Well, after screaming and screaming on the phone at the school district office, suddenly, the school is bending over backwards to be particularly nice to me, including giving me the IEP meeting I requested in writing, rather than the stupid "interdisciplinary meeting" that the counselor was pushing for. No, we are rewriting his IEP goals and I'm not going to be nice. I'm going to be demanding and you WILL comply.

I've got a call in for an appointment with the principal to let her know how much this particular teacher sucks rocks. I also am going to let her know how this man violated FERPA and left the school open to a law suit. I'm going to let her know how ignorant he's been regarding my son's disability and just how completely angry, frustrated, and irate I am.

On Wednesday, I've got friends, classmates and an advocate from a local parent-to-parent group coming to Russell's IEP meeting. Russell is going to sit this one out. He asked me,"Oh, because you're going to kick some ass, Mom?" Somewhat abashed I said,"Yes. I believe it's called a bloodbath, Russell."

"What's a bloodbath, Mom?"

"It's where there's lots of blood, guts, and violence. "

"Are you going to yell a lot?"

"No, but they are NOT going to like me, I'm pretty sure."

I also want him to sit it out because a lot of it does not concern him, but rather his teachers and their techniques, or rather, lack of technique. I reviewed the goals with him. I will be reviewing them with the advocate and then, after we have rewritten the IEP, I will NOT sign it until after I have taken it home and reviewed it and had my Special Ed advisor review it as well as the LEGAL advocacy person I've been talking to.

I have promised Russell that he will come in for the next meeting and he was ok with that.

I feel like the Power Rangers:"It's morphin' time!"

Hi, my name is Redneck Ruby, and my shitkickers are shined and pointy for all the ass they are about to kick.

January 26, 2004

Dear Russell's Unsympathetic Pain in the Ass Teacher,

Russell is on doses of medication far beyond pharmaceutical recommendations, so per his doctor's instructions, we were trying a new medication with him last week. Two days last week, you saw him on that medication and obviously, it is not going to work for school. We had tried the new medication out with good success over the holiday weekend, but he does not require the same level of focus at home that he does at school and he actually seemed okay here, even for things like cleaning and organizing his room, which is usually a pretty difficult task for him.

Russell said that he informed you that he was trying a new medication, thus, we are somewhat surprised by your claim that he was missing medications three days last week. We had also communicated to the clinical aide that you should be informed that he was trying new medication. Apparently, you did not get that message.

On Friday, we had been scrambling to change him back to his original medication based on the feedback we got through Russell that you had asked if he had taken his medication because he was fidgety, when he was on the new medication. Mike and I miscommunicated, thus, he did not get his afternoon dose of medication for which we both apologize.

We realize his behavior can be frustrating, when his medication is not working, especially because he has only been diagnosed with ADHD for the past two years. Unfortunately, however, he is experiencing some adverse side effects from the extremely high doses of medications that he is on. Due to his medication levels, he has only gained about 5 lbs in the past two years, and has only gotten 3/4" taller, which are huge steps downward in his growth rate. Per his psychiatrist's suggestion that he might have Tourette's Syndrome or Cerebral Palsy that is amplified by the stimulant medications he takes, we have scheduled an appointment with a pediatric neurologist at the beginning of March. We have also changed his weekend medication to the medication that was not working for him in class last week, so that he has some break from the very high medication levels, as we are willing to contend with some of the wall climbing in exchange for the pharmaceutical reprieve that his body gets.

High doses of stimulant medication can cause permanent brain damage and we are working very hard to attempt to get him on a medication regimen that will get him to less dangerously high medication levels and still let him be functional in both his academic and home settings. Russell is very much between a rock and a hard place pharmaceutically and we are trying to find a system that will work without overtaxing his system, and yet, give him as close to a normal kid's existence as possible.

There may come a time during this semester that the medication he is on stops working and we'll be back at this place again, experimenting with a new medication and attempting to get the dosing metered correctly. We do as much of this over breaks and weekends as possible, however, we would appreciate your feedback, both positive and negative during those times.

We appreciate your patience. Please feel free to call us at home at xxx-xxxx, if you would like to discuss this further.

Sincerely,




Michael and Wendy Schreiber
cc: The Principal

I am on a baby blanket sewing binge. Everyone I know is having a baby, while butt poor. I am a complete sucker, I realize. My friend, LaDawn, said I should start selling these on Ebay at $20 a pop. I think that's steep myself, but probably would be the only way I'd make any money off them.

I made cuddle blankets for both kids, a baby blanket for everyone who's asked for them and I've got 3 more cuddle blankets in the wings.

I also started class this week, so I'll probably get back to the rest of them in May.

