it's all gonna break
Yadda yadda day off yadda yadda yadda. Although I am sick today, this journal entry is brought to you by the letters K & V as in "Kindergarten Visit." All the SK parents are asked to come in to view their spawn in a classroom environment. Today was my day, and although my new principal has instructed me to return for a single afternoon class (wtf? Why do I have to come in for 77 minutes of work??), a new irritation has taken the place of that one. Namely: I appear to have a problem child on my hands.
Blake has been going through a difficult phase of late in that he is much more defiant, hysterical and stubborn than usual, and usual being very. Last weekend when Mason was laid up with a leg injury and I was busy assembling my mother's birthday present (aside: what the hell, photo corner industry? Why is your product so crummy?), Blake spent more time in his Naughty Spot than out of it.
(When I recounted this to his teacher, I choked on the adjective for Mason and blurted out "partner." Boyfriend seemed way too crass. And suddenly I've gone from respectable teacher, wife and mother to the sketchy single mom with the boyfriend who lies on the couch all weekend. Fuuuuuuck.)
And I know I've been overusing the "what the [cuss]" format in this entry, but my reaction to the teacher's report was an entirely typical: what the crap? How did the Boy and I end up with a problem child? We're both overachieving first children, adult- and praise-oriented. We were, and still are, brilliant and teacher's pets (to paraphrase Lisa Simpson). How could our own first child be the one the teacher hints of sending to the pediatrician? Suddenly all the potent Dutch pot I smoked before I knew I was pregnant and the daily dose of aspartame in my Diet Coke become much more sinister in retrospect. Which is sort of a joke, but not really.
In all seriousness, I'm stunned. It was Pixie & Nic who were fidgety, stubborn, hard-to-focus and rebellious. Why are we blessed with their spiritual child?
And though a part of me resists with all its might, blaming his teacher's vagueness or chalking it up to Blake's age, the other part of me, the one that wasn't really joking about the pot and the aspartame, is pretty upset.
My dance debut is in 2 weeks. Two weeks until the world sees my flabby pale midriff. I wish I could focus on something other than that aspect, but I can't. I'm shallow. Also, sick.
Tonight: Broken Social Scene!!
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*