I had misgivings, but the party was a complete hit.  Turns out most kids have their own DS handhelds (through which they can actually talk to each other, play multi-player games, etc.), and they were more than thrilled to take turns playing Monkey Ball and Super Smash Brothers on the big screen:
 

Those are some happy kids there.  And that was before we sugared them out of their minds on this:
 

Yeah, that’s my first time using the decorating tips.  Made me twitchy, but I’m a perfectionist, so whatyagonna do.  The Girlchild loved it, so all was well.

The night before the Girlchild’s party, the Boychild had a Winter Formal at his school.  Yes, a Winter Frickin’ Formal in the 6th grade.  *eyeroll*  He looked handsome as ever though, even post-Photoshop:
 

Today we hared off to the other side of the county to participate in the year end soccer Judge’s Cup.  Girlchild’s team dominated our local soccer league, and had high hopes of advancing to the finals tomorrow.
 

Alas, it was not to be.  The two teams they faced were very fast, and (it appeared) benefited from somewhat more than a single practice session per week.  But it’s an all-volunteer league, including the coaches, so we can hardly complain.  We just want her to get a love for the game at this point.

It seems that part is a success.

Halloween was never one of my particularly favorite holidays, I can’t even recall a single costume worn as a child.  In my legal-to-drink years my only concession to costumery was to paint my face dead white and create a two bloody-looking holes on my neck…Vampire Victim, of course.  That allowed me to dress normally (read: lots of cleavage) yet still participate, even if only in token fashion.

Now that I have kids, the emphasis is all on them of course.  (Though a few years ago we all dressed as pirates, even me who stayed home to pass out treats.  And Husband definitely enjoyed the ruffled shirt removal later.  :D  Oops, TMI.)  This year the Girlchild is a ninja and the Boychild is a classic Bela Lugosi-type vampire, though he informed me this morning that he did not have that freaky feeling in his stomach this year, which I think means this should definitely be his last year begging for handouts trick-or-treating.  

This year we’ll be trick-or-treating in our own neighborhood since Nana moved away, which means near-teenagers without costumes expecting to be given candy, and carloads of kids being driven over from nearby neighborhoods.  I expect to swear off the entire thing FOREVER by about 9:47PM EST tonight.

Oh look, ponkins!

Me:  How so?

Her:  I’m going to live alone and have kittens!

Me:  But someday, when you’re not looking, you’re going to be smacked upside the head by Love…

Her (vehemently):  I’m too smart for Love!

Schlepped the kids to the doctor yesterday for a checkup. Boychild is huge…something we already knew just from standing next to him…he’s 5’1″ tall at age 11.  The doctor says if he keeps growing at this rate (which he thinks unlikely), he’ll be 6’3″ by the time he’s done.  He’s been complaining of pain in his knee lately, right under the patella, which Doctor man believes is Osgood-Schlatter’s disease.  It occurs in (mainly) boys of this age and disappears in their late teens.

I ask you…if it up and spontaneously disappears, should it really be called a DISEASE???   Or just a Syndrome.  Maybe an Inconvenience.  I officially object to the use of the word Disease in this instance.  Dammit.

The Girlchild is also huge, 4’5″ tall, which was evident in the way she towered over the classmate that escorted her to the office for checkout yesterday.  This soccer season should be interesting.

Turns out both kiddos needed a booster shot yesterday, the Chicken Pops vaccine (I can’t be the only one who calls it that…), which came as a surprise to the Girlchild.  An unpleasant surprise.  As tough as the little bird is, she is the biggest needle fraidycat on earth, she just does not dig pain of any stripe.  Unhelpful in the extreme was the bitch whore cow of a nurse administering the injection.  She demanded that I physically restrain Boychild (who could give a crap someone’s sticking a needle in his arm) so he wouldn’t, I don’t know, turn into the frickin’ Hulk and eat her up yum?  Then when Girlchild started her tear-ridden floor show, Nurse Wussypants acted like the child had suddenly grown spikes and an insatiable bloodlust for forebrain-stunted immigrants, and scurried over to the door to shriek for help.

Here is where I Lost My Cool.

She does not need to be physically restrained, much less by a complete stranger, I snapped.  Nurse Wussypants blinked at me.  Get over here and give her this injection or I will do it for you, I snapped again.  I Do. Not. Have. patience for horseshit of this variety, particularly where my children are concerned, and I sincerely do not give a damn if that cow locked herself in the supply closet for the rest of the day, ala Elliot.  If she doesn’t have the intestinal fortitude to deal with her chosen profession then she needs to get her ass into the nearest call center and start answering Verizon helpdesk requests in a way guaranteed to make the caller wish for a meteorite strike on their own residence, just to End The Agony.

Is it really too much to expect that you’ll deal with intelligent people at any given time, or has the population density become so, er, dense, that it’s statistically impossible?  Whatever the case, I’m not backing down.  Especially when this is the very same doctor’s office (albeit different doctor) that was responsible for this nightmare.

Here, have a picture of our cat collection, and their favorite catnip pusher supplier.

