Grab a chair and a couple of root beers...

So... it's been awhile, hasn't it?

Part of that's been because we had the Stomach Virus from Hell, which was possibly a norovirus. Well, the Husbandly One got it on a Wednesday night, threw up and had... um... well, let's just say he drove the porcelain bus, too. Yay. He had me worried to the point of hovering.

I don't hover. Unless someone is really sick.

He got better Thursday afternoon, which was a good thing, because that's the day the school didn't call me when the Impossible Son had been attacked at school.

*sigh*

By Friday, I had a meeting with the principal, informing her in no uncertain terms that she would be seeing both myself and the Husbandly One for a meeting, it was not going to be postponed to a more convenient time because as far as we were concerned, since she and her staff dropped the ball, her convenience was irrelevant to the situation.

I will say this about the Impossible Son's principal. Confronting her is like bashing yourself into a brick wall surrounded by fluffy pink blondeness. Seriously. First, she tried to blame the lack of calling on the counselor. "I told her to do it immediately," Mrs. K. said. "She knew she was supposed to inform you first thing!"

"Except she was in the office with you, because according to your own words, the student was out of control."

"Well, yes, but she should have called you the minute she left my office, and I reprimanded her for it, telling her that her priority is always to inform the parents..."

"Mrs. L. has always called me when there is a problem," I said firmly. "That has never been a problem for us before."

Yeah, that kind of threw her.

And... she tried to turn the Impossible Son's esteem issues back on us. Ohhhh, don't even go there! Don't... even.

We announced our intention to transfer Mr. Impossible, and THO tried to couch it diplomatically, saying that sometimes, just changing an environment can be good (he's had personal experience with that), and of course, she tried to discourage us because they really, really don't want to lose the Impossible Son from that particular school, which is the "flagship" of the district.

*insert eyeroll here*

And finding out what measures they were taking, in the meantime, to protect our son was like... pulling hen's teeth. She kept citing privacy laws to us and I finally snapped and said, "Look, I just want to know if my son is going to be safe! I want to know what guarantee there is that this won't happen again. I want to know what you are doing to make sure he's safe! Are you moving this kid to another class? Are you separating him out and putting him in in-school suspension? Are you sending him to the alternate school? Are you fitting him with a shock collar? What??"

I mean, she wouldn't even tell me if this kid was bigger than Mr. Impossible!!

I found out later through a friend who works at Mr. Impossible's school that Lug has a "shadow." A teacher who is assigned specifically to him who is with him at all times, and that he isn't allowed to come into contact with the other children.

It was a most unsatisfactory meeting on all sides.

So, THO and I made an appointment to talk to the principal of the school across the street from our backyard. She was pleasant and calm, asking for our son's name and taking notes when we told her why we were there and wanted to transfer him. Then she dropped the bomb.

It seems that the fifth grade class in our district is the largest ever, and the fifth grade classes at all four elementary schools in our town are literally jam-packed to the gills. In fact, the class at the Impossible Son's school is the largest in the district, to the point that they had to hire a fifth teacher just to handle the overload.

I already knew this. It started in second grade, when they had to hire a fifth teacher (there are normally four teachers at each grade level at his school) and let her go at the end of the year, then hired a fifth 3rd grade teacher the next year... and let her go, and so on and so forth. I just didn't realize it was district wide.

Anyhow, the principal, Mrs. O. told us she would give us a call after reviewing the situation with the fifth grade teachers at her school, and as soon as there was an opening.

That was Friday. That night, the Impossible Son got the stomach bug, and threw up continuously for several hours. He wanted his Papa with him, so THO stayed up with him while I went to grab some sleep, only to be shaken awake at 2 a.m. "We need to take Mr. Impossible to ER," THO said. "He's dehydrated."

So, I got up, got dressed, woke up the Impertinent One, grabbed a blanket, a towel, and a bowl, and drove to San Marcos and the ER there. That's when we found out it was possibly norovirus, and that we weren't the only ones. There were a lot of people with the same thing there.

Fun, fun, fun.

