Author amykoehn

As If The List Wasn't Long Enough Already

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Added to the reasons for why I hate this computer, tonight Flash’s ancient piece of technology tried to load a web page and proceeded to give me an error message.  The message said something like, “Safari is unable to open the web page.  Error message given:  unknown error.”  It then tells me to report all this to Apple, being sure to report which error message I received and what I did immediately preceding the message.  I’d like to call Apple, and to say, “I got an error message.  Which one?  Oh, the unknown one.  What did I do right before that?  I threw my computer through a window.”

Secondly, I’ve added to the list another fantastic error message.  This time I was trying to open Google.  I had typed: http://www.google.com   into the address bar and Safari delivered yet again another poignant error message.  It shared with me its inability to open that page, too but this time it offered up a suggestion.  The computer actually provided me with a small Google search bar and suggested that I try looking for my page using Google.  
I know.  Amazingly helpful, wasn’t it?
All I can say at this point is…..TWO MORE DAYS!!!!!
(Can you imagine my joy?!  Can you?!)

How To Build Self-Esteem in a Pre-Teen

amykoehn 1 Comment

I’m not sure how it slipped my attention.  How 12 1/2 years went by and I never noticed the omission.  Here I’ve been, concerning myself with trying to raise a well-rounded, Christian, good natured child and I missed a critical part of his upbringing.  Until this evening, Flash had never, EVER rollerskated.  

I know.
I just don’t know how it happened.
I wish I had photographic evidence.  Something to commemorate the occasion and to save the memory for all of time.  But alas, I was not invited to the youth group skating party.  
I do have evidence that he did skate, however.  When I picked him up, Flash sat down in the car and said, “Man, my butt hurts.”
Yep, my boy skated.

Breaking in the New Nickname

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Flash volunteered to take a snack to his gifted program tomorrow for their Christmas Party.  When asked what he wanted to bring, he suggested his favorite cookies.  I said, “what a great idea!!  I’ll get the ingredients and you can bake them!”  And so I did my part.