Yeah, but I now have the vocabulary of a GOD, thank you very much.

The Boychild started 6th grade, which is so far different from elementary school as to be actual college. He has EIGHT classes in his 8 hour school day, but check out this schedule:

1. Chorus (apparently the punk has quite the nice singing voice)
2. Advanced World Geography
3. Advanced PE (I really couldn’t tell you what makes it “advanced”)
4. Earth and Space Science (I’m so bloody excited about this class that I offered to attend it for him)
5. Language Arts
6. Advanced Reading
7. Advanced Math (!!!!)
8. Art/Art Appreciation

I am LOVING this schedule. Last year was a math nightmare for the kid, mainly due to personality conflicts, I think…but not to be discounted, a crappy teacher can completely ruin a kid. My ninth grade math teacher, Mrs. Blackburn (may she burn in hell), completely destroyed my interest in mathematics for decades, and is why I am not a robotics engineer right now. The boy apparently tests very well, though, since placement in 6th grade is determined by the (ridiculous) FCAT test.

Middle school is quite different than elementary, not just in the different classes, but the almost exponential increase in responsibility for the kids. They’re expected to get to each class on their own (after the first week of orienteering), they’re expected to get themselves to lunch, etc. etc. etc. It’s perceived as more freedom, too, I suppose, in not constantly having someone telling you where to go/what to do…which is very important to the newly-pubescent, particularly the offpsring of two very Alpha parents. Most importantly, though, the Boychild seems to have undergone an attitude shift, maybe listened to us one of the thousand times we exhorted him to not let someone else determine his destiny, and is determined to do well this year. I think our visit to Uncle NASA’s workplace this summer was a nice prod for him, too. He got to see the real world, and see how seriously cool it can be. So, cross your fingers for him, once the homework starts piling on things might go straight to hell. *bangs head on desk*

As for the other “kids,” both orange babies are growing like weeds. Hermes has gone from pretty kitten to gorgeous adolescent:

A better view of his target:

Oliver is not so lion-faced anymore, but still a lovely boy:

This white spot on his chest just appeared this week:

De-Everything Day is in about two weeks, which, after receiving claws in the bottom of my foot whilst trying to sleep, as well as regularly prying a horny Oliver off a screeching Hermes’ back, I await with almost gleeful anticipation.

HAH! I had to stop in the middle of writing this post to take clean shorts and shoes over to the Boychild’s school. He apparently tried to stop a basketball with his face, which resulted in the routine nosebleed. And that reminds me that I’ve started a new project site called This + That, in which we snark on news, current events, and our child taking a basketball to the schnozz. We’re looking for more contributors, so if you’re interested in joining, drop me a a line.

THREE bags of gold, maybe.

I kid, of course. Hey, how about some garden talk?!?! Stop it, I know you’re excited.

If you live (or have ever visited Florida), then you’re familiar with the windshield-obliterating phenomenon known as the “love bug.” Hate, hate, HATE these things. TWICE a year these bastards hatch, fly around, scronk and make more frickin’ love bugs. They’re irretrievably stupid, too, even for insects, and will fly directly into your face, or any other part of your body, and cling there, doing their nasty bidness with each other. It doesn’t get much more icktastic than that.

Innyhoo, I was reading up on carnivorous plants (because they’re pretty and I like to photograph them), and found note of pitcher plants actually consuming a significant number of these little bastards. Exciting news, since the plethora of anoles running around the joint won’t do a damned thing about them. And I have seen, with my own two eyes, spiders cut trapped love bugs loose rather than sully their webs with them. So, I bought a couple of pitcher plants from the Carnivorous Plant nursery (who threw in a venus flytrap as a nice little bonus), and we’ll see how much fun they have out in the garden spot. Plus, pritty!

Important planting advice for carnivorous plants: They’re bog plants, generally speaking, and do NOT get along with nutritious soil…too many nutrients will burn the plants out. A half and half mix of sphagnum moss (NOT peat) and play sand (NOT patio or contractor sand) suits them just fine. They need to stay moist, too, and the best way to do this is place them in rather deep plastic trays (the kind that go under your indoor houseplants to catch water overflow) and keep them full of water. The sphagnum/sand mix will draw the water up from below, so just keep water in the trays about 1/4 up the side of the pot. Watering from above is not a good thing since it can wash away the sticky the plants use to capture their food.

This may or may not be a Red Rocket pepper:

It’s right there next to the little stick I placed in the soil after sowing the seed, and it looks like a pepper sprout… Still, I’ve had such trouble sprouting peppers this year that I ain’t believing it until I see actual blooms.

The corn is going like mad, and I’m tres excited because I’ve never grown corn before. It’s like I’m a real farmer! Aheh.

Sugar Baby watermelons there in the background…I’m skeered of those.

I watch the Meyer lemon tree with ever-growing anticipation…

And the Key limes…

It’s going to be a tasty summer around here. Yes, I know I probably won’t see mature fruit until December…we live in Florida, remember? That’s just about the *end* of summer for us.

