thorvalson.net : babble ether

Amused. And not so. In snippets.

Amused:

I just opened up my Flickr page to start downloading photos (they will be up by this afternoon), and the greeting message says, "Oi, Thorvalson!"
"Oi." I feel like I was just greeted by The Cockney Rejects. Good moanin', Tho-vahlsin. Oi! Punk rowk fo-evah! Eh! And fuck you!
Flickr commonly greets its users in multiple languages (i.e., "Hola, Thorvalson!", "Bonjour, Thorvalson!"); I just didn't realize that Cockney was an official recognized language of this online community. Someone should add "Yooper" to the list.
Well-uh, hi dare! How ya doin, Thorvalson?!

Still amused:

I took Maddie to her new school yesterday for the first time, where we received an impromptu tour of the K4 room by one of the teachers present in the building. Not bad. Coat room, pint-sized toilets for the kids, TONS of books, the usual toys, sand/water table, etc. There are huge windows on one wall, but made of glass block, so the kids can't actually see out of them, which is a little disappointing, but it's not like Jefferson High School (modeled after a prison) or anything, so we're happy. Maddie's take on the coat room?
"This room is creepy."
Also, she was fascinated by the towel dispenser, which is one of those rotating cloth thingies, and which she has never used before. Of course, she had to use the bathroom immediately upon seeing the cute, tiny little toilets, and so the subsequent handwashing was equally inspiring, what with the new contraption and all. This. Is. So. Cool.
Accompanying us on our tour were two students, as of this fall 6th grade and 9th grade, respectively. Tippecanoe goes up to 8th grade, so the latter individual was hanging out for the summer before the big move on up to official Insanityville. Good sign: Kids hanging out with old teachers during the summer. I did that. That's a good thing. I am seriously freaked out, however, by how big those kids were. I don't mean overweight or anything, I just mean TALL. Like, my size. I guess I forgot that (most) 14-year-olds are in puberty and therefore prone to appearing more on the adult side than their pre-teen peers (not to mention the fact that I appear to have never gone through puberty at all), but HOLY SHIT! It hit me like a sack of bricks: I really, really, really need to take some self-defense courses, because MY GOD I AM A TINY LITTLE WOMAN! If my daughter ever rebels (which, of course, she won't, because I am the best mom ever and how could she possibly ever hate me for any reason whatsoever I'm wonderful! Love me! Or face the consequences!)... One day my daughter will be 14 years old and facing the reality of inner-city public schools - experimenting with drugs, weaponry swap meets with the local gang, etc. - and if she should ever decide to align herself with the forces of evil and actually, physically try to fight with me... Holy shit, I'm gonna get my ass kicked. I hope Greg never leaves me, 'cause I'm gonna need someone around to help change the bandages and to keep the basement door pulled shut so the little demon doesn't get out and eat me.

On our little journey through Kiddieville, I was also given a copy of the 05-06 school year supplies. Again, holy shit. Back in mah day, we didn't need to buy us no stinkin' paper tahlls; the skew-uhl done buyed 'em for us. Not in this day and age, no siree. I even gots to buy her "1 roll clear packaging tape by Scotch," none o' that generic crapola, 'cause they gots to have the good stuff in orders to tape the kids to the walls real good when they start gettin' rowdy. And we didn't even HAVE "hand sanitizer." Uh-uh. Nope. That fancy-pants kinda stuff didn't even EXIST, and if it did, it were only for dem rich kids up thair on the east side. We used arr SLEEVES. And then we rubbed all up against each other in the hallway, givin' each other all kindzah dizeezes 'n shit. That's what's gonna end the planetchy'all. Hand sanitizer. Supergerms're gonna rise up and take over, and then we won't need none 'o them stinkin' paper tahlls 'cause thair'll be no people left to use 'em. Amen.

And, finally, under the Not So Amused category....

It finally happened. Actually, I can't say finally; it's more like, "already."
After asking her for fifteen minutes yesterday afternoon to please just give me fifteen minutes to play guitar by myself and hang out for a bit, find something to do for a little while and afterwards I'll play Boggle Jr. with you please just give me fifteen minutes, Maddie threw a crying fit and ran into her bedroom. I sighed, put down the guitar, and then the following conversation happened:

"Maddie... come here. What's wrong."
(she literally drags herself into the living room, sobbing hysterically, looking truly and awfully defeated, like her entire spirit has been sucked out of her via high-powered vacuum demons from hell)
"I... can't...."
"What's wrong, honey?"
(she collapses into my lap)
"I think you don't love me anymore."

I think you don't love me anymore.

Jesus. What do you say to that? Honestly? I mean, I think I did an okay job of telling her, yes, I love you, and here's all the things I love about you and here's how I felt when you came into my life and thank god you're here or Mommy would still be a big crabby poopyhead all the time (laughter, "YOU SAID YOU'RE A POOPYHEAD! YOU WERE A POOPYHEAD?!")... But how fucking terrible it is to hear the one person on earth whom you are supposed to convince beyond a reasonable doubt that you love them eternally no matter what even-if-you-kill-somebody, how awful it is to watch that person sulk and crumple up and sink into your lap and say they don't believe.
Fuck.

New day. Do I get a do-over? Please? Thank you.

Laundry and groceries, and plenty of affection.

Posted by stephanie at August 9, 2005 11:17 AM