And now he’s doing his.  I promised to sit within earshot and help him through the recipe.  (I don’t do the recipe like it says so I promised to help him through it the way I do it.)  I asked how many cookies do we need and he replied with a resounding “34!”  A remarkably precise number for something as vague as baking cookies, but it’s good to have a goal.  Here’s how it’s going:
Step 1:  I tell him to mix the sugar, brown sugar and butter together in the Kitchenaide.   Several minutes go by before he says, “Now I mix it?”  I say, “you have the sugar, brown sugar and butter in?”  And he says, “What sugar?”  And then realizes he’s not reading the right recipe.  Mom commences banging her head on the coffee table.   (Flash takes the brown sugar out, remeasures, adds white sugar and mixes.)
Step 2:  I tell him to crack the eggs in a separate bowl.  He says, “How many eggs?”  I say, “Read the recipe.  The right recipe.”  He doesn’t laugh.  Mom makes a mental note:  Flash needs help on his sense of humor.
Step 3:  Add vanilla.  Not normally an ingredient I really measure, but since we’re using the Mexican vanilla that’s pretty potent, I remind him to measure.  We have a review session of TBS vs. tsp.  Let me just say, we’ve gone over all of this many many times since he was about 5.  Thought we’d have it by now.
Step 4: Add all of the dry ingredients except the flour and the oats.  Again, thought this wouldn’t be nearly as complicated as it seems to be.  Might be several minutes before this step is complete.  (We did have a verification process that he used baking soda and not powder.)
Step 5: He asks if he should measure the ‘sugar’ or just do a dash in his hand.  I say, “the salt?!”  He says, “oh yeah, the salt I mean.”  I suggest measuring for fear of his dash.  He comes to me with his hand held out to have his dash approved.
Step 6:  We have a discussion about the two different bags of flour in the cabinet, bread flour and all-purpose and stress the importance of using the latter.  (Editor’s Note:  He’s measuring everything with the 1/4 cup.  We could be here all night.)
Step 7:  Realize I didn’t get more oats and we only have 2/3 of what we need.  Start fudging the recipe.  (Flash just loves it when I do this.  NOT.)
Step 8:  Add the chips.  Pray.
Step 9:  Talk Flash down from greasing the cookie sheets.
Step 10:  Flash brings the mixer beaters to me to sample the dough (what?  I didn’t even ask!) and something isn’t right.  “Did you put in both of the sugars?”  Flash says, “Yep.  1/3 of a cup of each.”  I know immediately that isn’t right.  I show him the recipe.  “3/4 of a cup of both”  He says, “WHAT?”  I look at the recipe right next to it (the one he initially confused) and it doesn’t even say 1/3 of a cup of sugar.  I have no clue where he got that number from. We guesstimate a solution.  He goes back to the kitchen.
Step 11:  Head banging on coffee table continues.
Step 12:  Flash’s Mom says a silent prayer of gratitude that she isn’t eating these cookies and hopes the kids at the gifted class don’t notice.  She whispers up a prayer that Flash’s grade will in no way be affected by this clear lack of gifted-ness.
Step 13:  A second taste test of dough.  Definitely more sugar, but the blending is not going well since the sugar was added so late.  Nothing to do now but pray.
Step 14:  Flash puts dough on cookie sheet by the spoonful.
Step 15:  One cookie sheet goes into the oven.  Since no timer was set, I’ll note the time.  6:55pm.  (Is it just me or is it painful to sit and allow your child to do something wrong (oh say, like not set a timer) when you know the results will not be good?)  
Step 16:  Cookie Sheet #2 goes into the oven.  Time at the tone?  6:58.  Still no timer set.  Flash collects his latest book and settles in at the table with some chocolate chips.  This could get very interesting indeed.
Step 17:  As the clock draws near to the 7-9 minutes suggested baking time, Flash’s Mom starts to panic but keeps her mouth shut.  She reminds herself that she’s been trying to teach following directions for a long time.
Step 18:  Flash opens oven door.  Says, “ahh, fudge.”  Shuts the door.  Flash’s mom can only assume he’s just now realized he never set a timer.   Or perhaps he just placed the cookies too close together on the cookie sheet.
Step 19:  A full 10 minutes into baking, Flash is still sitting at the table munching on chocolate chips unconcerned about his product.
Step 20:  12 minutes into baking, 2 minutes past the “for crunchy cookies” recommended time, Flash is still sitting at the table, reading and munching, laughing at some great quip in his book.  Mom is having a difficult time letting him learn from experience, but keeps her yap shut.
