Because of the holiday last week and a suspended poll, we are still on Valentine’s Day.  Good grief.

36% of you are all about the chocolate.  Agreed.  Although really, is there ANY holiday in which chocolate is not involved?  32% don’t care one way or the other, and 19% refuse to be told which day of the year love should be celebrated.  Agreed on that one, also.  6% of you love Valentine’s Day, and 4% of you think Valentine’s Day can suck it.

Today my question involves summer vacation time, which is coming up faster than you would think.  Although the stretch from April to June can feel pret-ty long sometimes.

Despite the similar bone structure, Jeffrey Dean Morgan won out over the smoldering Javier Bardem with 65% of the vote.  Maybe it was Bardem’s turn as a tragically coiffed serial killer that turned you off, or maybe you are just suckers for a smile?

If it’s the latter, then our next contestant might be in trouble.  This dad first became famous because of his abs and the way his abs looked hovering above some tight white Calvin Klein briefs.  Since then, he’s come quite a long way.  Baby. 

Could. Not. Resist.

Have I mentoned Thursday nights usually find me in a semi-coma?

VERSUS

On Monday night, the Munchkin was sick.

He was being given acetominophen, but at about 9:30pm, his temperature clocked in at 103.6.

Now, I’m normally not one to panic but he was looking pretty peaked and I thought to myself, hmmm, 103.6 is pretty freaking high.  And that’s even taking into account that his system already had fever reducer in it.

We have a health plan that has a 24 hour nurse hotline, and I figured since we pay for it, I might as well use it.  I was considering taking him in to urgent care, but usually I like to stay home as much as possible and just sort of ride the illness out.   I’ve found that just as much harm can be done hauling kids out of bed in the cold of night and sitting in a waiting room just to discover there’s not a whole lot that can be done. 

Been there, done that.

So I’m on hold waiting for the nurse and she finally comes on the line.  She has to ask me some prescribed questions about the Munchkin’s condition, and I answer them in a very calm and serene manner.  I tell her his temperature, I inform her that he is not fainting, nor is he having problems moving his extremities.

But then she asks me, “What color is his tongue?”

Good question.

I make him stick it out, and I answer, “Well, to be honest, it looks sort of gray.”

She replies, “Gray? Did you say his tongue was gray?”

Still looking at it, I answer in the affirmative, as there is sort of a grayish coating on it.  Sorry if that’s gross-sounding, but if you’re a parent you’ve heard and seen much, much worse, I’m sure.

I hear the nurse say, “A gray tongue is a possible sign that he isn’t getting enough oxygen.  I want you to hang up right now and call 911.”

Me, “Huh?”

Her, “Yes, I want you call 911 right now.”

Me, “Uh, yeah, OK, whatever.”

Because dude, I know that he is getting plenty of oxygen and it is the NURSE who is now panicking, not me.

I’m sure she hung up the phone thinking my son was surely headed to his doom because his mother was so nonchalant about his oxygen-starved brain.

But I’m pretty sure I made the right decision.

Although the Munchkin sure was disappointed he didn’t get to ride in an ambulance.

Tough luck, kid.

*Ten points for the title of the book this is from.

Believe it or not, I’m a friendly person.

I like to think that my friends are good friends, and if I don’t consider you a friend, then you are merely an acquaintance whom I have deemed unworthy of pursuing a friendship with.  I’m not someone who enters a friendship lightly.

That changed when I became a parent.

For good or ill, I must cast my lot with unknowns, whether it be for birthday parties or play dates or watching soccer practice.

I consider myself to be a gracious, social person.  But nothing has tested my notion of friendship more than the constant game of  musical chairs with other parents.

For a few years, the Munchkin had a really good friend.  We would take that friend with us to trick-or-treat and to the beach and the movies and all sorts of fun places.  The other family would also invite the Munchkin to do fun things and all were having a good time. I was glad to do it, and I felt that in turn, I was forged a fairly good relationship with the other mom.  Now, Other Mom had two older children, so methinks she knew the course our friendship would run a bit better than I did.  As our children became closer, so did we.  We would chat when picking up and dropping off, as well as at school and on the phone when making arrangements. 

When I say that, I mean that we ventured into deeper conversational territory than what we were cooking for dinner that night, if you know what I mean.

Then last year, the friendship between the two children began to fade.  I will never force my child to play with someone he doesn’t want to play with, so other than suggesting some outings with said friend that were rejected, I didn’t push.

I swore, though, that the fact that our children’s friendship was possibly waning didn’t mean Other Mom and myself also had to cease talking.

So I called, and we talked, and everything was fine.

But then, I noticed that I was waiting longer and longer between calls, and Other Mom wasn’t calling me at all.

And that is when I realized that I hadn’t been Aware. 

Other Mom had probably had this happen to her many times prior to this due to her two older children.  Your kid has a friend, and you obviously get to know the parent of the other child if they are hanging out a lot, but it is more a friendship of convenience and forced proximity than something that would have happened organically.  Then when the kids move on, you move on.  There aren’t any hard feelings or deliberate attempts to be hurtful, but one only has so much time in the day.  And how else can you get to know the parents of your child’s new friends when you are busy hanging on to the old ones?

