Crapsakes

Published December 2, 2016 by sarcasmica

I have nothing to say.

Scratch that, I have nothing entertaining to say that I dont want shared with people who look me in the eyes on a daily basis. 

I’m smack dab in the middle of familial forty. Nothing overly exciting happens anymore. We have a hamster- ooooh


We have a sick cat, currently. That’s all kinds of thrilling. Medicating her has actually been entertaining for my family audience. If I had filmed the various forms of forced pill digestion i’m sure I could have illicited a half chuckle at the least. (You will be billed for your entertainment before you click on the ‘x’ to escape – err I mean leave – this post)

I am currently preparing for a craft fair. A tiny town craft fair. It’s pornographic in it’s excitement, right?!?


There’s something to be said for an uneventful and consistent life. Lord knows i’ve had a bit of hectic crazy stressful drama. Uneventful just makes for terrible life stories.

My friend and I went to a raucous “Ladies Night” last night…hosted by my chiropractor.

Titilating, no? 

We went and checked in at all the tables to browse the over priced wares. I succumbed to my first LuLaRoe purchase. I expect my bonus delivery of kool aide any day now. They were too cute to pass up.

We did stop in for a make over. Did I mention this was hosted by my chiropractors office? Needless to say Stacy London was nowhere to be found. We did, however, have a wonderful young Millennial with her brand spankin new cosmetology license have a field day with my lack of any self maintenenace. She probably thought I was a plant to test her skills. She tsked me for my passion for hot morning showers in which I wash my hair….

daily

😱😳😖

It’s essentially self-mutilation. The second blow came when I admitted to washing my face for the last 20 years with….

You ready? 

Not horse piss

Not Elf tears, but…….

Bar soap

 

Once she caught her breath, she coached me on all the other habits I must immediately cease. 

Eyeliner. My interpretation: “What the fuck is wrong with you, lady? Did you learn makeup husbandry from the cavemen with the hammer and chisel?! Eyeliner, psssh. Mascara only to open up your eyes!”

What was actually said: “What is your goal?Here’s how to accomplish that…”

“Yes ma’am, so sorry to have offended you with my small defined beady eyes ma’am!” 

All in all it was an eye-opening night

*pause for slow clap*

It was fun to get out with my friend and feel pressure to buy things that were totally unnecessary. Like the $75 box of vitamins. Those vitamins did not contain lipo suction, a yummy pool boy, or Vin Diesel’s sweat so I passed. 

Rookie. 

I did not buy a $225 essential oil kit. My essential oils are maintained in my pores with a strict regimen of potato chips and chocolate.. and  for a minute fraction of the price! Combined with the $30 hair accessory booth, we were happy to leave with most of our bank account still intact. 

And now, because i’m old, im abruptly ending this post because im tired and in need of all the beauty sleep I can find. .. apparently it’s not in my bar soap!

Good Enough

Published November 21, 2016 by sarcasmica

It’s that magical time of year again for the new IEP. (Individualized Education Program)

We’ve had multiple meetings every year for five years now – not including all the nightmare meetings during preschool and kindergarten- and I still dread them. I still loathe them. I’ve gotten better at managing my eye rolls and sighs, but it’s about as fun as a cavity.

I’m comfortable in my status quo, introverted, head-in-the-sand demeanor so sitting in front of a panel of experts regarding education and how to apply it to my ADHD/Dyspraxia kid is uncomfortable to say the least. Discussing his goals and expectations for his upcoming year is just not my idea of constructive conversation. Just do what teachers are supposed to do. Educate him. Is your classroom environment not working? Change scenery. Use your degrees and certifications to find a way to assimilate him into a regular 5th grade classroom. Done.

It’s gotten better, admittedly. Since putting him on Concerta his scores and ability in the classroom has exploded much to all of our amazement. Reading through his assessments right now still stings a bit. I’m not in tears like I used to be, so that’s something.

Sitting here waiting to go to this meeting is a bit like waiting to see the principal. To top it off, there are three new people working with him so we get to all sit and behave like professional adults…. not my forte.

So deep breath, swig of caffeine, and a bite of chocolate; me and my big girl pants are headed out to defend the educational rights of my child one more time.

Animaniacs

Published November 18, 2016 by sarcasmica

My 6 year old finally asked for a pet. It was bound to happen. I didn’t want to say yes, but frankly I couldn’t think of a compelling reason to say no. She didn’t ask for a snake or a frog, she wanted a hamster.

