Open house 2008

Open house night at school is one of my favorite nights of the year. Sure I love to see just how creative Carson can get with a paper plate and some dried macaroni, but that's not the real reason. The real reason is that once a year, a teacher sits me down and tells me just how great a kid Carson is. And any mother can tell you, when some one compliments your child, they are really complimenting you. When a teacher says, "Carson is so well-behaved", what she really means is, "Mrs. Kosub your disciplinary techniques are revolutionary". When a teacher says, "Carson is one of the smartest kids in his class" what she really means is, "He is actually the smartest kid in the class, but I could never say that out loud with all these other parents around."

Thursday night was open house at our school and for the first time in four years, I decided to skip it. I will explain. On Monday, Carson brought home a less than stellar report card for the 5th six weeks. I wrote the teacher a note asking if I should be concerned and if so, what could I do to help him. I completely expected her to say that his grades were a bizarre anomaly and I should not be the least bit worried. I didn't hear back from her, so I caught her Thursday morning as she was walking around looking at open house projects. Bracing myself for my yearly praise-fest, I was stunned when she said that Carson is struggling with reading and that his grades reflect that. She said Carson is on "on level" in reading, but that he definitely needs some sort of tutoring this summer or he won't be ready for the rigors of 2nd grade reading. Needless to say, I was taken aback.

Summer school???? My mind conjured up images of juvenile delinquents slumped at their desks, throwing spit balls at my baby's head. Summer school is for kids on behavioral meds, not Carson. He made one tiny little 81 in phonics. I realize that this particular grade has been in steady decline since the first of the year, but come on, summer school?

As I stood there and listened, I wanted to slap, I mean, remind her that he is the youngest one in the class and that maybe, that is at the root of the problem. Of course, the only solution to him being the youngest in the class would be to hold him back and I simply can't do that to him. His teacher also cautioned against that because he is a math genius and he would be totally bored if he had to do 1st grade again. That won her back some goodwill points and I remembered why I love her so much. She is a good teacher and she is only trying to help him succeed. Once I digested the bad news, I decided to find him a tutor.

So, Carson is scheduled for an assessment at Sylvan next Saturday. And believe me when I say, making that call was not easy. Even as I made the appointment, I found myself incoherently babbling (to a perfect stranger no less) about how Carson really doesn't need alot of help, just a booster of sorts, because he is not failing for heaven's sake, just struggling with the basics you know, and we are in no way required to take summer school, we are simply looking at a way to supplement his education blah, blah, blah. I mean I went on and on like a complete idiot.

Later, as I thought about my conversation with that poor receptionist, I realized what I was doing. I wasn't making excuses for Carson; I was really making excuses for myself. Because in the end, when a mom hears that her child is failing, what she really hears is that she is failing her child. I hate that Carson gets the last of what I have to give each day. I hate that everything we do, has to get done between 6:00 and 9:00 because that is all the time we have. And I really hate feeling guilty for working. Because I love my job and I love that Dobie is there too and I love that I am good at what I do.

So what's a mom to do? Well, number one, she gets herself a housekeeper. Ours started yesterday. That way the weekends do not consist of me cleaning all day and barking at anyone who dares to walk through the fresh vacuum lines. And family time re-emerges as a weekend pastime. Number two, she accepts the fact that her child may be slightly imperfect and that this is not the end of the world (slightly harder to accomplish than Number one). And number three, she realizes that "working mom" is not the equivalent of "crappy mom". This, I am sure will be an on-going battle, especially when Emerson starts school too. But, I'm working on it.

Boot Camp Blues

Boot Camp Day 8. Things have taken a turn for the worse.

I showed up a couple of minutes late for my Thursday night class, thereby missing the stretching segment of the class. Big mistake. While doing hamstring curls with “power bands” wrapped around my ankles, I felt something go terribly wrong. My hamstring did not necessarily snap or pop, but it tightened up and started to get hot. Not willing to admit that I was hurt, I went on to run some laps and then run the stairs with my group. Bigger mistake. By the time I was willing to stop, I was in some doubt about whether I was going to be able to walk out on my own two feet. I got the kids rounded up and hobbled home.

Things did not get better for me at this point. I took a hot bath and tried to stretch out my legs. By this time, both of my hamstrings hurt and my left knee was throbbing. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found some Icy Hot. Although I have smelled the stuff on Dobie before, I had never actually used it myself. I skipped reading the directions and went straight to application. Biggest mistake of all. I got too big of a blob in my hand so I just started rubbing it in all over my legs. In a few seconds it started to do what it is supposed to do and it got hot. Like 9000 degrees hot. That’s when I realized that I inadvertently got a little too close to my “hoo-haw” and that it was on fire. Preoccupied by my incenerating nethers, I didn't think it through and got back in the tub to scrub some of the hot lava off before my hoo-haw completely melted off. However, the hot water in the tub only exacerbated the thermal effects of the Icy Hot and the heat level to my tra-la-la reached Nuclear. Too embarrassed to ask Dobie to help me, (I mean seriously what was he going to do) I crawled into bed and prayed that I would soon pass out.

