Look everybody, my first hate comment! I feel like after 6 years, my blog has finally arrived. Thank you, Lisa.
And keep it down, will you? I don’t want Beckett to know I’m GAY! For Pete’s sake.
lisa Says:
September 16th, 2005 at 12:47 pm e
hi i must admit ur site is the most shitest i ave eva seen it is so totally gay n well so are u, u fat u
gly skankin bitch
Two weeks ago, Beckett moved up from the baby room at the hippy school to the Toddler class. And you know what? No matter how much I gripe and complain when the outrageous hippy school bill comes due at the beginning of each month, there really isn’t any place I’d rather Beckett spend his days than at this wonderful school.
Now that he’s in the toddler class, he brings his own lunchbox to school. I took Beckett on a Target run, and let him pick out his own lunchbox before the first day. Here is the lunchbox he picked out. His name is George.
George is a catepillar. And George has an ice pack. When Beckett walks into school in the mornings, he carries George in, all on his own, and puts George on the little lunchbox shelf outside of his classroom. Then he finds his picture card in the basket by the door, and carries his picture in to put on the “I’m at Hippy School Today!” board, which also doubles as the class refridgerator. He walks into class by himself, and now Basil and I are stopped at the door, and not supposed to come in with him. Beckett still cries when I drop him at the door, but he’s normally all better after only a minute or two of sobbing uncontrollably.
How do I know? Because the toddler classroom comes equipped with it’s very own prison lineup window, and clingy parents, like myself, can turn off the hall light, and watch through the window for as long as we like. Yesterday morning, Basil and I took Beckett to school together, and lingered outside of his classroom, staring into the prison lineup window, and snapping pictures of our toddler in his all grown up classroom.
Observe:
It’s easy for a half hour to zip by when you’re watching what goes on behind the one way glass, and behind the scenes at the hippy school. There is jumping on mini trampolines in front of a mirror, crossing the occassional foot bridge, and cooking your own version of alphabet block soup. There are books, and pizza puzzles, and oriental rugs to flop down on when your toddler feet get tired.
As we stood there and watched Beckett do Montessori approve puzzles, and actually PUT HIS TOYS BACK ON THE SHElF after playing with them, we got a little verclempt. He’s learning, and growing, and becoming a little boy. And it’s painfully clear that the morons he wound up with as parents are in dire need of this kind of professional academic backup. The scenarios we see unfold behind the prison lineup window are structured yet exploratory, calm, and magical.
Here is what it looks like when Beckett leaves the soft lighting and jazz infused classroom, and returns home to the Dynamic “D’oh” Duo!
If this look doesn’t scream, “Help, I’m surrounded by morons!!”, I don’t know what does.
Hang in there, little buddy! We’ll try not to embarrass you by constantly hanging around outside the prison lineup window, and leaving breathy snort marks on the glass. Just try to keep in mind that we’re too stupid and in love with you to notice the bumbling baffoons we have become.
I loaded a bunch of new pictures to the September Gallery or if you’re a flickr head, you can see the DarnLucky Flickr Gallery Here!
Where am I? Is anybody out there? I have spent the last 6 days of my life on the Internet and on the phone to New Orleans, relaying information about stranded hurricane victims between Internet message boards and Coast Guard dispatchers, and while it has been an eye opening experience, I do have the following observations to make and questions to ask.
Press ONE to let the Coast Guard know you are TRAPPED IN YOUR ATTIC.
Press TWO if you are trapped in your attack AND are out of insulin, heart medication, food, and/or water.
Press THREE to give a brief confession, and speak with a priest.
Or press FOUR to call your family in California to let them know you are trapped in your attic so they can post your name and address on an Internet message board that someone may or may not be reading in a bleak attempt to rescue you.
Have a nice day, and please do not drink that entire bottle of water Mayor Nagin threw your way during an observatory fly-by in one sitting, as you may be trapped for several more days. We care about you, New Orleans. Goodbye.”
I’m pretty sure our IT team at work could have figured out how to set this technology into motion. Instead, people like me were asking hurricane victims if they could FIND SOMETHING TO WRITE WITH, so that they could jot down a list of alternate numbers and possibly even speak to a live human being who was not sitting on a sun porch in South Carolina drinking diet Pepsi and watching TiVoed Dr. Phil episodes in the background, but may actually be like a MEDICAL WORKER, and in a position to be able to. um. you know. save their life.
Well, let me tell you, FEMA. You guys need to get on the phone and call Michael and I up because you need some serious marketing professionals on your staff. We could have sent out the mother of all “What to do if someone e-mails you, text messages you, or calls you while TRAPPED IN THEIR ATTIC!” text messages. You know, those handy little devices aren’t just for designer ringtones anymore. They could actually be used for measures of National Security, if there were a couple of whippersnapper Internet marketing types on board at the White House. But no. Let’s just fly Airforce One overhead, and not even bother to put a giant banner behind her aft wing instructing victims trapped on their roofs of ways to better their chances of survival.
I think it’s time somebody do a little skywriting over Washington.
SURRENDER GEORGE!
CNN, Nola.com, and other news websites became more like community centers than newspaper stands. And one thing was for certain. There was no delay online in people’s efforts to jump in and do what they could to stop the nightmare that was unfolding right in front of our eyes.
My mind has been bent over the past six days. I’m kind of in a stupor, because I’ve become aware that simple everyday technologies that have become as common as a q-tip or a paperclip are still being used as if they’re non-essential luxury items.
I can’t figure out if it’s a generation gap, or just a bricks and mortar mentality meltdown. But this I know for sure. We should never vote again for a president without a blog. And we should ammend the constitution to include that comments should always be opened, and that moderation should be allowed ONLY for getting rid of pesky online poker spam.