Well, truthfully, she just wanted something that would fit in a ball. A ball that would roll around on the floor.

We researched rodents of all sizes. (But not rodents of unusual size) Personally, I have experience with rats. My brothers and I all had various rodents when we were kids. Mostly rats. I had a mouse once named Mary. Mice stink. They are cute, but they pee their weight every few minutes. They’re also twitchy and sort of like small meth heads. Always running to the next score, hiding snacks, licking themselves constantly. Nope, rats are way cleaner, way smarter, and just cooler. Pot head vs. Meth head, who are you gonna want to hang with?

The recommendation for rats these days is you get a pair to keep them stimulated and warm and happy and not lonely. Apparently they can waste away from loneliness and boredom. The thought of two didn’t turn me off necessarily, the thought of my six year old wrangling two and the size of the cage we would need is what made me reconsider. My cat certainly would have zero trouble offering to help find any wayward rodent.

We went to a few different pet stores to figure out what wouldn’t take a finger, and what my daughter couldn’t accidentally Hulk out of it’s spine. The Black Bear hamster won our hearts. Supposedly great personalities, rarely bite if handled often and well, and best on their own. A solo commitment. I’m in!

We were cruel and all sorts of evil by getting the habitat two weeks early. We wanted to be sure there were no cracks, we could fit it reasonably into her room somewhere and she didn’t wake up in the middle of the night freaking out about a square wire cube trying to eat her face.

Today was the day! Hamster Day!

We drove down and perused the available rodents. My daughter already had a name picked out for her dude – we had decided a boy would be best despite the bag of marbles they carry around under their tail – but this day offered a new option. Black bear hamsters that had white markings. As she was sitting on the floor with the aquarium searching for her new buddy, two of the critters began cirque du soliel acrobatics to try and escape. Of course she pointed to one and said, “That one!”

“Really? The acrobat? I don’t know if that’s a good idea..”

“I like that one, mommy!”

I stuck my hand into the aquarium for the nibble test. Mind you, I never had hamsters. I was always told “they bite. get a rat.” and this rang true when I was a Petco employee. I tried to squelch the nerves knowing full well if one of these effers bit me in front of my daughter I’d have to mask my fury and frustration. One of the two acrobats decided to taste my finger. .. multiple times. Truthfully it wasn’t malevolent or evil. No skin was broken, but I wasn’t about to pay $16.99 for something that started right off the bat with the teeth. I said, “Let’s get the sniffer, not the taster.” It took nothing more than that and we were locked and loaded for a new adventure. Once imagined “Surfer Dave” was now “Oreo”.

The adventure began the minute he was in the box. Brilliant idea! Let’s put the chew happy rodents in construction paper thin cardboard boxes for small children to travel home in a moving car with!! It’ll be great!!

We were halfway home when my daughter began screaming “His head is coming out!! He’s getting oooooutt!!!” Mind you, we were about a mile from where we had our car accident six months ago and I did not want a furry repeat. I calmly took the box and drove with it. I could concentrate much better on driving when I knew where and what the little bugger was doing rather than having to turn around and look at what was really happening.

By the way, “He’s getting out!” was not a false alarm. He had chewed through the side and was alternating poking his nose out with reaching out his little paw.

These are the sorts of driving hazards you need to practice when you’re taking drivers training, by the way. Those instructors need to have a box of randomness that pops out at you in varying moments.

Cup with a loose lid
Hot coffee without a sleeve
Wildly uncooperative hamburger wrapper
Drippy mustard hot dog
Terrified baby hamster in a cardboard box
Toddler screaming for goldfish
Baby screaming for a bottle – but you are given bottle/nipple/formula/water in separate intervals

We got home 1/4 millimeter in time. One more red light and that hamster would have been under my seat.

So far  it has all gone smoothly except not counting on the hamster wheel to sound like a great dane running on plastic skates. I warned my daughter this was a nocturnal animal who was likely going to be very active considering the circus performance he put on for us at the pet store. He is quite curious and tenacious, but hot damn does he love that frigging wheel!

My daughter said, “It’s ok mom. I’ll try my best to sleep. If you see big bags under my eyes in the morning, it just means maybe we should get a different wheel.”

Done.

Happy hamstering!!

