1.  To start things off, I came home from a long day (long week this week) and pulled into our alley.  There was a pick up parked at the end but there was room for me to pull into our miniscule driveway.  So I pulled up and the guy jumped in his truck at the same time and backed up without looking.  I managed to hit my horn but BOOM.  The van is fine, but it was hard enough to really shake me up and I must say I ache a bit today.

2.  So then I go to ARTNITE where I am volunteering at the refreshment table.  Let me just say that I think if I worked in a restaurant I would be one of the people spitting in customer’s food.  People just annoy the hell out of me.  Kids and parents alike coming up to the table and, with a look of revulsion on their face, asking if we have tooth picks for the cheesecubes.  Or looking at a heaping bowl of gorgeous strawberries and looking disgusted while asking how they were supposed to pick them up.  What is with people being so afraid to touch food that they are going to put in their own mouths?  Other looked at me blankly and asked if we had plates.  NO—maybe you’re supposed to take a damn strawberry and move—not fill up a dinner plate!  grrr.  Now granted, other people were kind and gracious but just the same, it’s a good thing I DON’T work in a restaurant….

3.  Being the mother of a first grader, it seems like the question de rigeur is "so, is your child going to be in the gifted program next year?"  I had several people ask me that yesterday (and I’m not talking about close friends who ask me and talk about it—that is good and actually helpful).  But for people you don’t know, how is this a polite question?  Especially when their response is, "oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping to meet some of my daughter’s classmates."  Irritate the shit out of me.  Then stand there and don’t do a damn thing to help me, which is what you’re supposed to be doing.  Grrr.  I have really, really struggled with this issue of the gifted program.  Leo’s teacher had told me that she would be very surprised if he didn’t get in and not to worry about it.  He tested extremely high on the first round of tests.  The second tests—very erratic.  I have to admit that I was absolutely devastated when he didn’t get in.  I’ve been struggling because I’m trying to figure out if this is about me or about him.  What breaks my heart is that some of his best friends did get in and I’m worried about how that will affect him.  And of course, he’s the guy that constantly says school is boring and does his homework in a flash.  When I told his teacher that she said, "oh, I’m sure this is boring for him."  So I’m trying to come to terms with this but then I find out that others have complained and had their kids retested…..so now I feel I should do that but I’m a lousy complainer other than here on my blog.  The whole thing just makes me sick to my stomach and brings me to tears and it all somehow makes me feel like a lousy parent.   I swear to god this is the same feeling I had when I struggled trying to breastfeed him and his pediatrician finally just told me to stop.  I feel like I’m letting him down. I’m not doing everything I can for him.  I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

4.  O.K. on to a more cheerful note…..Ernie had called the other day to say that one of Leo’s  drawings was on the door of the school with a sign for ARTNITE.  Leo was incredibly proud.  That same day he had brought in another drawing he had done and said it was for ARTNITE.  So last night after we saw the drawing on the door (I know he looks kind of sullen but given that he normally won’t allow pictures this actually shows him jumping with joy):


and then his penguin:


Then he wanted to find his other drawing.  So we traipsed throughout the school, into corridors that weren’t set up for ARTNITE with me trailing behind trying to tell Leo that I’m sure they couldn’t put up everything that kids brought in…..when Ernie all of a sudden said "ah HAH" and bounded up some steps.  There was Leo’s train picture….


Leo’s face lit up.  We all admired it for awhile and then with great solemnity he marched downstairs and confidently said, "I. AM. AN. ARTIST."

What’s better than that?

6.  Owen LOVED helping me at the refreshment table and let’s just say he actually helped unlike some others. When we were walking home, Owen contentedly munched on strawberries and said, "I’m sure glad you worked at the bar stand Mom."