By Heather O.
The blog was broken, which is why nobody has been blogging lately. Not that we’re super duper active bloggers lately anyways, but this time, there was a reason. Really.
And the thing is, many times I had things to blog about, and I’d come over here and want to talk about them, and the blog would be broken and I’d think, “Dang, where am I going to dump this?” and I either put something abbreviated on facebook, try to forget my stewing by watching a show, or stew some more and eat some chocolate for comfort. So when I found out the blog was fixed by our best guys (and again, “our best guys” means “The Wiz’s husband when he gets around to it after he finally has nothing else on his plate”), I got excited because I thought it meant I could finally get all my thoughts out of my head and we could have some awesome, cool discussions that have nothing to do with the presidential campaign because I live in a battleground state and I say FOR THE LOVE OF BETSY ROSS enough already.
But at this moment, this very BLOGGABLE moment, I’ve got nothing.
I have been blogging a little bit over at Living With PKD , so if you want to read about kale and poop (and really, who doesn’t), you can head on over there.
(You won’t be disappointed. If you’re looking for kale and poop stories, that is. If you’re looking for other things, well, then you might be disappointed.)
(Just out of curiosity, if you’re *not* looking for kale and poop stories, why would you be over there in the first place? Weird.)
As far as other parenting, non-kidney news goes, school has started, which is always exciting. My son’s teacher has this little incentive reward thingie goin’ on where if students have “green” behavior all week and turn in every homework assignment, then they get to eat lunch with the teacher. Outside. As in, NOT in the stinky cafeteria. And their parents can come. And bring them food from a restaurant. And with the fall weather this amazing, it’s quite an incentive indeed. J is loving it.
Of course, if I eat lunch with one kid, I have to eat lunch with my other kid, so Fridays I get to have pretty much the coolest lunch dates ever. This has been going on for 3 Fridays now, and I find I really like spending time with my kids during the school day.
And I’ve also decided that I’m really glad that I’m a grown up. I may have to pay my mortgage, but at least that doesn’t require me to bend my mind around math homework anymore, homework that includes fractions.
Because fractions? They are of the devil.
We are rapidly approaching the time when I won’t be able to help my son with his math homework. The other night, DH wasn’t home, and J said, “Where’s Dad? I need his help.” I said, “He won’t be home until late. Can I help?” He shook his head and said something like, “Nah, it’s a math problem. You won’t know how to do it.” I got indignant, of COURSE I can handle 5th grade math, just who did he think he was, Mr. Smarty Pants?
Then I looked at his homework.
I said, “Yeah, we should probably wait for your dad. He’s in a meeting—wanna text him?”
And then I had a mini anxiety attack just looking at his math textbook, so I left the room, abandoning my son to his math-ly fate.
He emerged unscathed.
I’m so impressed by anybody who doesn’t get beaten up by math.
But be proud–I have yet to reveal to my son that the fact that I had to take algebra in the 7th grade and then AGAIN in college has helped me not at all in life. Seriously, like, not at all. Fractions, sure, they’re kinda useful, especially when you’re trying to cook (which I’m not great at either, truth be told), but algebra? “My favorite class!”–said NO ONE EVER.
And if it’s possible that you are reading this and thinking, “Hey, I said that!” then I bow to you as a symbol of my humility, because if algebra was your favorite class, you must be way, way, WAY cooler than I am, because it also means that you can do cooler stuff than I can, like play pool, or make an airplane out of bamboo and chewing gum, ala MacGyver.
(Who I’m sure was probably really good at algebra.)
(And who, as far as I can tell, doesn’t have a first name. Or, he doesn’t have a last name. Seriously, does anybody ever call him anything else than MacGyver? Like, is he Jim MacGyver, or is he MacGyver Jones?)
(Suddenly this is very important to me.)
(I should go to bed.)