kmart had what I needed and I breathed a sigh of grateful relief and then vowed (again) never to return. Because I hate you Kmart. Yes, I’m grateful, but I still don’t like you.
Recent Comments