Jul 3, 2012

Wait! It's not the 4th! Stop the noise!

So, it's the Fourth of July!  Wait, no it's not.  It's the third of July, therefore, I didn't even capitalize the "t" in the word "third," and this is caused much more work for my fingers than necessary.  However, I am like Pavlov's dog.  See, the neighbors behind our 'hood are shooting off impressive fireworks.  I jumped out of bed and watched for a while, then came back to bed.  There was a lull in the fireworks, and I am truly exhausted from 5 1/2 hours at the YMCA pool this afternoon.  We came home around 6:PM, and ate dinner, and I thought I fell asleep in my salad.  I was supposed to be asleep by 7:30 PM, but the fireworks make me excited and giddy and I go running every time they start up again.  Now, even the furry child is laying under the bed and not running anymore, and I am exhausted and wish that my hearing was shot or that they would just save the good ones for tomorrow night.  Would it be rude to get in the car and drive over there to show them the calendar?

We are planning on another day at the YMCA and then over to Riverstone to do the parade and fireworks.  The kids were invited to be in the parade with an amazing organization we joined this past February, called radKIDS.  Any child that has graduated since that first class, is welcome to join in the radKIDS group in the parade.  I was nervous, because there will be a lot of people, and if I am not with them, that makes me nervous.  So, I emailed and asked for some more specifics, and expressed my fears, (no, not the bank, elevator, airplane, gas station, post office, gun, being stopped in traffic, locking a door for fear of being stuck in the room and dying, touching a pay phone and have a bad trip due to someone lacing the phone booth with acid, (Wondering if there are phone booths anymore, and if they still have doors that fold closed and might get stuck into since if it breaks, there are no people qualified to service them since they are soooo old)  Okay, I managed to put a parenthesis inside a parenthesis, however, what I am getting at it, I didn't go through that list.  I went through my concern that my son might go to anyone at all, in spite of the fact that they were the ones who taught him  safety.  (Oh man, this is sounding screwy.)  The response I got was that I was welcome to come in the parade with them. I told Shay that Geoff and I might join them during the parade, to make sure that they are safe, and she was very unhappy.  Why?  Because she has turned into a spotlight hog, and apparently, we do not give her enough attention, and I quote, "I want you in the audience to take pictures of me!)  Audience?  It's a parade.  You walk down a street.  Whatever.  I don't get it, but I might let her do this.  We will see how crowded it looks, and how many kids join the group.  If it is just my two, I might let them get their moment in the spotlight.  If you see them, don't ask for their autograph- they will no doubt say, "Stay back!  What's the password?!"  If you don't know it, which you won't, because I have not told you it, then they will run, and not stop, and therefore, I will lose them, and it will all be your fault for trying to feed into some small childs' narcissistic behaviors.  This is not my doing.  I think I need to put the camera down.  Some days, I feel like they expect me to video a bowel movement.  Which reminds me of preschool.

I was the dumbest kid in preschool.  No joke.  I got in trouble for having ADD, yet, I was never diagnosed with it.  I was supposed to write my ABC's first thing when I got into class, then when done, which never happened for me, to come and sit on the rug for circle time.  Not once, in all the time in preschool, did I make it to the rug.  I NEVER finished writing the whole alphabet in time.  I am not entirely certain of what I was doing, but I can tell you that occasionally I would find my long hair more exciting than finishing my work.  Once, I got my pencil knotted in my hair, and that really pissed off my teacher.  Finally, she started punishing me but not allowing me to play outside.  I would have to finish my work, then go outside with the class and sit against the wall for not completing it.  Then, she started sending notes home to my mom.  At that point, my mom had had it with me too.  She was told she had to teach me to spell my last name.  T-A-N-N-E-N-B-A-U-M.  That was a cluster.  I have never formally addressed this lesson with a therapist, but if I ever see one more than three times in a row, I might bring it up.  My mom must have been aware of my struggles, but her financial struggles won, so I never found out why I was so slow, or why that teacher thought ruining a four year old's fun on the playground was beneficial to teaching time management skills.

Here's how all that ties into preschool... in case I lost you with that ADD rant... I remember my first year in preschool.  I must have been very young, maybe three?  Anyway, I remember sitting at my desk, and we had a small bathroom in our classroom.  Every time someone went in, I would patiently wait and watch for them to come back out.  When they came out, I thought it was my job to stand up and clap.  It took a few days for the teacher to figure out what was causing my odd behavior, but finally, she stopped and asked that I sit down, and that we don't behave that way.  So, I remember the next time some one came out, I remained seated, but clapped with such enthusiasm you'd think Captain Kangaroo had just entered the room.  That poor teacher.  SO, I suppose that my daughter thinks I should capture every single moment of her life since I must overstep my bounds with every other aspect of exemplifying her life, as I did with each chid that ever  went to take a dump in my classroom.

No comments:

Post a Comment