Step 21:  13 minutes pass.  14.  15.  Mom starts to wonder if the smoke alarm will alarm the neighbors.  The second pan would be still be salvageable at this point.  16.  More laughter from the kitchen.  
Step 22:  Flash actually picks up the recipe and seems to look at how long they should bake.  Oven is opened.  Pot holders are located.  Nothing is extracted from the oven.  
Step 23: 17 minutes have passed.  18.  Dog needs to go out but I’m not budging.  19.  It’s all Mom can do to stay on the couch and not run into the kitchen to look at these cookies.  20.  More laughter from the kitchen.  J.K. Rowling was a single mom.  Was she writing these funny lines while her child(ren) were burning cookies?!   21 minutes have passed.  Mom is no longer worried about whether additional flour will make up for the shortcomings of oats.  She now wonders if she should have put new baking sheets on her Christmas list.
Step 24:  22 minutes.  Flash hasn’t checked the oven in more than 5 minutes.  23 minutes.  Flash opens the oven door.  Takes a gander inside.  One cookie sheet is extracted.  The second cookie sheet is returned to the oven.  Mom wonders if he has the oven set on the right temperature.  23 minutes at 375 should have burnt those buggers up.
Step 25:  He’s removing cookies from the first sheet and placing them on a plate.  Flash puts new dough on the now empty first cookie sheet.  The second sheet has now been in the oven 23 minutes.
Step 26:  First sheet is put back in the oven with fresh dough (7:22)  Second sheet is examined and finally extracted from the oven.  Flash brings me the second cookie sheet, “Are they supposed to be this dark?”  I look at a sheet of burnt cookies and say, “No.”  He looks at me with wonder.  I say, “How long are they supposed to bake?”  He says, “10-9 minutes.”  I say, “How long have they been in there?  He says, “10-9 minutes.”  (I cannot make this stuff up.)  He sets a timer on the microwave and then proceeds to chisel the cookies off the pan.  
Step 27:  Flash sits back down at the table to read.  (Editor’s Second Note:  The house now smells like burnt cookies. Perhaps the best diet plan around.)  
Step 28:  Pan has been in the oven 7 minutes now.  No timer has gone off.  8 minutes.  9.  10.  Still no timer.  Mom vows to speak up after this pan is removed from the oven.  Apparently experience alone isn’t enough to teach this boy.  At 11 minutes, the timer goes off.  Flash gets up, gets a pot holder, opens the oven and examines the cookies.  He puts them back in the oven and resets the timer.  12 minutes.  Timer goes off.  Flash opens the oven, re-examines the cookies and takes them out.  “Can I just put the rest of the dough in the fridge and bake it later?” He asks.  “I’m not running the oven all night, Flash, we’re baking them all now.  Why?”  “Cause there’s like a ton of dough left to bake.”  He already wants to be done.  “How many cookies does the recipe say it will make?”  “four dozen” he replies (aha!  he can read a recipe!)
Step 29:  “Mom?  Can we start the movie?”  Seriously, the boy who baked a pan of cookies for 23 minutes and told me it had been 10 now wants to put in a movie?!?!?  I might scream.  At least so far the cookies don’t seem affected by the substitution of flour for some oats.  They clearly have bigger battles to fight.  
Step 30:  Flash declares this last pan to be the “last of the coherent batter.”  I’m not sure at all what that means, but I’ve learned enough tonight to know not to even ask.  A timer is set.  I ask to sample a cookie.  “Crispy or not crispy?” he asks.  I request a non-crispy cookie.  The cookie is actually quite good.  And I am impressed with 23 minutes of baking that it survived so well.  He double checks the oven temperature for me.  Maybe these are the cookies that just came out after 12 minutes.  Verification is received that my cookie just came from the 12 minute pan.  Flash samples some of the “crispy cookies” after I suggest he cannot take burnt cookies to class.  No verdict is returned.  There are 33 good cookies and in response to how many burnt ones, I got “a lot” as the reply.
Step 31:  Discuss the reasons for the burnt cookies.  Still no comprehension that he actually cooked them too long.  I point out the reality of the situation.  Flash listens then goes back to reading his book.  I WANT TO SCREAM.  But I just sit on the couch.
Step 32:  Prayer of gratitude is said silently again that in 5 days Flash will be going to the other side of the family and I will have another short reprieve from parenting a pre-teen.

