Sundays with Stretchy Pants

Unlike Michigan, Ohio has laws about homeschooling. Every year we have to notify the school district that we’re planning to homeschool and we have to tell them exactly how we plan to do it. Also, the kids have to either take a standardized test or have a certified teacher assess them. And, while I know that some of you will think that’s a good idea, I can assure you that it does nothing to help the poor school-less children learn any better than in Michigan where you don’t ever have to do anything to notify the school district or whatever.

I don’t like to do the stupid notifying and I guarantee the school district doesn’t like to have to read and respond to all of the notifications. It takes time and money and I’m strapped for time and money and I know the poor saps at the office of Pupil Outreach or whatever are strapped for time and money, too. I know they are because it’s on the news all the time. Lame.

We’re supposed notify within 2 weeks of the start of the school year and I have forgotten about it until late August every single year until this year. Well, technically, I haven’t even notified yet, but the assessments are done. They’ve been done since May. I’ve just been procrastinating on the bit about writing the how-I-plan-to-teach-5th-and-1st-grade stuff. I don’t like to do that. I suddenly get very Ron Paul and I’m all “They’s my babies and I’ll do what I wants with ‘em!” Which, of course, is the stereotype that they’re trying to combat by making us do this kind of junk. This year, I just want to write, “I’m fixin’ ta let the young ‘uns lookit the internit and I’ll haul ‘em to the liberry every once in a while, too, iff’n they finish they chores on time,” and see what happens.

The thing is, we can say we’re going to do anything. ANYTHING. And then we don’t have to prove that we did any of it. See why it’s a silly system? I think the kids might have learned more in Michigan when I wasn’t bitter and didn’t have an unnatural urge to not do what I said I was going to do on the notification. So there, Laws! I think I get this attitude from Maya. My children have all taught me wonderful, precious things like how to love and be loved and how to annoy and be annoyed and whatnot. Maya (and maybe South Park) has taught me all about disdain for authority. Last night, she asked me to read the “How to Go Green-and make every day Earth Day!” tips out of the back of one of her lib’ral learnin’ books. After I rattled off the list of 7 tips she said, “Well, they’re not the boss of us.” And I said, “You’re right, honey, nobody’s the boss of us. Let’s go light some garbage on fire!” She wrapped her little arms around my neck and said, “I love you, Mommy.” Truly a precious moment.

(Cue mature motherly voice) I will notify today (or maybe by the end of the month, we’ll see), but the notification will be incomplete because true learning True Learning happens in those moments like I had with Maya last night. We can’t possibly plan those organic “teachable moments” which will stay with a child throughout her lifetime. So suck it, Ohio, because you’re not the boss of me.

I think the storm has passed, so it’s safe to get out there and vote for issue 1 today. You want rec centers, don’t you? You want firefighters, don’t you? You want our old people to have fun things to do so we don’t have to entertain them, don’t you? I thought so. I love paying higher taxes for kick-ass services. I love all the free and low-cost stuff our kids do at the rec centers. And I mean that I love the rec centers in the way that I love food. If you know me in real life, you know that I spend a lot of time thinking about, planning, and enjoying many food experiences. It’s just the same with the rec centers. My kids have taken art, pottery, self defense, homeschool gym, dance, cooking,  gymnastics, and soccer at the rec centers. And, frankly, they’re awesome kids. It could be that they wouldn’t be so awesome if not for the rec centers. Remember Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo? The kids that didn’t go to the community center were baaaaaaad. I don’t want that to happen here. Where else will our kids get the skillz they need for performances like this:

P.S. Sacha Baron Cohen breakdanced (brokedanced?) at his bar mitzvah. You want your kids to be like him, don’t you?

We’re meeting at a local bookstore where he’s doing a reading, but I’m sure our friendship is the real reason for his visit. I think I’ll go cut a piece of my hair and put it in a plastic baggie for him right now. Do you think he’d like that?

Speaking of the gays, here’s a video Dawn sent to me. She knows what I like.

April is just a month full of celebrating around here. Well, celebrating and saying things like, “Really? Is this how old we are? Do we have kids who are going to be 10 years old on Friday? And did we just celebrate our 13th anniversary on Monday? There must be something wrong with the maths.”

The maths are wrong, baby, cuz your hotness is rockin’!

Easter was lovely, except it needs to last much longer so my family can stay much longer and we can have, like, an 8-day feast instead of a weekend binge where we drink and eat too much and hurt ourselves. If we knew it would last longer, we could pace ourselves. I promise we would pace ourselves. My sister and I discovered that it doesn’t really matter what kind of wine a person drinks. If that person drinks too much of it, that person’s belly gets mad at them and punishes them. In other words, it’s not the quality, it’s the quantity. My sister-in-law is wise and she knew that already. She and my brother and brother-in-law, along with Bryan, were able to go to the Ohio Deli (as seen on Man vs Food!) and eat and eat on Saturday, while my sister and my mom and I stayed with the kids. Well, my mom stayed with the kids. Tracey and I just laid around and said, “Shhhh!” But now we know. Damn.

My Columbus friends were able to meet my family and that was lovely. I felt like I should be more nervous about it for some reason, but I wasn’t because Kristen, Dawn and Lynne are just Ohio versions of me, my sister and my sister-in-law. I don’t branch out much in my friendships. And the husbands? All of the husbands are beaten down by perfect matches for their loud and lovely wives, so we love all of them, too. Even my brother. I never found the bellybutton lint he hid here, but I have a feeling he hid it on my pillow. Just thinking about it gives me chills. Or, maybe he unscrewed the screen on the showerhead and put it in there so I shower in lint leavings every morning. Ew!

With that, I’ll leave you with another disturbing image. Everybody knows that My L1ttle Ponies love Easter. I just didn’t know how much they love it until I walked in the bathroom and found this little filly enjoying Maya’s Easter basket. In front of the mirror. Seriously, H@sbro, who designs your baskets*?

*I didn’t buy this basket. My mother-in-law bought it for Maya 2 or 3 years ago. I didn’t even notice what the little pony was doing until I saw her watching herself in the mirror with that look in her eye.

P.S. Don’t ask me what Maya’s basket was doing in the bathroom. Nobody wants to know.

My brother does this thing where he plays his guitar and harmonica and sings good songs and stuff. He’s going to do it at Gresso’s in Columbus on April 10th or 11th. Do you wanna come see? I’ll be there! If that doesn’t sweeten the deal, I don’t know what will.

Here’s a mellow sample. He does less mellow, too.  And his own stuff. It’s all good. That reminds me, I saw a comedian once say, “I think it’s unfair that Neil Young can sing, play guitar, and play harmonica all at the same time and everybody loves it and he’s a serious artist and everything, but if he were to add a pair of cymbals to his knees, then he’d just be a moron.” Here’s my brother, sans cymbals: