How to Make My Heart Sink, Shudder, Skip, or Stop

Last night: a person dear to me informed me that her three-year-old son has been diagnosed hyperactive/sensory integration dysfunction, has been in intensive therapy for the entire summer: OT, ST, social groups, etc., and that now they're exploring GFCF diet options. They had to pull him from his preschool due to his social/emotional behavior. My hope is that he is just a spazzy hypersensitive boy like so many of them are and that, when he hits seven or so, he'll even out. Fingers crossed for his worried parents in the meantime.

This morning: Jude, crushed and in tears at Iron Gate pickup because the school district swapped out her son's beloved aide. She was informed rather than consulted about the switch.

Right before lunch: A person who reads this blog called me on the phone, at home, after using information in this blog to figure out who I was and locate my home phone number. I was okay with it because of the kind, lovely person who happened to make the call, and the fact that we already had correspondence going on, but in the future I would request that any contact be made via email first. If you want my phone number, ask me. This blog uses pseudonyms for a reason.

During lunch: Ep told us about her car accident earlier that morning! She is freaking a bit, but luckily no one was hurt (tell that to her adrenal glands, though). Poor dear.

Right after lunch: Ep, JP, and I ran into the Malian waiters from the Malian restaurant where I had dinner last night, at the local Malian grocery. They snickered good naturedly as I purchased many of the same items I'd had for dinner just last night. I gave my leftovers to Seymour, you see, and so had nothing left with which to provide my afternoon fix. Turns out they now to PAL to NTSC duping to DVD as well as video cassette. Love this town.

On the way from lunch to picking up Iz: Supervisor M called to let me know that both she and Supervisor Andil have concerns about the aptitude and performance of one of Leelo's therapists. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

While picking up Iz:

1) Badger informed me that Iz was going around lighting things on fire with her magnifying glass. We live on a 3/4 acre tinderbox.

2) Rama, whose son K will be attending Esperanza with Iz next year, informed me that Maestra G, Iz's teacher from last year, is in fact an old-school educational sadist who got off on publicly humiliating the kids who didn't perform as well as her hand-selected darlings. She says that Iz must have been one of the darlings, and couldn't believe I didn't know about this woman's issues. I will have to do more investigating there. I knew Maestra G was strict, but every time I was in the classroom things seemed to go very smoothly and amiably.

Ah well, off to the pool. We are officially members of Satan's Pool (where Iz had her Super Duper Christian Tennis Lessons earlier this summer) for the next month. I won the membership at the Iron Gate auction earlier in the year. I won't give those people my money, but am more than happy to take advantage of their donation if it means Leelo and Iz get to play in their fabulous pools.

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