97.4% of People

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who say they will do this before they die never do.  What is it?

On a related note:
While Flash/LM was at youth group last week I pulled up a stool at Bennigan’s and had some dinner (what?!  I had just donated blood and rushed to get him and a friend to youth group.  I was starving!) While I ate, I pulled out a printed copy of my NaNoWriMo text and was editing.
The woman sitting a few stools away from me (why oh why couldn’t this have been a really cute guy in his early 40’s with dark eyes and…oh, wait, back to the point) she says to me, “Did you write a book?”
And I replied, “Yes.  I did.”
And I swear I floated all the way home that night.
(You got the percentage question, right?  I heard it on the radio this morning on my drive to work.  It was one of those get these five questions right and we’ll fly you to somewhere you never wanted to go anyway contests.   I didn’t call in, so I certainly didn’t win, but I was still screaming in my car when they announced that 97.4% of all people that say they want to write a book before they die never do.  I did!!  I checked it off my list!!!)

Name Change

amykoehn 2 Comments

For the record, LM will henceforth be referred to (fondly) as “Flash”.  I will even, upon occasion, single a little theme song for him much to the likes of the Flash Gordon song.

Why?  you ask?  Because his head and his body are no longer on speaking terms.
As just an example, I give you today’s evidence:
This morning, at church, we were watching the Children’s Christmas program (which was the best and most adorable one I’ve ever seen) and I quietly pointed out to LM in the bulletin that one of the boys in the cast, one that was particularly funny, was one of the pastor’s sons.  I pointed to his name and then pointed to the pastor’s name further in the program.  Flash whispered to me, “Pastor B’s last name is Smith?”  My response?  “We call you Flash.”
On the way home, he heard Piano Man on the radio for the second time.  He fell in love with the song the first time through and had mentioned he would like to buy it on itunes.  I told him I owned it (or thought I did.  I told him I was certain one of his parents owned it, I  just wasn’t sure which one got it in the divorce).  When we arrived home, he quickly ran to the stereo to get it tuned to that same station to hear the end of the song.  I walked over and browsed the CD collection not one foot in front of my child.  I said, “I don’t see it.  I know it’s a double disk set.  Your dad must have it.  But I know that one of the two of us owns it, so don’t buy it.”  I walked over and sat on the couch.   The boy turned to me and said, “Hey Mom?  Weren’t you going to look for that CD with Piano Man on it?”   Flash, Ahhhhhhaaaaaaa!
After much prodding and coaxing (it all comes down to some very carefully place peanut butter) we finally got Eli interested in chewing a bone that I bought him over Thanksgiving.  Knowing he would love it once he got the hang of it, I was thrilled to see him finally eating away but became concerned when he had been at it for more than an hour.  I had visions of rawhide coming back up later.  “We need to get the rest of that bone away from him before he eats the whole thing in one sitting,” I said to LM.  “I’ll tell you what, you take him outside and while he’s gone, I’ll put the rest of the bone up in the cabinet for another night.”  LM got the leash and took Eli outside while I picked up the soggy remains of the bone and tucked them away for another night.  When Eli came back inside and began looking for his precious bone, LM turned to me and said, “Did he really eat that whole thing already?”    
It’s a daily experience with LM that has brought us to Flash status.  And it’s been going on long and often enough that he’ll now even stop and look at me in a moment of clarity and say, “I know, don’t even say it” realizing he’s just had another Flash moment.  
To his credit, however, I’ve had my moments, too.  I pulled into a parking spot tonight and in an effort to avoid stepping right into huge puddles when I opened my door, I pulled further forward than I might have otherwise.  It was only when I got out of the car, gloating slightly for my thoughtfulness that had thus far kept my feet dry, that I realized everything I needed was in the trunk, which was now directly over the huge puddle I had been trying to avoid all along.  I could do little more than to look at LM and say, “That’s where you get it from originally, Flash.  They just call me, the Mother of Flash.”
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LM’s computer, the only computer we’ve had in this house for very nearly a year, is ancient and tired.  It takes no less than 40 minutes to completely boot and might take longer yet if you want to utilize messenger or check email.  It’s a lesson in patience each and every time you wish to turn it on and I have more than once threatened its very existence with a sledge hammer only to be stopped by the gentle but honest reminder from LM that “this is all we’ve got.”