About twenty minutes later, everything returned to normal and I just went to sleep. Today, I am still in a substantial amount of pain but mostly I am just ticked. I am trying so hard to lose weight and I really don’t need to be hobbled right now. It takes a lot for me to get in an exercise frame of mind and I was there. Now, I am afraid that I will have to quit. Boo.

Vasectomy vacillations

April 12, 2008

Valentines Day was supposed to be the big day. For Dobie's vasectomy that is. Unfortunately, his mother learned that she had breast cancer and would be undergoing surgery herself. So we cancelled the appointment and re-scheduled it for April 15.

So, April 15 is right around the corner and I'm within sniffing distance of a contraception free future, right? Wrong. I panicked. I began to obsess over the fact that if I ever did change my mind about having more kids, there would be no going back. I say this on good authority despite what many a I-45 billboard has to say on the subject. The doctor made it clear, the "area" would be cut, cauterized, tied into knots and then stuffed up somewhere, never to be seen again. Forever,ever,ever........

To make matters worse, I got the kids a teeter totter this week and the first night they had it they stayed on it all night. Laughing, squealing in delight, playing together in perfect sibling harmony. It was a picture of domestic bliss. How much harder could one more be???

Needing to be talked off my reproductive cliff, I called my sister. Let me see if I can remember this correctly. I believe what she said was, and I quote, "What??!!?? - You and Dobie can barely handle the two you have, don't cancel the appointment, you do not need anymore kids". She was, and is absolutely right. I have no business even considering having another child. But, I am just not comfortable making any permanent decisions right now. Emerson is smack in the middle of the terrible two's. She's not even potty trained yet. So she's still alot of work. There is still the outside possibility that she will learn to treat animals humanely and could actually become welcome at people's houses. I am convinced that the only way to make an informed decision about this subject is to wait until she more manageable. More time would give my a little more perspective.

Further exacerbating the situation, is that right now, I am surrounded by pregnant people. My sister in law is due in two months, three of my friends at work are expecting this summer, and the daycare has always got some preggo coming in to check out the place. And because I was one of those freaks who loved being pregnant, I am terribly jealous. I am immersed in all the glowy wonderful pre-baby bliss. What I really need is a big dose of our-baby-has-his-days-and-nights-mixed-up and I-haven't-slept-in-three-days. Maybe a good I-was-walking-out-the-door-and Jr.-projectile-vomitted-on-me. That would help.

In any event, Dobie and I have decided to wait until our next anniversary. We will be 35, Emme will be well into the 3's, and our house projects should be coming to a close. A much more perfect time to make a better decision.

I must be completely nuts.

Look Ma, I'm blogging!!

This being my very first blog entry, I would like to dedicate it to my dear friend, Ann Haag. Although I left Lubbock (and our daily contact) behind eight years ago, I still get to share in the whole Haag saga every week. I faithfully tune in to find out what that crazy Caroline is going to say next or to see if John is staying healthy this week. I love that despite the miles and miles that divide us, I can still feel connected to my friend and her family.

That being said, here are the baseline facts for the Kosub clan.

1. Carson is 6 1/2. I have told him many times to stop growing, but he refuses.
2. Emerson is 2 1/2. I have told her many times to get to age three as quickly as possible, but like all two year olds, she wants to do it her way.
3. Dobie and I have been married 8 years. I had him on a five-year-till-perfection plan. At the five year mark, I had to amend the plan and make it 7. At eight, I consider my plan a success.
4. I have recently decided to join a "boot camp" at the YMCA. I am in a lot of pain right now. To make matters worse, one of the teachers is in her early 100's and is still in much better shape than I am.
5. We have one dog, Duncan. He is named for Tim Duncan of the World Championship San Antonio Spurs. He is a beagle/chewing machine/destructor of all things valuable and precious.
6. Having recently re-taken our bed by force, we have decided that we are quite happy with our two children and there will be no more.
7. Dobie is still in love with his job, but for the first time, is considering leaving for greener (green like money) pastures. I just want him to be happy, so I will leave this decision to him.
8. My job changes so much on a yearly basis, I think I'll stay just to see what happens next.
9. So far this year we have only had one hospital stay, thanks to Emerson. However, just in case, I have begun to formulate a plan to rotate ER's so that CPS doesn't get wise to us.
10. I am determined to teach Carson to ride a bike, learn to swim and tie his shoes by the end of the summer. There just comes a point when training wheels, floaties and velcro are no longer appropriate for a 7 year old.

That is it for now. Dobie is out of town and I have to begin negotiations with the children regarding the sleeping arrangements for tonight. I have the feeling that I will be sleeping with two children, at least four "babies", a couple of Webkins and a dog.

- s