(as a side note, i DID actually scour the local animal shelter and found only hamsters with “No Children” warnings available. I also went one step further and contacted a not-so-local rodent rescue and reached out to them to no avail)

 

 

Trying To Accept It

Published November 9, 2016 by sarcasmica

I’m trying to accept our country’s new reality. I still don’t understand it. I absolutely do not understand how this person was voted by the people to represent our country and have our best interests at heart for all decisions. Decisions that will resonate long after he is no longer in office.

I will say plainly that I am not a political person. I did not even begin to vote until my late 20’s. I’m now 40. I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why it was so important and on a literal level, I didn’t know how to do it. Plain and simple. Are these excuses? No. I’m not proud of it, but that’s that.

I have watched this debacle of an election process this term and from start to finish I have been completely dumbfounded. Not unlike a lot of other people, I am certain.

Here’s the basics for me. I liked some of what Bernie Sanders said, I liked some of what Hillary Clinton said, and I even liked some of what Donald Trump said. They each had good ideas and plans. It made me nervous that Sanders wanted to start providing all sorts of services and choices for people but the fact he never said how made me assume taxes would be the source.

The idea of a woman president was exciting. Was she the best I could ever imagine running for the job? No. But I didn’t see any other woman stepping up and taking on that challenge. I didn’t see any suggestions or offerings for who would be a better candidate either. Her experience made me feel like she was qualified and understood the bigger picture about what she could do. She seemed entirely able to weigh our international consequences for immediate change. Who else has served that many roles for government and wanted to continue and stick it out and stay with it? Man or woman? Again, I have other interests than politics so I am very ignorant when it comes to who’s who and deeper trivia.

I do not buy into conspiracy theories. I do not hold accusations and speculation and bitter hate up on a pedestal to influence my vote for President of the United States of America. Call me a sheep, that’s fine. I have not seen solid hard evidence that the paranoia surrounding Clinton was ever validated. What has made her such a hated villain? Somebody please tell me factual real evidence that she has participated in or caused such vile human atrocities that would deem her incapable of running our country given the professional career she has. Please.

The only word that sticks to her is “emails” and “Benghazi”. I’d love to know what this actually means. She has had to made decisions that I have no doubt any mortal could not stomach. Decisions that have consequences the civilian population have no business knowing or understanding. What does the general public know about her choices and actions that would result in the categorical refusal to accept her as a qualified politician to be our President?

Now we turn to our President-Elect, Mr. Trump. There are not conspiracy theories about this person because he puts his hate out for all to consume. There is no sticky political agenda he is accused of because he’s kept himself quite comfortable in the private sector making money off of Americans left and right and proudly announcing that he has not contributed his legal obligation to pay taxes on what he’s amassed. Does he respect America? I can’t see how when he has not hidden that materials used to entertain, house, and capitalize on Americans are not acquired in America! Where has this devout bleeding stars patriot been all our lives?

The people who looked at a presidential ballot and decided to fill in the Trump bubble are people that I do not at all understand…. and I do want to. I don’t want to debate, I don’t want to propagate more anger and hate, I just want to sincerely understand. Where did the government go so wrong that we elect someone with ZERO professional government experience to run the entire country? Where did Hillary Clinton go so wrong that voting for Trump – zero experience, was leaps and bounds more palatable than voting for a professional?

My husband and I have talked extensively about how we totally agree that Trump’s business sense would be an asset to the country. He would make a fantastic advisor or cabinet member in so far as trade input or contract negotiation or business taxes. He would be a great asset to this country on how to put business sense back into government. That’s about where the support and acquiescence goes for me, personally. Just because he can make a billion dollars does not at all mean I want him having a hand in naming Supreme Court Justices who will carry out laws and repeal laws for the next DECADE plus that would set our country and civil rights back generations. I find that when you meet someone who is great at making a buck, you don’t want to look too closely at what morals and ethics come into play in setting up their hierarchy of priorities.

I have seen and heard a lot of garbage about how her staying with her husband is permissible in making judgements based on her professional ability.

I hate a double standard. I do. If we are judging her for staying with a cheater, why are we not judging a cheater? Why are we not judging Trump for NOT staying with multiple wives with multiple children? Why are we not judging Trump for his wives’ professional choices? Afterall, it’s general consensus that when Bill Clinton was President, his wife was actually the President, right? So it’s ok to judge her based on his job.