Sigh.

I guess it’s a game I’d rather not play, but at least now I know the rules.

Here come the fine folks at the University of Minnesota to reassure us moms that yes, we have the ability to screw up our children, and good.

Among other things found in the Minnesota Longitudinal Study of Risk and Adaptation, researchers found that:

The strength of the bond you formed with Mom during the first two years of life strongly affects how efficiently you and your partner will move beyond a fight and join forces to accomplish mutual goals.

Those people who had formed a strong bond with their mothers were better able to resolve conflicts with their partners, and those who were not as fortunate tended to not play nice in a fight. 

Not all is lost for those who didn’t resolve conflicts as quickly.  The study found that if they had a partner who was able to “get over it” quickly, then the relationship fared better.

But wait, couldn’t that be said of any relationship?   If your partner doesn’t really care, I  would think it would be easy to move on from conflict no matter how much you hate your Mom. Jebus.

I swear, every psychiatrist should have a plaque in their office saying, “Thanks, Mom!”

Don’t you think?

You decided to go with the older actor, choosing Jeffrey Dean Morgan over Orlando Bloom, with JDM recieving 53% of the vote.  Not exactly an overwhelming majority, but maybe Orlando was just a bit too young?  I dunno, I secretly think he is too young for me to have a crush on, so there’s that. Even though I have a hearty dislike of the term cougar, I can’t help feeling like one when it comes to Mr. Bloom.

Today’s challenger is an interesting one, in that he and Jeffrey Dean Morgan look very similar to each other.  Although I must admit they give off very different vibes.

VERSUS

I’m only now hearing about the teacher who blogged about her work environment and some of her students.  It seems to have made quite a splash on the blogosphere and the news, and I have no excuse for not finding it earlier, other than I have a tiny, demanding human being who willfully bites electric cords and opens the trash can and all manner of other things that could potentially land her in the ER if  don’t watch her every single second.  Thus, I have about two hours at night in which to cram in all of the things I need to do.  I’m lucky I even know about Bahrain at this point.

Anyhoo, a teacher wrote about her school, and some of her administrators, and some of her students.  And yes, she complained about them and some of her job duties on a few of her posts.  She didn’t name any of them, and didn’t name the school.  She blogged under her first name and last initial, and didn’t even make her location known. I’d say other than blogging under a pseudonym (which I’m sure she wishes she had done now)  there isn’t much else she could have done to make it more anonymous.  Basically this was a personal blog that sometimes mentioned things about her job, it wasn’t set up to deliberately bash her students or co-workers.

One of her students supposedly stumbled across her blog, reported it to the school, and she was sent home and suspended for a week.

Is it just me, or did the school and the district overreact?

I know that it is a general rule not to blog about work, but usually that applies to people who name names. 

She didn’t.

By some twist of fate, someone who was able to recognize her found her blog amongst the thousands out there, and reported it.

Maybe I’ve just got a soft spot for teachers, but why wouldn’t she be allowed to complain about the general state of her class?  Goodness knows I read blogs that constantly talk about their jobs and co-workers and say much worse than what Ms. Munroe did.  Add to that the district has no Internet or blogging policies in place, so I would like to think she and her First Amendment rights get a pass on this one.

Ms. Munroe is unapologetic for her blog, and I for one, support her fully.

She actually hopes that her complaints about her students and their lack of engagement and responsibility will spark a discussion about accountability and where that accountability should be placed.  I think this is an idea that has merit, as teachers have definitely become huge scapegoats in the education game.   Not much talk is made of parents who don’t care, which there are more of than you would like to think.

Those among us who have never complained about their job, feel free to set that stone aloft.

When my son turned six, I discovered that he had a hearing problem.

It was nothing that needed a doctor’s intervention.  It was just that he discovered the fine art of selective listening.

He is now 8, and it hasn’t really gotten better.  In fact, I’d say it has gotten worse.

Although he never fails to hear any sentence that includes the words “candy” or “dessert.”

What I don’t understand is the thought process behind his almost supernatural ability to not hear what I’m telling him.   Does he think that I will suddenly give up?  That I will get tired of repeating myself and stop ordering him to clean his room because it is just too much trouble?  I suppose it might be worth a shot.

But then I find myself saying the same thing over and over, each time getting louder and louder.

Because we ALL know the thought process on that one, right?

When someone doesn’t understand you, you feel you must talk LOUDER and SLOWER, as if that will suddenly clear everything up.

But for an 8 year old, that still doesn’t work. 

I can’t be the only one out there with this problem, right?

So I’m thinking of investing in a tape recorder, recording my top ten oft-repeated phrases, and then selling it as a CD so that I can help every other mom out there save her vocal cords and her patience.  I’d even have a special one made just for the car.   You would never have to answer the question “Are we there yet?” again.  Let me do it for you! Just keep hitting the repeat button and I’ll be glad to say the response a hundred times if that’s what it takes!

You’re welcome, world.

That will be $13.99.

Plus tax.