Mary (who loves me more than I could possibly deserve but I’m not complaining!) sent me a Wiccan desk calendar for 2011, and I’m loving it very very much. One of the interesting things that I noticed is that yesterday was Imbolc. It was also Groundhog Day and St. Brigid’s day, but since Groundhog Day was covered not only by the Bill Murray movie, but also by the AWESOME SPN episode, Mystery Spot, (the funniest parts are pictured here:)
And St. Brigid’s day is not only VERY Irish, but also VERY overshadowed by St. Patrick’s Day, as well as VERY depressing, because it seems like being holy is not a whole lot to be sainted for. (I always picture saints as going into battle using a staff of oak and some chutzpah and then suffering horrible deaths in the name of freeing the people. Of course, the more I know about Christian history, the more I realize that they were more often the enslavers as opposed to the enslaved, but still, you always sort of hope that Saints are more interesting than the Wikipedia blurb suggests. It just seems like chastity is such a negative action, yanno?)
But Imbolc is sort of a day of hope–you light candles, you bake cookies, you say a little prayer that the sky ain’t lyin’ and that spring really is coming back, and there will be fertility and joy and more cookies and maybe even, if you laid your garden right (which I didn’t and don’t, although I’ve promised Squish that I would go buy her a big pot and some seedlings) you’d get flowers.
So yesterday was Imbolc. No candles, because THAT’S a recipe for disaster in this house, no decorations, because Valentine’s day is JUST around the frickin’ corner, and no cookies because I was running around like a rat without a tail yesterday…
But I remembered the hope. There will be pretty days, and there will be flowers. Squish and I will make sure of it, I promise.
Anyway, beyond that? Have been very very busy. Tuesday and Wednesday, Chicken’s school had testing in the morning so she went to school at eleven o’clock. Since she gets out at 2:45, this is REALLY frickin’ inconvenient–no lie. There was also some signing Squish up for Kindergarten, a parent/teacher meeting to get Zoomboy set up with a 504 (which basically says that teachers MUST accommodate his ADHD, even if they don’t believe it’s a real thing wrong) and in which all teachers involved said, “Ritalin is not a bad thing!” I’m inclined to believe them. I mean, yeah, I did okay, but “doing okay” also meant getting most disorganized person of the class of ’85–and no, until I graduated, that was NOT an actual category. It would be super-cherry-candy-awesome if Zoomboy could go through school and not be labeled “quirky” or “weird” or “eccentric”–he’s going to have enough trouble being “shy”, and, well, son of the weirdo writer-lady with too many cats who tends to laugh at all things inappropriate. (Starting to loathe that word, though. It can be said with such high-n-mighty-snide-n-trite disdain.)
About the only thing I really have to kvetch about, though, is the fact that I managed to keep a horse-bridle on my hair-trigger temper for once–as I was pulling into the parking lot to register Squish, the DIRECTOR was pulling out of her parking spot, which is, btb, A FOOT AND A HALF wider than the parking spots for the normal everyday peons such as myself. So, on my right is some Mercedes bling-mobile that scared the heck out of me, and to my left? Not a whole lot of line. It was like this parking spot was designed for people with Geos and Kias, and the rest of us were shit-outta-luck. So I thought, “Well, yanno? I”m gonna take up the six inches of line, and I know no one can fit in next to me, but if someone DOES fit in next to me, neither of us will actually be able to GET OUT OF OUR CARS!!! So the director lady sees me doing this, and does the hand up, “Excuse me! Excuse me! No one will be able to park there. Could you PLEASE fix your car?”
Well, I’m not usually shy about voicing my opinion in public (uhm, you all may remember a moment in Arco Arena, wherein I seriously considered decking a complete stranger for sticking her dumbassed officious nose somewhere it had no fucking business, yeah?) but… well… I was about ready to commit Squish to public education. Now, at this point, I need a backhoe and a jackhammer and some fucking miracle solvent to find my faith in public education under the deeply rooted bitterness tree that recent events have planted in my cynical little heart, but, well… Squish. My beautiful, beautiful Squish.
She’s gonna do SPLENDID in public school. Everything about her SCREAMS suck-up-to-the-teacher-until-they-love-me-so-much-I-have-to-pass, besides the fact that she’s hella fucking bright and could probably pass kindergarten in about a month, as long as someone not-the-mama was giving her the tests. (She’ll shine you on if she gets the chance– no lie.) Public education, for her, is going to be a beautiful, beautiful place.
I wasn’t going to do that to her. Seriously. I made her put her belt back on, I fixed the car, (and no, in case you were curious, I COULDN’T get my big fat ass back in when someone else pulled up next to me leaving six fucking inches of clearance between us–I had to come in from the other side. I hope I dinged the bling-mobile, just a little.) As I got out of the crap-mobile, the director was getting out of her car as it idled and going to put her cones in the middle of her spot so no one took it. I sighed loudly.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“Nothing, sweets. I just allowed myself to be bent over by the man.”
“Is that bad?”
“Only if you’re me. Let’s go, baby–your education awaits.”
