Confession: I have greatly been neglecting my blogging duties, both in posting and commenting. I apologize.
I am closing out the class I taught this summer and finalizing (read: starting) the three syllabi's for the three different classes I will be teaching this semester. While I am doing all of this, I am trying desperately to not calculate the amount on my paycheck verse the amount of hours I'm clocking in on my couch grading, coordinating and planning.
That conversion chart only brings me to tears and causes me to eat all the Oreo's Safeway has to offer.
As I channel the brilliance that make up my in-class activities and graded assignments for all students to enjoy, I will leave you with this short story that pretty much sums up my last couple days:
When I want Psizzle to, "Come here." for any reason, he will run to the farthest corner of the room we are in. He wants me to stretch my arms toward him and say, "Reeeaaadddyyyy?! GO!" Then he runs into my arms as fast as his little chicken toddler legs will allow.
(It makes me sad to think he may get in trouble for this when he starts school NEXT WEEK. I feel an uncontrollable need to tell the teachers about this habit and encourage them to play along because I think it is cute. Also, Pman does not drink from a cup without a lid and has questionable skills when it comes to boxed drinks. I fear he will be judged thusly.)
Anyway, as we are in P's room for a postnap diaper change/potty visit, I asked him to, "Come here please."
He took off for the far corner, which is also where his windows are. His windows with curtains that go all the way to the ground. As he launched his little body in my general direction, he also pulled the curtains and the curtain rod right down- out of the wall, leaving a series of holes and a gash.
After a quite a bit of deep breathing and counting to ten, P got the message that mommy needed a minute. I said, "I'm mad right now. I wish you knew to be more careful. Let's go calm down and have a snack."
Snack? Snack you say? Let's go.
A bit later back up in P's room, brandishing a power drill, I climbed up on an ottoman so I could attempt to fix the curtains.
Did I mention it was a rocking ottoman?
I'm not sure what happened or how. I was up, trying to drill the screw into a stripped hole of sorts while cussing quietly through my teeth and plotting against the stupid guys who design curtain rods and the ones who built my house because clearly they all had a hand in this mess.
Within minutes, I was on the ground, firmly gripping the power drill (thank God). My fall was not graceful. When it was done, no one was bleeding, the window itself was still in tact and Parker had learned some new combinations of some very bad words.
I did somehow end up with a bruise the size of Montana on my calf. It's not cute, but I'm hoping strangers think I got it in some mountain climbing accident and not while standing on moving furniture with battery powered tools in my hand- in my 2 year old son's room.