Pencils

Yesterday, I was joking/complaining on Facebook that Maria's teacher wanted her math homework done in pencil, but I don't have any pencils.  I used to have pencils, but Felicity and Anthony both chew on them, she and Veronica write on the walls with them, they have sharp ends which could poke out someone's eye, etc.  I literally have no pens or pencils just hanging around here, the Sharpies are up on the top shelf and I usually put pens in the spice drawer so no one can readily get to them.

So I said that I wished that Maria's teacher had sent home one of the TWENTY FOUR pencils that I sent in in my supply list.  Maria goes to Catholic school, we pay tuition AND donate regularly to our church, we pay an activity fee, AND I fulfilled supply lists for both Maria and Veronica, without complaint.  Yes, I think 24 pencils is a lot of pencils, and 20 glue sticks is more than Veronica could ever use in one year, but I just did it, just got what I was supposed to.

Then when I went to the roundup and back to school night, I signed up to volunteer - in the library, to do out of classroom work for Maria's teacher, and to conduct Accelerated Reader tests for Veronica's class.  I want to be involved and to assist their teachers, I want us all to be involved in our Catholic School Experience, because I think it's right for us and also because I don't get to have that opportunity with Anthony.  I am TRYING to CARPE the DIEM.

But.  I complained on Facebook about Maria's teacher asking us to have her complete the Math homework in pencil, but not coming across with one of the pencils that we sent in.  It was just a funny thing that Mike and I talked about, and I said it on Facebook, in my Facebook status that only my friends and family see.  People commented and said just buy a pencil, and I said I can!  I would just rather not keep them in my house.  I know that makes me a weirdo.  I KNOW.

The last time I posted on Anthony's blog, I said how happy and grateful I was that he hadn't had any accidents at school.  Yesterday he came off the bus and when I looked at his backpack, there was a note that said that he had an accident in school and we had to send in new backup underwear.  I looked further and found said dirty underwear.  I was telling Mike yesterday, in the big picture, I know that we are right where we are supposed to be.  I know that all of our kids are perfect for us and we are perfect for them.  But on a day to day basis, we are a bunch of weirdos and I know it.  We can't just go to a baseball game, can't just go to our church's big fundraiser this weekend.  I can't just send my oldest child to the school I want, I can't even get his insurance company to do the right thing and pay for him to get the therapy that he needs!  I worry every minute of the day about him and not just the now, but the future.  When he pulls at me, or kicks me, I worry that he is going to some day really hurt me or one of the girls.  It is a constant, constant fear of mine.  I have never been so worried.

So I say this one thing on Facebook about Maria's teacher and how I wish she had sent a pencil home and one of my Facebook friends, who is a teacher, lit into me about it.  She said, sarcastically, yes, Joanne, we all sit around and plot and plan how to make you miserable.  She said, sarcastically again, we don't spend any time planning academics, we just want you to be unhappy.  She asked may I ask you a question?  Did you ask the teacher about this and tell her your situation and see if she could work with you on it?  Honest to God, I felt like I was on Candid Camera.  She said that she didn't appreciate me judging this teacher on Facebook, that she wouldn't appreciate it if she was the teacher.

Holy moly, I still can't believe it.  I mean, I guess I can believe that someone is so constantly on guard about their profession that they are kind of a watchdog about it.  I know that my sister is aware of librarian stuff in the media and on television, and Lord knows I am hyper aware of stay at home mom stuff, or even waitress things!  What I can't get over is that no one will cut me any slack.  I think of hundreds of things a day that I want to say to people, things I disagree with, every single day!  But I don't say them - I think about things that I've read recently about being kind, because you don't know what someone is going through.  I can't get over the things that people say about mothers, or special needs mothers, or servers, or women, or people, and I don't take it personally and attack them!

So I just - if you're tempted to correct me, or make an example of me, I wish you wouldn't.  I tell the kids all the time, I am trying all the time.  I am trying as hard as I can every second of every day.  So I am just asking to cut me some slack, to give me a break, to assume that maybe I am having a bad day and here's a safe bet - if you see me at any point during Anthony's waking hours, I have probably just cleaned up or am about to clean up some poop.  Poop off my NINE year old, poop that I have been cleaning and wiping up and washing out for NINE YEARS.  So cut me a break, people!