NO! no No and NO. They are separate. If we judge Hillary Clinton on Bill Clinton’s policies, then we better start digging into Ivana Trump’s jobs and Milania’s long list of professional decisions. (see: Sarcasm Font)

Double Standards, conspiracy theories, and paranoia aside, please someone enlighten me on where “Crooked Hillary” would have made a worse President than someone who has said very plainly that he wants to elect a Justice who would repeal a woman’s right to make choices about her own body. How is he more qualified than a woman to even begin to comprehend what that means? Please leave the bullshit answer about abortions used as birth control out of it. That is ridiculous hyperbole and exaggeration of the vast majority of reasons women make that awful decision. I do not support abortion, I support women knowing enough about their situation to make a decision for their own life and family and reality.

How about we start poking around colleges and get the government involved in a man’s right to date rape? How about we start listing Frat Parties on the regulation list because drunk guys are clearly unable to make a decision for themselves.

Here’s a newsflash in case you didn’t pay attention in Health. The small percentage of girls who get an abortion as “birth control” actually had a guy put the semen in her to create that life.

Did I just blow your mind? Did you understand that a man was actually involved in the creation of that life you Pro Lifers seem to think is your business? Why does the government stop their nosing in and regulation of life at the vagina? Keep on going, let’s make it a mass control, follow the life you are protecting down to the penis that was 50% responsible for creating it!

And on that note, let’s take count of all the responsible devout republicans who are avid Pro Lifers and refuse to let women decide what to do with these fetuses. How many are loving, moral foster parents for the children who were born into a situation that couldn’t be handled and were then turned over to an orphanage? How many children who were unwanted have been adopted by these morally rock solid Pro Lifers?

Don’t even get me started on the gun nonsense. That’s a whole other post/blog/chapter/novel.

So here we go into uncharted territory with a professional money maker. Someone who has left his own family repeatedly and has no issue evading taxes, going bankrupt and threatening immigrants is about to make decisions and laws for the general public. I wonder if he understands the “general” part of public. Our nation is made up of immigrants! The only difference is generational. I sincerely hope he holds true to creating jobs and money and wealth for everyone in this country who is willing to go get it. It seems the country has chosen to overlook decades of career and service in one option for the hope and promise newly offered by another.

God help us all.

Squeaky Wheels

Published October 26, 2016 by sarcasmica

Today I get to brag a little. Today I got an awesome email from one of my son’s teachers saying he is now working at grade level math.

Grade level.

For anyone new to my drama asylum  blog, my son has never been at grade level. He has challenges associated with Dyspraxia including ADD and sensory issues. Last year we were shocked to find out he is above grade level at reading, but everything else – writing, comprehension, math – was below. At least one grade level. He has had an IEP (individual education plan) team since first grade and we’ve been at this school since 3rd grade. 3rd grade was not a good year. It was a crappy teacher, it was a new campus, new principal on campus, it was a hard transition. The team confronted me with testing results similar to a kid with ADHD before we had gone down the road of diagnosis. The teacher was pushing for outside homework help, and the principal flat out asked in front of the entire team after revealing the similarities between my kid and an ADHD kid if I was going to medicate him. Not a good start with me.

Fourth grade had a great teacher who was very encouraging, if overworked, slightly uninspired, but very compassionate and supportive.  My husband and I decided to tiptoe down the terrifying road of medication. After a year of one-on-one assistance for our son, he was still unable to focus and follow through. Since school help gets no better than one-on-one attention, we had to do something for him.

The medication road is a very bumpy, dark, judgy road riddled with potholes and caution signs. It became overwhelming and we felt defeated more than once. I found people who understood the path and asked questions, confided, and shared stories. It made it easier. It made it so that I could continue until we found the right formula. No one really explains how difficult it is to come to the decision only to find more road blocks and let downs with failed prescriptions and wrong dosage and suspicious side effects. You work so hard to be okay with allowing your child to become dependent on a synthetic drug that you can’t help but have immediate assumptions. When the first doesn’t work, you doubt. When the second doesn’t work, you worry and doubt.

We lucked out and did the work and stuck with the program until we found the right combination. Today was the payoff. Last week I asked the new teacher for an idea of how the year was going. Did he still need the aid in the morning to help him stay on track for the classroom routine? Was he still relying solely on the teacher to reinforce the task schedule? Was he still sitting idle if not directly prodded into doing something?