The Impertinent One, in the meantime, trying to stay awake and to not starve, raided the vending machines and consumed Dr. Pepper, a slice of carrot cake, a Coke, and Doritos. This... made her incredibly hyper and it was exhausting just to look at her. When we got home, the Impossible Son crashed on one couch, THO passed out in our bed, and I went and curled up in the Impertinent One's bed.

I was too tired to process that my teenage daughter was hyper and had nothing to do!!

When I eventually woke up several hours later, I staggered into the dining room and stopped, frowning. Something was missing. The feeling increased as I moved through the kitchen, and then into the living room.

She had cleaned the dining room, the kitchen, and the living room. She did dishes and several loads of laundry and... and... then she... she...

...FOLDED IT ALL AND PUT IT AWAY!!!!

I am still gobsmacked. Still.

Needless to say, our weekend was pretty mellow after that.

Well, Monday, Mrs. O. called and informed me that she had talked to Mrs. K., who had assured her that measures were in place to protect my son. And Mrs. O. was hesitant to transfer my son, but not because of Mrs. K's assurances. She said, "The thing is, we have a group of boys in our fifth grade classes and there is a lot of... ahem... drama going on with them. Normally, this is a problem with the girls, but this year, for some odd reason, it's the boys. And I'm really concerned that if we transfer your son here, we will be taking him from one ... dramatic environment... and dropping him smack-bang into the middle of another dramatic environment with the added bonus that he would be The New Kid. And Mrs. J.... that would be like tying meat around his neck and dropping him in a shark tank."

"I can see that," I said with a sigh, and I do. Great.

I haven't called the other elementary just down the street because that's the school we transferred Miss Impertinent away from when she was being bullied, and the same woman is still principal. She didn't protect Miss Priss, and I don't have a lot of confidence in her protecting Mr. Impossible.

*sigh*

That night, the Impertinent Daughter had a choir concert at the school, and I... wasn't feeling so good. But I went, leaving THO with the Impossible Son, and sat through the junior high choir's unenthusiastic and uninspired droning (no, you can't possibly call that singing) and was relieved when it was the high school choir's turn, because they actually can and do sing, and... drove home after, hoping the rock in my stomach would go away.

Yeah, I spent the night throwing up and ... driving the porcelain bus. Let's put it this way, THO didn't change out of his work clothes until the next afternoon.

So far, the Impertinent One has avoided it. *knocks frantically on wood* This stomach virus is ripping its way through town, and I just hope it doesn't come back for a second visit because... eurgh!!

And then this week, I had a checkup with the endocrinologist. During my last appointment, there was concern that the Lump on my thyroid seemed to be growing, so I was scheduled for an ultrasound, which ended up being rescheduled several times due to circumstances beyond my control (i.e. sick kids). Well, I finally got it done, and when the doctor saw me, he had a pleased smile on his face. The Lump has apparently been reabsorbed, and while they are going to be keeping close tabs on me (I go back in December), they're pretty certain this is just one more part of having Hashimoto's thyroiditis (anybody know Hashimoto? I'm sure he's missing his thyroiditis, and I really wouldn't mind giving it back...).

So... there we are, all caught up. And now, it's time for me to pick the Impossible Son up from school!

Soooooo... I had a conference today with the Impossible Son's main teacher, Mrs. G., and his math teacher, Ms. H.

Yes, they're still alive and the hair has not been singed off their heads.

*sigh*

I'll admit, I was in a rather feisty mood and loaded for bear. However, I haven't had a chance to speak to Mrs. G. beyond some emails, which is rather unusual, because I try to get to know my kids' teachers, if only to figure out how much "home-schooling" I'll be doing and in what subjects!

The first thing I learned when I arrived was that Mrs. G. expected me to be a no-show. I blinked then said, "I always call and email when I can't make a meeting, Mrs. G."

"Well, as a matter of fact, you do," she said, and looked rather taken aback. "Most of the parents I meet with, when I meet with them, don't."

I just nodded, and we sat down with Ms. H. to start talking about Mr. Impossible's math problems, and a few other issues.

We cleared up a few things. Like the reason Mr. Impossible doesn't like showing his work. It's not that he doesn't want to, it's that he doesn't see the necessity for it, since he's already done it in his head. "Why should I have to do it twice?" he asked me grumpily.

