I would say T.G.I.F., but it's the start of a four day weekend thanks to Mr. Columbus. Peter had a check-up today for his cast, an arm that's been redone in patriotic stripes to replace Ms. Argentina's sloppy work. Now if I can just figure out how to make the cast feel the same as "room temperature" inside, then wearing it for two more weeks would be much more tolerable.
The children brought to my attention the harmful chain of events between four, raucous siblings that have led us to the E.R. in recent years. Without using names, it goes something like this:
X broke Y's nose; Y broke X's finger; Y broke P's elbow. Z is unscathed.
Just for the record, Y is my oldest. Peter said it's his turn to retaliate and break someone's something. "I know! I'll break someone's heart," he said seriously with that infectious grin. At least that won't send us to the E.R.
It's been a semi-rough week. That's how I'd categorize any week where a teacher calls or a yellow discipline slip comes home in his daily folder. I had both. This week the problems occurred during his "specials" a.k.a. P.E. and music. His frustration, and subsequent tears, during P.E. were my fault for forgetting to send in a doctor's note. Sitting quietly as an observer is hardly ideal for a boy in constant motion. Then here's what his music teacher noted on his discipline referral:
Peter has had a terrible attitude the past couple of music classes and has flat out
refused to do his activities. He spent most of the class telling everyone that he hates
school, hates music, and hates the activity.
Maybe if she'd been playing Usher then he might've been more inclined to participate and raise the roof as he's known to do.
And, lastly, the pictures I'd been so anxious to receive came home today. There was the envelope with the large glossy window, folded in half in the bottom of his backpack. Surely, there has to be a better way to package them.
The children brought to my attention the harmful chain of events between four, raucous siblings that have led us to the E.R. in recent years. Without using names, it goes something like this:
X broke Y's nose; Y broke X's finger; Y broke P's elbow. Z is unscathed.
Just for the record, Y is my oldest. Peter said it's his turn to retaliate and break someone's something. "I know! I'll break someone's heart," he said seriously with that infectious grin. At least that won't send us to the E.R.
It's been a semi-rough week. That's how I'd categorize any week where a teacher calls or a yellow discipline slip comes home in his daily folder. I had both. This week the problems occurred during his "specials" a.k.a. P.E. and music. His frustration, and subsequent tears, during P.E. were my fault for forgetting to send in a doctor's note. Sitting quietly as an observer is hardly ideal for a boy in constant motion. Then here's what his music teacher noted on his discipline referral:
Peter has had a terrible attitude the past couple of music classes and has flat out
refused to do his activities. He spent most of the class telling everyone that he hates
school, hates music, and hates the activity.
Maybe if she'd been playing Usher then he might've been more inclined to participate and raise the roof as he's known to do.
And, lastly, the pictures I'd been so anxious to receive came home today. There was the envelope with the large glossy window, folded in half in the bottom of his backpack. Surely, there has to be a better way to package them.
I can't help his awkward, unnatural smile, but the rounded haircut is horrible! I haven't decided whether to gamble with retakes.
So the adventures with 'Mr. P' continue, along with his anxieties about how much time I have left on earth. (Side note: Mr. P is a nickname from his grandmother.) There's often that point in childhood when we all realize that our time with our parents will one day come to an end. Peter's realized that fact of life. By telling him that Mommy should have fifty more years to live just isn't a consolation to that unthinkable fear of carrying on alone. Just as long as he doesn't break anyone's heart, he should have siblings around to take over when I'm gone.
Like many of you, my thoughts are with the family in New York tonight still searching for their lost son. May he find his way to safety and back to his familiar surroundings so that his parent's nightmare may end.
So the adventures with 'Mr. P' continue, along with his anxieties about how much time I have left on earth. (Side note: Mr. P is a nickname from his grandmother.) There's often that point in childhood when we all realize that our time with our parents will one day come to an end. Peter's realized that fact of life. By telling him that Mommy should have fifty more years to live just isn't a consolation to that unthinkable fear of carrying on alone. Just as long as he doesn't break anyone's heart, he should have siblings around to take over when I'm gone.
Like many of you, my thoughts are with the family in New York tonight still searching for their lost son. May he find his way to safety and back to his familiar surroundings so that his parent's nightmare may end.
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