We have a standing joke in this house.  As the ancient beast boots, it will often display a balloon advising us that the flash drive, memory card, printer or other device plugged into the USB port “could perform faster” if only it were plugged into a faster USB port.  
We find this little balloon to be the comic relief in all of the boot up agony.  Of course this device could perform faster.  Duh.  So I find it necessary to revise the latter part of the balloon statement at each start up.  Anything, everything would be faster than the computer we’re using.  
“This device could perform faster….”
“…. if only it were plugged into an iceburg.”
“…. if only it were plugged into a rock.”
“…if only it were plugged into a coffee table.”
“….if only it were dropped into the ocean and left to rot for ten years.”
and so forth.
It’s this small little attempt at humor that truly keeps us sane and prevents us from bashing our heads into this tiny keyboard each and every time we wish to use this machine.
Today, LM told me he’s actually hoping to get a faster USB port for Christmas.  I found this fascinating.  “Isn’t that like putting chrome tires  on a pinto?” I asked.  After explaining what a Pinto was, he suggested in might just be that futile indeed, but he thought it was worth a shot.  
I laughed and said I wondered if it would perform faster if it was plugged into a Crystal Skull.  (Another running joke:  when we watched Indiana Jones (which I do NOT recommend at all. Indiana Jones and aliens do NOT belong in the same movie) he saw the crystal skull and said, “Man, I do NOT want that thing for Christmas, it’s kind of creepy with it’s glowing eyes.”  And so, of course, ever since, I’ve done nothing else but tease that he is getting one for Christmas.)
I do wish I could be there when he opens his Christmas gift with his dad to find a new laptop.
But I will be here on Friday when we open MINE together.
FIVE MORE DAYS people.  FIVE MORE DAYS.

Oh Pot? This is Kettle Speaking, I'd Like a Word?

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I have no instruction manual and I have no clear plan for the forage through the next few years of parenting, however, tonight I did have a slight moment when we witnessed a brief but perhaps effective teaching moment.  

Tonight, LM tried to help an attention-deficient first grader with his homework.  And I heard him say, “G?  Focus!!!  We need to get this done!”
And when I called them out to dinner, I asked how it was going and LM said, “It would be going just fine if G would focus and work on it!” with complete exasperation.  And I paused long enough for LM to notice, and I stood with a Cheshire Grin on my face and I said, “I’m sorry, Pot.  Perhaps you have not yet been introduced.  This here is Kettle.”
LM was not at all amused with me, but when we spoke about it later in private, and I pointed out how badly he had wanted G to just finish up his word list so they could go back to playing PS2, he said he could sort of see how frustrating it was for me.
Sort of.
Hey, I’ll take a ‘sort of’.  Especially from a very black pot indeed.

The Downside of Single Parenting

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We’ve spent weeks, nay months, fighting in the same circle.  It has been an ongoing, consistent battle that has taken place nearly every weekend and sometimes even during the week.

I thought it was LM’s homework load, something he’s unaccustomed to having.  It’s all from his gifted class, the one that meets once a week.  I attributed it to poor planning, lack of focus, no organization.
We fought the battles one by one.  I gave suggestions, I demonstrated.  I helped, I pushed, I even lectured and yelled.  And nothing changed.
Many nights and all these weekends I would wait.  Wait for LM to finish his homework.  Wait for LM to tackle another essay, edit a journal entry, define his vocabulary.  And every weekend I was frustrated. 
Last weekend I quit waiting.  My frustration had reached an all-time high and I was completely out of lectures in my Mom File.  I left the house.  I went out for a few hours in the afternoon and entertained myself, leaving him on his own to finish his work.  I thought maybe if he realized he was missing out and that I wasn’t going to wait on him it would matter.
But it doesn’t.
This weekend I came to realize the true root of our disagreements.  This week, LM got nearly all of his homework done by late Friday night.  It wasn’t even until mid-morning today that I realized how close he was to being completely done.  And so we sat and talked about what we could do.  I was excited, I was eager, I was ready to go do something!!!
We talked about ice skating, bowling, a movie!  Any shopping he had left to do? How about the bookstore?  Maybe we could just play some games?  Monopoly?  Yahtzee?  Poker?  
He nodded and thought and hummed and pondered and I finally said, “You decide!!  I’m going to go take a shower!”
And when I came back, he still had no idea.  So I changed my clothes and dried my hair.  And still, he just wasn’t so sure.  And when I had vacuumed the house, finished the dishes and cleaned a cupboard full of ants, I found him in his room reading.  And I asked, “LM?  Isn’t there anything you really want to do today now that we finally have some time together?”  And it was his reply that turned the lightbulb on.  “Actually, Mom, I’d really just like to read my book.”
And I realized that’s been it all along.  He hasn’t cracked down and focused hard on getting his work done because he isn’t dying to do something else.  He’s not wishing for time to play games or go out.  He’s not missing out on anything when I go.  The truth of the matter is, he’s really quite content just staying put and reading.
The trouble is, his mother isn’t.