No. I was told he was a pleasure to have in class, he works alongside his peers, he was an independent fifth grader who was giving no indication of drowning.

This took a minute to sink in.

Today another teacher wrote a followup regarding his math work and how he now just works on the assignments the rest of the class gets at the same time. Along with writing tasks, what he rarely does not complete in class, he will take down to the support center but all classwork is at grade level.

This could not have come together at a more perfect time. He transitions to middle school next year and the thought of my kid keeping track of six different classrooms, six different subjects and work and teachers was/is terrifying. It’s less so now.

On the way out of school today we ran into his fourth grade teacher. I stopped and with my son beside me we told her, “He’s at grade level math now!” She appropriately praised him for his work but then turned to me after thanking her for her help last year and said, “You know who really helped him, right?” I responded, “Well, he’s done all the hard work.”  she smiled and just looked at me and said, “True. But you know who really made it happen for him? You did. The squeaky wheel gets the job done. You did a great job for him.”

I held back my initial answer of “medication” but that isn’t true either. She’s right. If you can get over the resentment and anger and frustration of having to fight for your kid in an arena where you really shouldn’t have to, good things can happen. If you can get through the humiliating, frustrating, heart-breaking meetings where all you are told is deficits and fight for everyone to see the positive and ability, you just might get through and effect change for your kid.

This is not to say he will never again struggle. He surely will. That’s what growing is all about. Now I have faith we can overcome the next struggle because he is a whole, confident, capable boy who has a team of people who have no choice but to believe in him.

 

 

Strength

Published October 17, 2016 by sarcasmica

I have always thought of myself as a pretty strong person. Maybe this is an inflated ego or a shallow self-important view, but it’s the truth. I’ve been through some shit and seen some things others might consider anti normal or even crazy. This weekend has brought me to a strange place.

 My father’s birthday rolls around once a year as birthdays often do. The unfortunate part is that he’s not around to blow out the candles. He died 15 years ago. For fifteen years I feel his loss more than other days a guaranteed twice a year. The date he died and the date he lived. October 15, 1946 was his birthday. He could never in my whole life remember the day I was born, but here I am still mentally ticking it off in my head year after year. (The day he died was December 9, 2001)

This post is not about that. Just one event of many this weekend. Our state has been bracing for an epic twice-in-a-lifetime storm. Generators sold out, batteries sold out, gas lines a block long. My husband was out of town for this, so it was ultimately my responsibility to prepare everything. Flashlights, water, bread, lemon bars, cookies, you know, basic needs. I did it. I prepared the shit out of this house! I pulled in patio furniture, I disassembled patio umbrellas, I asked the neighbor to hook up the RV battery. We were READY. 

We got rain, we got a wind gust, the power flickered off……. 10 seconds later it was back on and the storm was over. My kids were crying -disappointment the power didn’t go out! I was happy trees didn’t have to be removed from windows or cars or bodies, but my kids were mad the flashlights were once again a novelty and not a necessity. I offered to cut the power all day Sunday but they protested, “That would be booooooriiiiing!”

Sunday morning my cat decides around 4:30am things needed to be shaken up. She began relentlessly pawing at my bedroom door. It was a battle of wills. Hers was to get me up and incite my fury, mine was to squeeze the pillow as tight over my head as possible to not hear it. 

She won. I got up and hissed at her. She intelligently ran. An hour later it started again, but this time she ran into my room and under the bed. Something she never ever does. I fell back asleep with images of bears and/or coyotes and/or clowns prowling around downstairs and mentally put together escape plans for each scenario….so that I didn’t have to actually get up and check downstairs. That never ends well in the movies. I still have no idea why she behaved so strangely but it made the morning events that much more numb from sleep deprivation. 

After crawling downstairs once the kids were up, I check the bathroom mirror to assess the situation with my newly infected bottom TADs. (The 4 screws that were put in my upper & lower jaws four weeks ago) 

WARNING: this is where the gross begins. Proceed with caution

Right… mirror, gums: Still squishy. Still puss. Still big blisters gaining momentum towards surrounding teeth. Oddly no real pain, though, just a serious Nasty Factor. I rinse with warm salt water, spit, notice one inflammation has maxed out and now burst. 

Fucking gross. Why me? Why now? Why at all?! 

