Rejection, the Clap, and the Urinator
I had to be a mean old hag again today. I know. I whined, "Do I
HAVE to?" Not really. You know I'm Miss Congeniality. A student
was put into my class who did not qualify. Because it is an "at-risk"
class, a student must be at risk of not graduating with his/her class
to be placed in my classroom. This student had As and Cs. Our
requirement is to have failed at least 2 core classes for a quarter or
a semester. So I'm the bad guy, I have to say, "Well, your grades
are not low enough to be in my class." I don't want students to
think I am rejecting them. But if we let in one who doesn't qualify,
then it is hard to reject others. If we let just anybody in, we have
students who are using it as extra time to study, students who are
actually motivated, and will succeed on their own anyway.
***************************************************
My son, the senior citizen. My Hillbilly Mama gave my 11-year-old
a "Clapper" for Christmas. He loves it. You know, the "Clap on, clap
off...the Clapper!" I wanted him to hook it up to the TV in his room.
Then maybe he would start sleeping in his room, instead of the
basement. He said the TV doesn't have a switch, it has a push-button
power thingy. It won't come back on once the power has been shut
off. Whatever that means. Anyhoo, he hooked it up the the lamp in
the basement, the one we used to have to use pliers to turn on and
off, until my Hillbilly Husband finally put a new light socket in it.
The point of this is...the Clapper won't work for me. It refuses to
recognize my clap, no matter how hard I try. #1 son can be right
next to it, across the room, even upstairs, and it works. He doesn't
even have to clap twice sometimes, he just shouts and it goes on or
off. The thing is possessed. It will not work for me. The other night,
#1 was asleep on the couch for the night. I clapped to turn off the
light. I did it just like he does it. 31 claps, and that demon would
not turn off. I used the switch.
The next morning, around 9:00 a.m., #1 came upstairs. He was
pitiful. "Mom, this morning I woke up around 6:00. It was black
dark. I clapped my hands, but my lamp wouldn't come on. I tried
and tried, but no light. Finally, I got up and turned the switch. You
turned it off last night, Mom." He was almost in tears. Then I felt
really bad. I could picture him lying there in the dark, valiantly
clapping his little 5th-grade hands, waiting for the security of light.
Clapping...clapping...clapping. Poor baby. I apologized. I told him
it was better to lie in the dark than go up in flames. Because I am
sure that if I leave that lamp on all night, it will catch on fire. Just
as I am sure that if I have gas heat, my house will explode, or we
will all die of carbon monoxide poisoning. Of this, I am certain.
A few hours later, #1 son had become his usual loud, obnoxious
self. I told him, "When you grow up, and you're famous, and you
decide to write your autobiography, I have the perfect title:
"Clapping in the Dark." He was not amused.
**************************************************
#2 son is in the doghouse. Not really. The dog won't even sleep in
the doghouse. HH made it. No, #2 son is in trouble for peeing his
pants. Not so much peeing his pants, as not telling me about it, and
then laughing. He's really not emotionally disturbed. But he may be
before long, if he doesn't cut out the pants-peeing. He's 7 years old!
Here's the situation. #2 wanted a soda after school. I bought him one
out of the teacher's lounge. We got in the car. I said, "If you need to
go to the bathroom, go back in. We're going by Save-A-Lot, and
not straight home." Nope. He didn't have to go. He has told me this
before, and a half-mile up the road, I've had to pull over for him to
pee behind the car. So I told him again. "Go now. It's going to be
a while." Nope. Not necessary.
We got to Save-A-Lot, which is on the way home, about 5 miles
from our house. It probably took us 15 minutes to get there. I
went in alone (no, I wasn't looking for some woman to tell me I
was SO PRETTY), and was done in less than 10 minutes. We got
home and carried junk in. I went through the mail, had 3 phone
calls (because I'm SO popular, and SO PRETTY), and then I
went to the kitchen to start supper.
#2 walked into the kitchen, and said, "I think I'll go ahead and
put my pajamas on now." I looked at him. The entire front of
his jeans, and part of his shirt, was soaked with pee. I asked
him when he did it. "At Save-A-Lot." Now the boy was in
trouble. He had been sitting on the couch for 30 minutes since
we got home. I asked when he'd planned on telling me. "Well,
I was going to when we got out of the car, but I thought you'd
be mad." Oh. As opposed to 30 minutes later, when I'm cooking
supper, and you've sat on the couch 30 minutes.
Anyhoo, I hollered at him a while, got him in the tub, and he
again promised me (like he did on Tuesday) that whenever his
class got a bathroom break, he would go, whether he felt like
he had to, or not. We'll see. He said today he didn't go on any
of the breaks. No soda for you! The Urinator must be stopped!
So, the first day back at school after break, my day had a certain
symmetry. I started it an old hag, and I ended it an old hag.
HAVE to?" Not really. You know I'm Miss Congeniality. A student
was put into my class who did not qualify. Because it is an "at-risk"
class, a student must be at risk of not graduating with his/her class
to be placed in my classroom. This student had As and Cs. Our
requirement is to have failed at least 2 core classes for a quarter or
a semester. So I'm the bad guy, I have to say, "Well, your grades
are not low enough to be in my class." I don't want students to
think I am rejecting them. But if we let in one who doesn't qualify,
then it is hard to reject others. If we let just anybody in, we have
students who are using it as extra time to study, students who are
actually motivated, and will succeed on their own anyway.