Once Again

amykoehn 1 Comment

It’s that time of year again.  The time when you look forward to an evening of holiday music, festive cheer and a sense of togetherness and community.  Unfortunately, none of those things are to be found at LM’s Holiday Christmas Concert.

I posted about his concert a year ago.   I took witnesses to his spring concert to prove I wasn’t kidding.  The third time around was as entertaining (in a sad, sorry sort of way) as the first two.  I’ll recap the evening for those of you fortunate enough to have missed it.
On the way to the concert, LM and I joked about what was to be expected.  He was holding out hope that the choir will have greatly improved since there’s a new director in place.  We both wondered how many students will be in the orchestra.  I admitted it would have been difficult to have encouraged my orchestral child after hearing last year’s dismal performance.
When we arrive, I’m disappointed to find the program lists only the songs to be performed and not the students’ names.   I have barely gotten comfortable in my seat, however, when I realize the reason for this is obvious.  The orchestra director was on stage setting up music stands for his group and he has only set up four stands in front of the eight chairs in the front row.  
I was even more discouraged when I saw only four violinists and three bass players come on the stage.  I was about to receive further bad news, however, when the director announced his group of students and welcomed the THREE high school bass players that were there to “help out” the orchestra.  Orchestra?  Four violins does not an orchestra make.  That’s a string quartet for crying out loud.  Let’s just face it, this man has an awfully cushy job of directing a small string ensemble at best.  And yet he calls himself the “Director of Orchestra”.  His words, not mine. 
 
The Middle School Orchestra String Ensemble Beginning Violin Class

With baited breath I hoped that the smaller numbers (and by smaller, I must note that last year there were no more than a dozen in the orchestra) there has been perhaps more attention given to each student.  Perhaps the music will be that much more involved.  But alas, another disappointment.  The same tunes quite nearly as last year.  Fiddles on Fire followed by Fumbling Fingers and I’d have to say it all sounded like someone was fumbling around in a fire indeed.  
In all honesty, I really feel for these students.  These are sixth through eighth graders, which means some of them have been in this orchestra, ensemble, string quartet for two years already.  To still be playing beginner music must be incredibly discouraging indeed. 
After the three songs by the orchestra, the choir came on the stage.  The director took quite some time to set up a couple of music stands.  One on either side of the group (later it became clear these were for the benefit of the soloists, although only one of the stands actually held any music).  He also set up a music stand right in the front middle of the whole group, proceeded to turn it around backwards and hung huge sheets of paper over it with the lyrics to each song handwritten for the choir to see. 
There was still no harmony, although I will admit, there was a slight moment of a brief two-part vocal in one song.  The soloists had microphones in front of them, but apparently no one saw fit to make sure they were on or working, so it was impossible to hear the timid voices.  I was fortunate, however.  There was a mother and high school-aged daughter sitting right behind me and the daughter not only knew the words to each of the songs the choir performed (and to think, she didn’t even have the advantage of the lyric sheets within her view!) but she also chose to sing them loud enough for me to hear above the choir.  (Note: the mother did make over a dozen attempts to shush her child, but apparently her daughter is deaf as she did not hear a single protest on her mother’s part.)   Lucky me, I was saved the agony of actually listening to the choir by this very courteous student behind me.
The same antics were in play this year for the choir as last.  We had a bizarre fashion ensemble going.  From jeans and sneakers to well, jeans and open-toed high heeled shoes (mind you, there’s snow on the ground and we walked in to the concert in freezing rain).  
Weather Report: Heat wave hits Southwest Michigan.  Dress for summer!

