Almost three hours of screaming. We think she has colic like my brother did. I didn't care for that then, and now is no damned different.
Somewhere in this house is a picture of 23 month old me sitting in a white tee and diaper, holding brand-spanking-new-Brother dressed the same and screaming the house down. Evidently the look on my face was one of "return this noisy thing from where you got it. RETURN NOW".
That explains our relationship to a 't'.
In other kiddie news, Imp now has his glasses. Here's hoping he's not teased like the way I was. He's also in band. Playing drums.
The pattern I used called for knitting the thing on DPNs and then adding fringe to the ends. Well, there's no way on Gaia's great green tukus that I was going to make a five foot scarf with fringe for a ten year old boy. Nope. Not gonna do it.
So, I made it in the round and added a blanket stitch edging to both ends.
My mistake was making it on DPNs. I should have just made it on straight needles in a ribbed pattern.
I learned my lesson well.
I almost strangled him with it, too. Imp has a love/hate relationship with school. He downright loathes to write. A paragraph may take up to three hours. Add into this that like any kid he will lie about having homework done.
I've fought with his school district for three years trying to figure out what there is wrong. Imp can do his work, he won't sit still for it, though. Last year I asked the school for an IEP. Which, by state law, they have to provide, if I understand right.
Except, they didn't. They instead told me that if Imp does have a problem, then it's not severe enough for them to get involved. I disagreed. My mom-stinct was screaming that there's Something Not Right.
It's not bias when I say Imp is extremely intelligent. He can focus when he wants to. Cripes, in third grade he was reading Harry Potter with now help. I think he was the only third grader in the district that could!
I had also asked his doctor about getting him tested to see if he had a learning disability, because I wanted to help him get the tools he needs. I was told not to give him soda.
Oh, for the love of-! Look, I may look young, I may have been born blonde, but I am not an idiot.
I went to the local university, which had a kiddie psych program and that would test him for me. I didn't want to just arbitrarily slap a label on Imp. I wanted to help him.
We're still fighting the homework. He'd rather talk or bounce around. I honestly think that he's just bored out of his skull. I just have no idea how to get the school district to listen to me.
I need a drink.