"Because the teacher needs to see your thought process, especially when you get it wrong because you rushed through it," I said crankily.

This also allowed me to tell Ms. H. that the reason he sometimes rushes through a test, or classwork and turns it in with either all the wrong answers or no answers at all is because he's frustrated, he wants to get it over with as soon as possible, and gives it to her in the mistaken belief that this will make her happy and she'll leave him alone. In other words... he's frustrated.

I'm very familiar with this tactic. My dad used it all the friggin' time! However, unlike my dad's family, I don't let the Impossible Son get away with it.

Neither will Ms. H., now that she knows.

We cleared up a few problems with Mrs. G. as well, and addressed... the Bully Problem.

*sigh*

Yes, once again, there is a bully problem, but this one is a doozy. I can guarantee that at least three fourths of you are going to be absolutely furious, so I'll advise you to move all liquids, or breakable objects far away from your computer before you proceed.

Tum-te-tum-te-tum... hmmm-hmmm-hmmmm... dooty-doo-doodle-dee-doooo....

Done?

Okay. This particular bully is the nephew of one of the P.E. teachers and was functioning under the mistaken belief that this gave him complete immunity, a fact he rather gleefully passed on to his victims on a regular basis.

And he's learned not to use his fists on the Impossible One, because Mama gave him the second installment of her "Major Points of Vulnerability on the Human Body - Elementary School Edition" in the backyard. Nothing discourages a bully like a quick elbow to the solar plexus! Hard to chase a kid when you're laying out flat, puking your guts out. Yeah, the Husbandly One and I basically gave Impossible permission to Do Unto Others, Do It Like You Mean It And Knock The Snot Out Of Them. This would, at the very least, get the teacher's attention and warrant a phone call to us, where either I or THO would set them straight... or threaten to file charges.

So... this bully started using his words.

He called the Impossible Son gay.

"Your shorts are too short, they make you look gay! Only a faggot would wear shorts like those!"

"You're so skinny, just like a queer!" "Only a gay faggot would wear those colors!" "You're such a homo, dancing around like that!"

I pretty much hit my limit when the teacher was at the door, taking up books from students coming into the classroom, and the bully took advantage of her distraction to hump Impossible's desk before grabbing his own crotch suggestively while chanting, "Suck it, suck it," to him.

Yeah, the teacher was appalled when I told her this. Aren't they always?

However... the Impossible Son wasn't his only victim, and he was caught yesterday taunting another student about being, "gay." He's hit the zero tolerance policy and apparently one more infraction will get him suspended.

*makes a rude noise*

Being the generous, sweet person that I am, I said, "Is it possible that he has no idea what it means? That he's just repeating something he's heard with the idea that it's funny, or trying to impress someone?"

"Oh, no," said Mrs. G. with a look at Ms. H. "He knows exactly what it means. I asked him what it meant, and he told me and I was rather surprised, but... he knew what he was doing."

I just nodded.

"You look skeptical, Auntie," said Ms. H. "Why?"

"Let's just say I've heard this all before. And frankly, I think the three day suspension, if the parents aren't on board with this, amounts to little more than just a three day vacation." I shook my head. "He's knows what he was doing was wrong, you're right. I just wanted to see if you realized that."

Mrs. G. nodded and then said, "There are... issues... at home, and that is contributing to what the bully is doing here at school." Then she said something that actually gave me some hope and made me want to cheer. "It's a reason, though. Not an excuse."

FINALLY!!

Anyhow, they assured me that they would be informing the counselor of what I'd told them (I'm going to email her again, just because), and that they'd keep an extra eye out for my son, too. And I made sure they understood that if this didn't stop, we'd be filing charges.

Then the bully walked into the classroom with another boy, and I got a huge shock, and a... rather bizarre insight.

Guys, this kid has a LOT of nerve calling MY son gay... considering he was wearing a bright PINK flannel shirt!!

He was big, rather burly for a fourth grader, had two very small blue eyes set too close together in his face, and... the bright pink flannel shirt. Hello, denial much? Trying to divert attention a bit there, dude?

You know, whether or not the Impossible Son is gay is no one's business but his. I will love him just the same, no matter what. He's my son. That's all that matters.

