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I am so freaking mad right now. So mad I could cry.

Let’s back up a bit, and I’ll explain myself. I send Ben to a private school which I have previously mocked as far as their asanine stipulations for school supplies, etc. I love, love, love the education that he recieves there, it’s totally perfect for his temperment and ability level and I have no doubt that he will continue to flourish there.

Which is a fucking good thing, because year after year they make me feel like I must be the worst parent ever in the world ever. As my brain is so full of anger right now, I am unable to post except for in bullet form.

* I have gone to no less than *5* stores to get school supplies for him PLUS having to pay double for something that I could only find on the Internet.

* Most of these items are still incorrect because the stipulations placed on them are so asinie as to not actually exist in real life. For example: a three subject, wide ruled, non-perforated edged, PLASTIC COVER ONLY yellow notebook. It does not exist.

*Without mentioning it on the memo that was sent home, I needed to buy 2 pairs of shoes for him to have at school. I only had bought one, and had to run out yesterday morning to buy him a second (but completely different) pair of heavily stipulated shoes. On Day 1 of school.

* We were never informed as to what time school both began and ended, nor were we told that he would have to take a lunch. Luckily I had guessed correctly and sent him with one the first day.

*As a back-to-school treat, I bought him some packets of cookies to take in his lunch. Today, Day 2 of school he was sent home with a note requesting that cookies not be sent to school in his lunch. Why couldn’t that have been mentioned BEFORE school began?!?

*His father and his family pay for school, INSTEAD of paying regular child support to us, which has been the arrangement since he began to go at age 3. The bills are always sent to his grandparents. Year after year, they forget this and send home bills to me with wee nasty-grams on them so I must call and complain over and over about it.

I guess that the moral of the story is that I am angry that there is almost no communication between the parents and the school. While I don’t mind being proactive as a parent I feel that this is getting out of hand and I am part way considering transferring him to the public school system.

Phase One is complete, and I must share what I have learned today:

1) ABSOLUTELY WHENEVER I have something of import to complete the following day, Alexander will be up every 1-2 hours the evening before. I shudder to think of what tonight will hold, besides lots of vodka.

2) For some reason, the people who lived here before us loved to use the walls as tissues. For boogies. Yes, that’s right, I spent the morning cleaning old crusty boogers off the damn wall. Damn straight, my life is glamorous.

3) Instead of using the $2 sponge to wash the walls (because it sucked and smeared the dust around without picking it up at all), I used a Swiffer, which I almost never use what with the complete wastefullness of such a device. My parents are hippies, what can I do here (besides use reusable cloths to dust with on any other day).

4) Taping the walls is damn near impossible while hoisting a 14 pound baby in the Baby Bijorn. But wearing said baby in Bijorn while carrying a 25 pound vacuum up a flight of stairs IS possible.

5) Being without music while prepping the walls is torture. Especially since my internal record player has the entire collection of School House Rock on repeat.

6) The dog who neurotically follows me up and down the stairs each and every time I go to grab the screaming baby is actually protecting the baby, not me. He, like the baby, is extremely upset that I am deviating from my daily routine.

7) Taping the walls is possibly the worst job ever.

8) Ben has been living with a crustified cat turd under his bed for I don’t even know how long. This makes me feel very guilty.

9) It is approximately 900 degrees with 100% humidity inside Ben’s room today, which means that I smell horrifying. And I wonder why no one wants to come help me paint this weekend…

I can only imagine what tomorrow with all of it’s prime-y goodness will bring…

I’ve spent the last 6-7 months gearing up to redecorate el Benjamin’s room, starting when I realized how much time and energy we had focused on Alex’s room, which made me feel quite guilty. Alex has yet to spend even a single night in his bedroom (and his crib, OH his crib, it cost an insane amount. I’m considering sleeping in there myself, just to get my money’s worth) and Ben, well, he’s stuck in his room every night that he is home. In a toddler bed. With mismatched furniture.

We picked out the theme for his room, which had to be 1) approved by myself and 2) nothing too theme-y because that’s really not how I roll, and finally decided on this. It’s obviously not as awesome from Pottery Barn Kids, but hey, we didn’t have to take out a second mortgage to afford it, which is a plus and a half in my book.

After purchasing this in oh, I don’t know January, we decided that it was high time to finally do something. Which included buying a bed without a crib mattress, so when we saw the one we’d initially been casting our eyeballs on finally on sale, we sprung into action.

(as an aside here, who the hell knew that beds were so bloody expensive? Apparently, they’re made out of platinum and diamonds and the tears of wee babies.)

So this weekend, we (and by we I mean I) will be painting, which is awesome, aside from the fact that we had no paint.

Off to the happiest place on Earth I know (aside from Target, which ALSO happens to be the happiest place on Earth. How the two co-exist, I have no idea) we trucked. And as we pulled into the lot, we noted how nasty and black the sky was behind the hardware store.

We started to gather our supplies as the rains began to pound down onto the metal roof while remarking on our good fortune not to be outside during the downpour. As I was examining roller covers–something I’d never before cared about–an alarmed employee mentioned that there had been tornadoes seen in the area. Having lived in the Midwest my whole life, I found nothing particularly alarming about the statement.

I mean, there are ALWAYS summer tornadoes. Big deal.

This news set the WHOLE STAFF into a blind panic. We were not allowed to leave the store, and a frightened mass of employees gathered at the front of the store windows (um, duh. Away from the glass, folks. That’s dangerous) all chirping nervously away, occasionally one would sprint wildly–and aimlessly–around the store like Chicken Little causing general unease and out and out fear among the patrons. The power went off as we were looking at lights and when the emergency lights came up we decided that around glass was probably not a great place to hang out. Especially with Alex around.

Languidly, we strolled to the back of the store where a frantic employee had been trying to direct us, because apparently there was ANOTHER BABY BACK THERE, YES ALL OF THE BABIES NEED TO BE TOGETHER. We took a seat on some chairs and began to wait when I heard the unmistakable cry of a child about Alex’s age threatening to drown out the cries of his mother.

I went over and invited the poor woman who was almost hyperventilating to sit down, when I realized that the poor woman had 2 babies with her and she informed me THAT SHE HAD JUST MOVED OUT HERE FROM COLORADO YESTERDAY, where they do not experience weather like this. And of course, with the alarmist attitude of the staff (which was nearly hilarious, because seriously, hadn’t at least some of these people been through this before?), she was undeniably shaken to the core, imagining that the tornado was going to suck us all up.

The Daver and I calmed her down while we compared notes on what having babies was like. Overall, it was a pretty pleasant way to get trapped somewhere, even though the computers were down by the time that we were finally free to go (the light! I can see the light!!) and it took about 29,034 hours to get all of our myriad of stuff coded and priced.

And so the real fun begins: phase one of wiping down grody kid walls begins in the morning. With only one kid (as el Benjamin’s help would not actually be help at all, what with the constant redirection and likely spilling buckets of water onto the white carpet. Oh, white carpet, you are the bane of my existence) in tow.

The Great Taping Project will commence in the afternoon, after the walls dry and I soothe Alexander from what is sure to be hysterics stemming from GOING OUTSIDE THE ROUTINE, MOMMY.

Heh. Wanna come help?

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