Heh.

A number of my friends want me to get the gastric bypass surgery and get it quick. I'm just praying on it. I go to the gym tomorrow.

I had my first class tonight. It's the "families" class -- a required licensure class that anyone in special ed has to take.

I know I shouldn't be surprised, but I still can't get past just how many people are stupid enough to say "parents don't care." My immediate response is:"Don't generalize because *I* do."

Then the bile begins to rise and I basically drive home while ranting at the windshield about all the things I'd like to tell teachers and future teachers who say that kind of stuff.

Things like:

Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to get a child eligible for special education services?

Do you have any idea how much background knowledge is often omitted from the conversation teachers have with parents?

Do you have any idea how thrilled I was that I got a degree with a teaching emphasis, which meant when I walked into an IEP meeting the "professionals" could not jargon me into the ground? (Take a guess how unsettled they were!)

Do you know how damned angry I get about being categorized as "uncaring" when it comes to my kids?

Do you have any idea how much time, money, effort, and doctor visits I expend energy and resources on, in addition to your homework assignments (often just stupid time-consuming worksheets with little educational value)?

Walk a mile it these size 12's and you'll have the same sore feet, broken heart, and disgruntled adversarial attitude I have about teachers and educational professionals who think it's all my fault that my son has severe ADHD and the problems associated with that. I'm sick to death of educational professionals telling me all the things I'm doing wrong with my kid, including his teacher who vaguely says that my son "needs to learn responsibility." He does his homework sometimes for hours a night, often struggling with the logistical inconvenience of typing all of his assignments, even labeling graphics for those stupid science projects that you just pull from a boring science workbook. (Dude, you live next to a wildlife reserve, how about discussing the biosystem in a community context!)

I'm sick of the gay teacher who has obvious disdain for women. Dude, I was in the Queen's court throughout college. Don't go there, sister. Don't try out your good ole southern boys' club on me and expect I won't kick your ass for it. I wouldn't put up with that shit from a straight man and I sure as hell am not putting up with that nonsense from you either.

Nonetheless, tonight, I remembered as I threatened to crack my windshield as I railed away why I am getting a master's in special education; it's so I can save the world one kid at a time.


____

And on an entirely separate note....

What is the deal with Atkin's? I long ago gave up on diets because diets do not address the underlying issue of making a fundamental life change. However, Atkin's is everywhere.

It seems like Atkins is free license to eat foods high in fat, especially, saturated fat, which Atkins refers to as "natural." The idea is that if you deprive your body of the carbohydrates it needs that it will turn to burning fat in lieu of carbs. Um, yeah, right, whatEver. You know, I feel the need to eat a big fat sausage drizzled in butter and served with a side dish of avocados dipped in mayonaise, so my body will burn fat.

Yeah, that's the ticket!

If a person deprives their body of foods it needs, they will simpy be setting themselves up for the kiss of failure.
Then they can then feel bad about themselves and console themselves over a carton of Ben & Jerry's. That way they get all their fat, dairy products (calcium), AND carbohydrates in one giant pity party.

High-fat foods do things like clog arteries and do not easily convert to sugar. Exercise burns fat. Fat ingested, basically becomes fat on one's ass. Period.

If I eat a diet low in saturated fats, exercise regularly, and eat a lot of vegetables and complex carbohydrates, oddly enough the pounds just fall off my ass. Because simple sugars are compact, it's easy to eat too many of them and the body sees all that sugar coming down the pike and simply stores the extra as saddlebags on one's buttochs.

The current Atkin's advocacy that is being perpetuated by Subway and other chains seems like it might be a diabetic's dream, however, it's not. I'm not only trying to figure out how to avoid all that fat, but I'm trying to figure out how to get enough carbs without having to resort to eating things that are poor choices like chips and simple sugars or becoming hypoglycemic.

Saturated fats play kissy face with extra sugar in a diabetic's system and make tri-glycerides, which is why diabetes is so closely linked to heart disease.

I swear if I have one more stupid person suggest I eat Atkin's I'm going to slather them in lard and stuff a pork sausage or 10 up their nose.

I don't eat perfectly, but what I eat, keeps my sugars and cholesterol levels normal. I have started exercising again, which means the whole thing is coming together again and I'm going to keep at it, until my doctor says I'm at a good weight or until I've failed so utterly at it, that I have no choice but to consider gastric bypass surgery to extend my life.

Atkins was a stupid fad diet in the 70's determined by many health professionals to be a poor health choice then. Nothing has changed much since then, except that Americans are getting fatter. A high fat diet isn't going to help that trend, in my opinion.