There were still the students that stood with arms folded and rolling eyes for the duration of the concert as though they were forced to be there instead of participating in an elective class.
  
I AM happy to be here.  I AM happy to be here.  I AM happy to be here.

When at last the choir ended their performance (with none other than a rousing sing-a-long rendition of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas is You”, a song no holiday concert is complete without) I was relieved to see LM’s band director take the stage and take control.
The band set up, moving drums, setting up stands and getting prepared for their portion of the evening.  As the director started to prepare the students to tune their instruments, a group in the audience choreographed a unison shout out of “Go Willa!” followed almost immediately by another group shouting support to another band member and so on as if in competition of one another.  LM’s band director took the microphone and immediately kaboshed the activity.  I nearly applauded the man right then and there.
Finally, a voice of authority and respect!

LM’s band, again, was wonderful. They performed not only with talent and discipline, but with class.  His director pushes them and holds them to a higher standard and it shows.  I was impressed and very pleased.  
The Middle School Concert Band

Afterwards, I took the time to talk with his director, as I always do, and to thank him again, for such a wonderful portion of the evening.  We talked about LM and how he’s had two more years of band than any of the students in the group now (his elementary school in PA started band in fourth grade, here they didn’t get instruments until sixth) and his director and I talked about getting LM into private lessons to keep him challenged.  He also mentioned the possibility of working LM in to some of the high school performances (I won’t create a false impression here, the high school band he directs is maybe twenty members at most.  LM’s director’s greatest hope is that LM will attend that high school in town).  
LM, First Trumpet

Knowing now that I need only to wait for the band and I will be impressed, I was able to sit through this concert with far less anxiety than the first.  LM is doing a great job leading the band as first trumpet and his director really expects LM to be a strong leader and to play well.  I’m glad there is someone at LM’s school who holds him accountable, even if he’s not able to provide a challenging enough environment to keep LM learning.  
LM and one of his best friends, D, both squinting through the stage lights trying to locate their mothers. 

We went for ice cream afterwards and laughed about the concert.  I was telling LM about one of the girls in the choir and her ongoing antics when he confessed that was the girl that had asked him to the dance in sixth grade.  I was suddenly very pleased that he had not gone with her then!  
There will be another concert in the spring and LM is already looking forward to performing a Phantom of the Opera medley then.  Me?  I’m looking forward in particular to the string duet.

Speaking of Twelve

amykoehn 3 Comments

Is there an instruction manual for this year?  Remember those 19 copies of “What to Expect When…” books we all got when we were preggers?  Is there one for twelve?  Just a basic survival guide for this year?  

Cause man, we’re NOT having such a good year.
I won’t itemize the list of recent frustrations, it would take way too long.  And yes, I remember twelve as being a not-so-good year for me either but it didn’t seem like it was always the SAME EXACT ISSUE just a new week.  Maybe I’m wrong.  
The gifted class acronym is starting to be a cuss word in our house.  LM just can’t get his mind around planning ahead or really making sure of something or even getting himself sort of organized.  I emailed his teacher tonight because the grading system leaves me wondering if my kid is doing okay or if we were crazy to admit him to this program to begin with.  Her comments reassure me that he’s doing fine, but one in particular, namely, “Jacob is a very fine writer with certain idiosyncracies – that’s normal although his are very particular!”  leaves me wondering.  Is that a compliment?  Is that supposed to leave me with a warm fuzzy feeling? 
Anyway.   If someone out there has a twelve year old, or perhaps an older child and they can share survival stories, help me out.  If you don’t have a manual I can borrow, can we at least try for a two-fer deal on ebay?  
PULEEZE?!?!!