Chatterer finally had a really good week at kindergarten. He was on yellow on Monday and then had FOUR green days in a row!!! The streak even includes a field trip day to the pumpkin farm with MM.

Congrats to Chatterer!!!

If this child was going to arrive early, I was half-heartedly hoping he would arrive on October 6, since it was my “ersatz” grandmother’s birthday.  She’s been gone for almost 5 years now, and I still miss her and think of her often.  Mostly I think about how much Chatterer, LBoaM and this next one are going to miss out by not knowing her.

Maybe it is just a side effect of being pregnant, but I’m starting to get really annoyed with people. Not just generally, of course. Mostly it is when complete strangers ask when I’m due, how far along I am, whether it is a boy or girl, whether it is my first child (I really despise the follow up comments to that one about how busy I’m going to be) whether the baby has dropped yet and on and on as if these people have a right to know. Strangely, I’m even more annoyed with acquaintances (I.e. one of the teachers at LBoaM’s school who does not teach LBoaM) who want a near daily update. News flash to the general public: just because I’m pregnant does not mean a) it is the only topic of conversation I can intelligently converse about and b) that you are entitled to every speck of information about my health, my family, my pets, and how disappointed my (or MM’s) parents must be that I’m having another boy. I may answer politely, but, be assured, you have really annoyed me more than you probably know after about three questions. I recognize that polite company requires acknowledgement of my condition. The three questions (when are you due? How are you feeling? Is it a boy or girl?) are about all you are entitled to know before you are just being nosey. And even that is pushing it.

I know I’m not as technologically connected as others are.  I know I don’t use my iPhone to its full potential.  But please, PLEASE, people, some things are sacred.

I was in the bathroom stall today at work.  Another woman walked in, used the facilities and walked out, all while holding a conversation on her cell phone.  Bear in mind, this wasn’t someone in the bathroom looking for privacy to hold a personal conversation at work.

To all of my friends/family: if we’re on the phone and nature calls, just call me back.  I don’t need to hear the “details” of your bathroom visit while we discuss whatever else is important to us.

17 days… that’s how many actual days Chatterer was in kindergarten before being sent to the principal’s office.  It seems that there’s a very good reason the school keeps the kindergarteners separated from the other kids at recess and lunch time, especially at the beginning.  However, the kindergarten playground was unavailable on Friday because of the school’s rummage sale.  Here’s what happened (as we understand it from the principal).

Two second graders were “play fighting” when one of the second graders’ little brother, a kindergartener, took umbrage to the the treatment his older brother was receiving.  The kindergartener started fighting with the second grader that wasn’t his brother.  Then, to help out his friend, another kindergartener “tackled” the second grader.  (Chatterer is not involved at this point.)  At some point in time, the second graders had enough of the kindergarteners, but not before Chatterer thought it would be “fun” to hit a second grader he knows (who was trying to stop the whole thing) to try to get the second grader to play with him.  He did it enough times to get sent to the principal’s office with his friends and the second graders.

On the plus side: Chatterer was not the instigator and he didn’t have any true “fight” intent.  One of the other kindergarteners is a teacher’s kid, and the last one is the son of my ob/gyn, as is the second grader that is the older brother.  There’s nothing like going to the doctor’s appointments and finding out that other kids in Chatterer’s class are just as bad (or worse) than he is… and this time both of her sons are involved.  I get to see her again in a week and a half and I’m sure we’ll laugh about it.

On the down side: he shouldn’t be hitting anyone, let alone a second grader that he likes.  He’ll be spending two days next week having lunch with the principal (along with all the second graders and other kindergarteners involved in the incident) and doing community service projects around the school instead of playing.

All this happened the Friday before our meeting on Monday with the principal and kindergarten teacher to evaluate whether Chatterer should stay in kindergarten or go back to preschool… ugh.

The boys wanted one too

Someone actually “invented” this stuff: http://www.amazon.com/ProudBody-Pregnancy-Belly-Painting-Kit/dp/B000H6NTD2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=baby-products&qid=1252368994&sr=8-2

It all started at naptime…

Chatterer is a notoriously slow and less than enthusiastic eater.  This morning, when asked what he wanted for breakfast (and given a choice of options) he said he didn’t know what he wanted yet.  So, time passed.  He was told that he couldn’t have any cookies or crackers (his second favorite thing after fruit snacks) until he ate breakfast.  MM awoke (it was his turn to sleep in) and I went to take a shower and get dressed.  When I re-emerged, I found Chatterer munching away on cookies and crackers.  I asked MM what he ate for breakfast.  The conversation went (as all parents reading this can imagine) “He told me he ate apples for breakfast.”  “Not with me he didn’t.”  “Chatterer, did you tell a fib?”  Chatterer bursts into tears, and is immediately directed to the kitchen table to eat said apples he told MM he already ate.  That was about 15 minutes ago.  He’s still there.  I’m pretty sure he still hasn’t eaten any of the apples, but he’s going to sit there for a while until he does.

Lesson of the day: There’s no reason to fib, because Mom and Dad will always find out the truth.

Some people would fix the squeaky hinge on Chatterer’s door. We use it, and Zoe the Cat, as an alarm to tell when C is out of bed at night. Fortunately, C has not figured out that his door squeaks. He has figured out that Zoe comes running when he opens the door, though.

This morning was the first morning in fifteen years that my furry alarm clock did not howl/meow at me to wake up. I miss my Hammie-cat. Hamilton went on his way last night, at home, at about 6:45 pm. Farewell. You were a great cat.

Friday was not the day to say goodbye to my longtime companion. However, that day is likely rapidly approaching. He isn’t eating or drinking, despite the doctor giving him fluids and antibiotics on Friday. He also seems to be unable to get up. I suspect the inevitable will happen sometime in the next few days. I’ll keep everyone posted.