When I eat a lot of veggies and complex carbs and keep the fat low and the protein moderate and I'm well. I don't eat white rice, pasta, or breads -- whole grains all the way, baby. Any diet that advocates red meats is suspect. Much like my mother who has high cholesterol, but insists that she only buys lean cuts of beef, Atkins seems like fodder for that river in egypt: Denial.

If I'm going to live in denial, I'm going to tell myself things like "well, it may have some carbs, but damnit, it's got a low glycemic index."

I keep thinking of Eule Gibbons. He ate super healthy food and then died young of a heart attack.

I plan to eat the best I can and actually live my life. Depriving myself of everything I enjoy is a rotten way to live. Making small changes like ground turkey in lieu of hamburger and whole grains instead of enriched ones just seems to be a better choice for me.

I'm tired.

The way I know this is that my hands are sore. Don't ask me how that makes sense, but if you'd been doing nothing but working at your job, and sewing, typing, laundry, and egg washing, your hands would be sore and you'd be tired, too.

I've been making egg money. I love making egg money. I just enjoy caring for the chickens -- food, water, egg collecting. I enjoy the "bocking" they do when they see me and when I toss segments of mandarins around the coop. I am currently in the hole on my egg making adventure, but the chickens are starting to lay more because the weather's warmer. They are also laying more because they are getting food and water on a regular and ongoing basis. I also talk to them and tell them they're good girls to lay so many eggs. I think that helps the most.

I wish it was spring and I could go buy apple trees and plant them on the hill. Lately, it feels like spring, but it's a January Thaw, which means that the snow and blow of winter will soon return. The ice will reform on the lake and twittering birds will be deterred, as will fruit tree buds, but while I wait for the wrens, swallows, and orioles to migrate to my acre and for the soft smell of the blossoms on the peach, pear, and apple trees, I have the soft clucking of my hens and the gentle tapping of eggs in my collecting basket as I make the rounds of the chicken coop. And that's enough to get by on.

It's some obscene hour of the night and the coyotes are howling and yipping at the chickens and the poor cat out in the shed. I'm sure it's coyote-ese for "damn, that smells like dinner" and "Wow, how can I get a nibble of that?"

I'm just depressed. I can't stop being mad at my husband. He wants sex and I would like sex, but I don't like the idea of every time I get a massage, a pat on the butt, or any kind of touch that it's a come-on. That's how I feel, though. He shaves, makes the bed, and never is it just for the sake of being shaven (which I like) or for having the bed neat (which I also like), but it's for the express purpose of getting some.

He thinks he's being all generous inviting me into the shower to "help him out" but all that does is leave me swinging in the wind and as much fun as that sounds like, it's not my idea of a great time. It double sucks that it does not occur to him that he could join me in my shower and do something like that for me. In fact, it has never occurred to him, ever.

And that's the thing. What I might like or need or be interested in, simply does not occur to him.

What's worse, is that tonight we got into this conversation about Jennifer Garner and it ended with,"Well, she's not exactly my type, but I'd do her." To which I snorted,"But you'd do anyone." He agreed.

Stupid man.

Then somehow sensing his stupidity, he said he wouldn't do just anyone because he was married. It was more that the institution was there, not that he loved his wife, which is what I'd really rather have heard at that point. I know I should just shut up about it because let's face it, he's a man and he backpedals badly. Well, and there's the whole thing that I am pissed off at him for saying he'd support me in grad school but that he dragged his heels and was a butthead about the whole thing.

I'm scared about the new semester. I'm scared about it becoming the total fiasco it was last semester.

I'm stressed out because Russell isn't doing well. I just dropped his medication dose because he is on so much friggin' medication that even if he's fucking up at school, which he is, I can't justify it in any form any more.

We took the chickens off his responsibility list because he's been underfeeding and underwatering them and they aren't producing eggs, and we've shown and show him, and told him and told him, and it's not getting through. All he has to do is work on school and care for the cat, which he was also doing badly. I told him I'd find a better home for the cat, but I love her so much that I can't bring myself to do it, so I'm just checking on her when I'm out feeding chickens and making sure that her litter's changed and that she's got food and water, and that he actually let her out.

Mike's stopped snoring, which means I'm keeping him up. He knows I'm sad and upset, and he knows I'm writing about it, but he has to work tomorrow, so I need to go lay awake in bed a couple more hours next to him. Nothing good comes out of fretting about things at this hour, but I am out of Ambien and Benadryl, so I'm frittering away the wee hours in flannel.

Last night, in the tiny hours of morning, Mike and I were talking about some aspects of my past. They were the kind of things I haven't withheld, but that you don't necessarily tell the man you're dating.