So, the teachers and I have set up a system of communication involving emails, his agenda (a notebook the kids write their assignments in) and phone calls, all to keep the Impossible Son on track with his school work, and to keep him safe. Period. I wish his second grade and third grade teachers had been this willing to work with me.

I dread junior high for Mr. Impossible in a way I didn't with the Impertinent One. Hmmmm... wonder if I can find a Krav Maga class for him. Or kung fu. No, Krav Maga would be better, I think. It's dirty fighting for survival.

*head-desk*

This is the part of parenting that gives me grey hairs, I swear!

So yesterday, I picked the Impossible Son up from school as usual and when he climbed in the car, he said this week was "Stop-The-Bullying" week at his school, and in celebration of this, the kids in his class got to watch a film.

Prepare yourselves.

Now, the thing you have to understand is that when the Impossible Son is excited, or confused, or upset, his narrative tends to get somewhat... garbled. It's even worse when he's trying to work through his memory to tell you the story.

So, he started telling me about the film, and I could tell it bothered him, because his eyes were big, and his voice got high, and he was speaking very fast, as if he just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. The basic gist of what he told me is this; Kid A starts bullying Kid B. Kid B tells, and Kid A is suspended from school. His parents ground him for a month and take away all his privileges, so all he can basically do is just lay on his bed in his room and do nothing. This makes Kid A feel bad, and finally... he sets himself on fire.

Yes, you read that right. Go ahead and read it again, I'll just sit here and file my nails while I wait.

Done?

Okay, to reiterate, Kid A feels so bad he SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE.

This is bad.

He goes to the hospital and when he comes back, he has a lot of scars. The Impossible Son doesn't specify where the scars are, but I get a pretty good idea after Kid A goes back to school, because all his bullying buddies turn on him and call him "Pizza Face."

However, Kid B, his former victim, stands up for him and everyone stops. Kid A still has to transfer to another school, where he meets Kid C, who becomes his best friend and supporter, and when Kid A's teacher finds out what happened to him, he throws Kid A a party. The end.

O_o????

So... the message is... don't bully or you might set yourself on fire, and then your new teacher will give you a party???

Once Mr. Impossible told me about it, we talked about it and I asked him what he thought about it, and he said it was kinda freaky, because OMG, THE BOY WAS ON FIRE!! And I said, "Wait, did they show him on fire? I mean, did the film show him setting himself on fire and burning?"

"It was pretty weird, Mom," he said, which didn't really answer my question.

I backed off for a bit, then asked him about it again when we got home and he said, "It was just a movie," and I asked him if he thought what the boy had done was the right thing to do. He said, "It was pretty stupid to set himself on fire. It just made everything worse. All he had to do was just read some books to get through the boredom, and the month would be over and he could go back to playing and stuff. I didn't like that, it was stupid."

I thought, okay, no worries on that front. He understood that much.

I forgot about my son's overactive imagination.

The Husbandly One put him to bed last night while I made lunches early, because I felt like crap and just wanted to go to bed. And it looked like I was actually going to get to bed before 11 p.m., it really did! Until I sat down at the computer only to find a shivering child next to me with tears streaming down his face.

"What on earth?" I asked and he threw himself into my arms.

"I can't stop thinking about the boy being on fire!" he wailed.

. . .

It took putting him in our bed with THO on one side of him and me on the other, and a LOT of talking to settle him down. And none of the usual, "Think about cookies, think about Grandma holding you while she sings, think about Muta purring as he curls up next to you," worked to distract him. Finally, I had to give him a lot of water imagery to focus on, until he decided to imagine Katara from Avatar using her waterbending healing skills to put the fire out, and then he finally relaxed. I ended up having to sit at the computer so the light from the screen would light the room up enough to let him go to sleep. It was after midnight when THO was able to finally carry him to his bed and tuck him in.

Needless to say, I have emailed his teacher to get an idea of what actually happened yesterday. I called the school, but after the trouble it took for the secretary to understand me (I have a nasty case of laryngitis right now), email seemed to be a better idea.

*sighs*

Can we please just have one week without some sort of excitement going on around here? Just one???