I like to think most people would react the same way, but I tested the tissue out after rinsing away the gore. I gently touch my finger tip to the swollen tissue, it remains intact. I gently touch the screw head and hear, “CRACK!”. I gasp. My kids shout from the other room, “What happened mom?!” I see the entire screw shift inside my jaw, below my teeth and it becomes clear what must happen next. 

I have to shut the kids up.

“What mom?! What happened?! I heard you gasp!”

They didn’t actually come to see. No one decided the sound warranted an expedition all the way to the next room. No. Mom reacts so much better to a situation when she has to field answers to two separate children in two different rooms all while speaking with what obviously sounds like a hand is in her mouth. 

“My screw just came loose!”

They react. I’m still staring in horror as my soul leaves my body so I can handle this. I watch myself grab the head of the screw and pull the entire thing straight out of my jaw bone. 

This was the pinnacle of my strength. 

What the fuck just happened?! This 3/4 inch skinny screw that still had tissue and matter attached is now in my hand as my kids are “Ewe”ing and “Blech!”ing from elsewhere. 

Talk about a nervous breakdown. 

I rinsed, I pulled it together. My daughter immediately asked to see it, my son did not. I managed, after much pacing and frantic calls to dental parties, to move right along. 

I tell you what, I thought I was strong. I thought I could handle some shit. After today’s little ordeal I am more impressed with myself than ever!! 

Until I have to go see the oral surgeon tomorrow who will need to remove the other TAD that is even more angry and infected than the ejected one. 

I know people are going through horrible awful events in this world like floods and disease and death and starvation. That makes me feel humbled and very small. But y’all, I just pulled a surgically placed piece of metal that was screwed into my face out of my jaw with my bare hands!! Tell me that is not cape-worthy and horrific all at the same time! 

(Now 2 of the 4 are out, and yes that is bone attached to the TAD! 😖😱 (temporary anchoring device)

The New (School) Year

Published October 13, 2016 by sarcasmica

My kid is going to be in middle school next year. When he was born, getting through the colic and the shaping helmet and physical therapy were all-consuming. I never thought we’d make it to 1 without a healthy dose of green skin and a penchant for brains.

But we did it.

When he was 2 and getting in trouble at daycare for biting, and the daily scene of trying to drop him off and experiencing the screaming abandonment horrifying sobs and screams I never thought we’d make it to preschool.

But we did

And in preschool when the teachers began the long road of meetings and conferences and concerned behavior charts and feedback, I thought I would never get him to kindergarten – against the preschool’s recommendation

But we did

And in Kindergarten, when the teacher had to break down his days to five and ten minute increments to find the positive reinforcement opportunities, I just began to think it was always going to be a struggle. We continued on through specialists – Speech, Occupational Therapy, Physical Therapy – learning centers, IEP teams, doctors, prescriptions, diagnosis, guilt, worry, anxiety.

School is one more road navigated by squeaky wheels and parent advocates when it comes to kids outside the box. Every year we start over. Every year the cheerleading begins again and all you want is for each teacher to see that yes, this kid means extra work. Yes, you are already overworked, yes you are not paid anywhere near your actual value. Every parent in that school believes that. But my kid will require you to work more. Work differently. Work outside the very narrow box the school board and district allow you, but as hard as it is for you, the parents have to do it year in and year out. You have my kid for one year. Take him, teach him, appreciate the way he learns because he will not be the only kid who will benefit. Whatever strategy you use – and there will be more than one – understand that you are responsible for the foundation of the rest of his educational life. Just waiting out the year with him in your class is a disservice to yourself, his friends, his family, and most of all him.

Every year we get to look at each other around a table and reassess the needs of my kid. I will push. I will question. I will even tear up and maybe cry a bit. I am tough for him, but I am not tough when it comes to him. I’m a marshmallow of a mom who just wants her kid to have a shot at being average. That’s right! I’m pushing for grade level, regular old average learning. I know how hard he has to work to attain that and I’m ok with that. He knows the value of taking care of his friends. He understands how to respect his teachers. He is a bright, original, eager science lover. He has an ear for music. He thoroughly enjoys P.E. (if you don’t expect him to run) He treasures recess with his best friend. He’s more than the multiple choice answer required by the state on tests he vaguely understands every single year.

But he’ll work for you if you give him the chance to. And here we go again fighting for the chance to let my kid just be a regular 5th grade boy who already has crushes, is a fantastic reader, and is discovering a love for writing.

Sponsored by: IBUPROFEN 🙂

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