I used to have these times in my life when I was very very promiscuous. Those were the times that were loneliest at the end of my 2 year stint as a professional slut. I didn't have many friends other than those I knew from work, but men who I could have sex with were easy to find. I was pretty and knew a lot about how to pleasure a man physically, but more importantly, I knew a lot about how to manage their psyche.

I was telling Mike about some of the transition, after I'd quit the business and gotten a real job as a delivery driver in the Bay Area. I'd had the job a month and my parents snatched me back east because they wanted to save me. Only, I didn't need saving of the physical variety. I needed saving of the spiritual variety. I couldn't get to my church easily without a car and the Catholic church, while similar to the Episcopal church, wasn't my church, and they weren't helping, as they were sure I was manic depressive, versus just plain depressed.

I joined a volleyball group at the YMCA, where I met a guy named Bill. Bill saved my life. At some point, when my parents finally harrassed me into trying lithium for a few months, Bill said,"Look, you need to get off this stuff. You aren't you on this shit. And all the things your parents are saying about you just aren't true." He started running down the list and showing me how wrong they were. And I fought back. I went off the lithium with his support and I realized he was right and that he knew and loved me better than anyone, including me. After a couple years, my college degree, and a couple of boyfriends, I found a better therapist who switched me onto wellbutrin, knowing that I had ADHD, but because of the diagnostic labels was not able to give me that diagnosis. I stayed on that stuff for 1.5 years and then just stopped taking it (under his direction). I had figured out how to grow up.

I still struggle with the viewpoint that things that aren't fucked will be soon -- I think of it as my Eeyore attitude. But I know who I am now and God and I are on loving and speaking terms. And I really am married to my best friend, but I've dated a bunch of dear friends on the way here.

Bill, if I never said thanks, I should have. Your love and knowledge of me saved my spirit and my life. Thanks for teaching me about pure love!

It's day 4 in Winter Wonderland and it's the first day it hasn't snowed. There's blue sky as far as the eye can see, but it's colder than a witch's tit. (I would know, I have those.)

The icicles on the eaves are not melting. The snow is bright and shiny.

Mel and Dan are going to come tonight and play games with us. We didn't know they were coming til this morning. Mel was going to call, but she forgot. Now, I have to clean the house like a banshee on crack.

Ever seen a fat woman move fast? There's a lot of sweat involved. That's all I know.

You know it's time for your kids to go back to school when you....

• think you might have played monopoly for a total of 8 hours today and the Christmas tree is still up in the livingroom and the ornaments didn't make it anywhere but off the couch


• didn't shower until 430 this afternoon, which was about an hour before your husband was coming home from work


• didn't give the kids lunch, but gave them a snack of coffee cake and milk


• can't remember all the shit you're supposed to do, but know the rules to Candyland by heart


• have seen Elmo's Christmas 47 times and still think Elmo's the most annoying little red piece of fuzzy ever


• realize your own room is thrashed and has remained thrashed for at least 3 weeks running


• go hunting for duct tape, when the kids ask for tape because you think you'd like to restrict their movement a little


• have a headache and are just too damned lazy to walk down the hall and find the bottle of ibuprofen


• swear if you hear the kids bouncing about the house excitedly telling you about the various details of the current state of snow flurries outside that you'll stuff one of them in a snow bank


• are looking forward to taking your classes and working

I must have been uber-naughty this year.

For Christmas, Santa gave me bronchitis. As a result, I think Santa is a vicious elfen asshole who should be strung up by his jingle bells. If he'd kept to the usual coal, I'd have been annoyed, but I would have taken my lumps. (Yes, of course, Virginia, the pun was intended.)

I didn't send anyone but my mother and brother Christmas cards. If you were wonderful and sent me a Christmas card and are cursing my name that I didn't send you one, just know that I was coughing green chunks out of my chest and thinking of you. I spent the eve of Christmas Eve sleeping in the recliner in the livingroom because when I laid down in bed, my chest whistled. My doctor said that my chest sounded "like an orchestra." Thus, I didn't listen to Handel's "Messiah" this year because I was doing my own version

I have gifts I didn't ship yet to people. I haven't even mentioned them because I'm still tired and if I say anything, then I have to mail the damned things, so I am simply just shutting up about it. Those of you who were supposed to get stuff, you'll be seeing something for St. Patrick's day.

We're buried in snow. It's been a blizzard here all day. Several of the main highways are closed or have chain requirements. We had one and a half foot drifts in the driveway and driving conditions could be described as "mentally disturbed" because you'd have to be to drive in this slop.

I think Mother Nature and Santa Claus are having a dirty little affair.