Today New Teacher calls me, with something approaching a hysterical note in her voice. Boychild was assigned to write a “story” in advance of his upcoming field trip to Animal Kingdom (remember when “field trip” meant going to the nearest park for the day? me too.), it was assigned weeks ago and he apparently had done nothing on it. She’s shrill, and speaking rapidly, and sounds just generally very upset.

Then she tells me she has the Boychild there with her, so I ask to speak with him. What’s going on, where’s the fucking report, etc. etc., I ask him. It’s in the classroom, he says…and I can hear New Teacher gabbling, “I specifically asked you if it was in the classroom and you said it wasn’t!” Gabbling, I tell you. So I get her back on the phone and she says, we really need to have a conference. Boy, do we, I reply. What time is good for you and your husband, she asks. After 4PM, I say. And the gabbling resumes… We LEAVE at 3:15, we aren’t HERE at 4PM! (One wonders if that’s the Royal “we.”) Oh wait, there’s a book fair on Thursday, I can see you at 6PM. Great, 6PM it is.

Is it just me? Has the requirement that schoolteachers A) HANDLE the kids in their classrooms, and B) establish their AUTHORITY over the kids in their classroooms, been tossed out the fucking window? Yes, she has 20 other little fuckers in that class to deal with…and do not shit yourself, ten year olds are FUCKERS…but gotdamn, the Boychild is not Trouble, he’s just a mite lazy, something any halfway competent teacher could deal with without a whingy call to the boy’s mother. Gee, thanks, lady, with that smooth move you just handed all your power in his eyes over to ME. And I’m fucking well not getting paid to teach your class.

Same story, different day. I swear, it’s going to be like this through college, isn’t it? I’m going to have to talk his Sociology 101 prof down off the ledge because the Boychild disagreed with his analysis of socio-economic relationships between Wii consoles and fluffy bunnies.

Update: Ok, that is bloody well it! No more seeds, dammit! Well, after these, from Heirloom Seeds…

• DIPPER GOURD
• SNAKE GOURD
• AMARILLO ORO MELON
• WHITE CRENSHAW MELON
• EARLY PROLIFIC STRAIGHTNECK SQUASH
• LEBANESE WHITE BUSH
• BASIL, LEMON
• CREAM OF SASKATCHEWAN WATERMELON
• SWEET PICKLE PEPPER
• ANCHO PEPPER
• JALAPENO PEPPER
• SERRANO PEPPER
• LITTLE FINGER CARROT

As I told a despairing Husband, at least it’s a CHEAP hobby.

This weekend starts the Great Outdoor Project. I kid, it doesn’t have an official name. We have sorely neglected the roses and they need to be beaten into submission before they start stealing local children. One already had a go at the Girlchild, I shit you not. Of course, her abnormally inflated fear of wasps might have had something to do with it…she insists they herded her into the rosebush on purpose. Mmmyeah.

Speaking of the Girlchild, ever since her viewing of the Nancy Drew movie (which was quite amusing…Jim, your girls will love it), she has become Detective Girl. She had previously recruited her school friends into a group of Spies (this after reading the Daring Book for Girls), and has since converted them to Detectives, bent on Solving Mysteries. Each team member has a title, and a job description. The organizational skills of this child are already legendary. When she was three she had an entire playground’s worth of kids gathering acorns for her.

So, last night while reading her Daring Girl book, Girlchild heaved a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“My Detective team is not getting all this detective stuff,” she replied.

“Well, sweetie, you have to understand not everyone you know is going to be as smart as you are.”

(huge grin) “I know.”

“So you have to give it to them in a way they can understand.”

“Yeah. It’s just…I think they’re getting bored. We need a Mystery to Solve!”

So, I did some googling and found a neat little site that actually has short mysteries for kids to solve. When I showed it to her, her little face fell.

“Are those REAL mysteries,” she asked.

From across the room, Boychild spoke up, “They’re not going to let you have access to crime scene evidence.”

(Yes, he talks like that.)

This had apparently never occurred to her. In her mind, everyone should be able to run around solving mysteries like Nancy Drew, outsmarting grownups and Saving the Day.

Anyway, back to the Hunormous Garden Restoration Thinger (no, that’s not it’s name either)… That last frost we had apparently murdered everything planted in the main bed out front. The shrubs in front of the windows are simply not coming back to where they were, and the lily things are toast…brown, crusty, overdone toast. Plus the gods-forsaken weeds and legitimate grass are laughing merrily at the stone border as they plow right over it and into the planting bed, so we need a demarcation zone reestablished, preferrably with gasoline or a flamethrower. And then I’m going to cottage garden the motherfucker. Screw you, weeds, see how you do when you don’t even get sunlight, ya bastards.

Hedge roses will go against the windows, with coreopsis, shasta daisies, black-eyed susans, vanilla pokers, bee balm, foxglove, salvia, lupines in front (tallest to smallest), and bordered all around by heurcherella.

So, wanna come help us dig and plant? We’ll feed you ribs, corn on the cob and baked beaaaannnsss…..