***************************************************
My son, the senior citizen. My Hillbilly Mama gave my 11-year-old
a "Clapper" for Christmas. He loves it. You know, the "Clap on, clap
off...the Clapper!" I wanted him to hook it up to the TV in his room.
Then maybe he would start sleeping in his room, instead of the
basement. He said the TV doesn't have a switch, it has a push-button
power thingy. It won't come back on once the power has been shut
off. Whatever that means. Anyhoo, he hooked it up the the lamp in
the basement, the one we used to have to use pliers to turn on and
off, until my Hillbilly Husband finally put a new light socket in it.
The point of this is...the Clapper won't work for me. It refuses to
recognize my clap, no matter how hard I try. #1 son can be right
next to it, across the room, even upstairs, and it works. He doesn't
even have to clap twice sometimes, he just shouts and it goes on or
off. The thing is possessed. It will not work for me. The other night,
#1 was asleep on the couch for the night. I clapped to turn off the
light. I did it just like he does it. 31 claps, and that demon would
not turn off. I used the switch.
The next morning, around 9:00 a.m., #1 came upstairs. He was
pitiful. "Mom, this morning I woke up around 6:00. It was black
dark. I clapped my hands, but my lamp wouldn't come on. I tried
and tried, but no light. Finally, I got up and turned the switch. You
turned it off last night, Mom." He was almost in tears. Then I felt
really bad. I could picture him lying there in the dark, valiantly
clapping his little 5th-grade hands, waiting for the security of light.
Clapping...clapping...clapping. Poor baby. I apologized. I told him
it was better to lie in the dark than go up in flames. Because I am
sure that if I leave that lamp on all night, it will catch on fire. Just
as I am sure that if I have gas heat, my house will explode, or we
will all die of carbon monoxide poisoning. Of this, I am certain.
A few hours later, #1 son had become his usual loud, obnoxious
self. I told him, "When you grow up, and you're famous, and you
decide to write your autobiography, I have the perfect title:
"Clapping in the Dark." He was not amused.
**************************************************
#2 son is in the doghouse. Not really. The dog won't even sleep in
the doghouse. HH made it. No, #2 son is in trouble for peeing his
pants. Not so much peeing his pants, as not telling me about it, and
then laughing. He's really not emotionally disturbed. But he may be
before long, if he doesn't cut out the pants-peeing. He's 7 years old!
Here's the situation. #2 wanted a soda after school. I bought him one
out of the teacher's lounge. We got in the car. I said, "If you need to
go to the bathroom, go back in. We're going by Save-A-Lot, and
not straight home." Nope. He didn't have to go. He has told me this
before, and a half-mile up the road, I've had to pull over for him to
pee behind the car. So I told him again. "Go now. It's going to be
a while." Nope. Not necessary.
We got to Save-A-Lot, which is on the way home, about 5 miles
from our house. It probably took us 15 minutes to get there. I
went in alone (no, I wasn't looking for some woman to tell me I
was SO PRETTY), and was done in less than 10 minutes. We got
home and carried junk in. I went through the mail, had 3 phone
calls (because I'm SO popular, and SO PRETTY), and then I
went to the kitchen to start supper.
#2 walked into the kitchen, and said, "I think I'll go ahead and
put my pajamas on now." I looked at him. The entire front of
his jeans, and part of his shirt, was soaked with pee. I asked
him when he did it. "At Save-A-Lot." Now the boy was in
trouble. He had been sitting on the couch for 30 minutes since
we got home. I asked when he'd planned on telling me. "Well,
I was going to when we got out of the car, but I thought you'd
be mad." Oh. As opposed to 30 minutes later, when I'm cooking
supper, and you've sat on the couch 30 minutes.
Anyhoo, I hollered at him a while, got him in the tub, and he
again promised me (like he did on Tuesday) that whenever his
class got a bathroom break, he would go, whether he felt like
he had to, or not. We'll see. He said today he didn't go on any
of the breaks. No soda for you! The Urinator must be stopped!
So, the first day back at school after break, my day had a certain
symmetry. I started it an old hag, and I ended it an old hag.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 6:18 PM
6 Comments:
You've been SNUBBED by the Clapper? How embarrassing! LOL
An TV ad was running about these nappie's that look just like underwear.
It finishes with the "too cute" kid being all excited about able to invite his friends over for a slumber party.
Me? I just wanted to do an Elvis and shoot the tv.
Hmmmm... have no idea for advice for the Urinator. Get him a crab! Just not a used one! My 7 yr old nephew pees in the floor, absolutely refuses to even AIM at the toilet! Glad my kid turned 8 today!!!!!
What is it with boys and peeing their pants and then being so doggone amused by it!?!? Chan did that to me more than once. Grrrrrr! One night when his momma picked him up he said, "Kiki talked mean to me today." I said, "Well, honey, if you hadn't LAUGHED when you told me you peed your pants I wouldn't have talked mean to you!" His mother acted miffed, but I bet if he'd peed and laughed for her she'd have been more understanding.
Sam used to have accidents during the night, get up and change his underwear and then leave them tucked into secret cubbyholes all over his room. Imagine finding a pair of underwear on a laundry hunt and either grab a cold, wet pair or a pair that's been there so long it's stiff. *shudder*
Boys.
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
The clapper works on a frequency. Obviously your old hag rubbery hands just can't quite clap to produce the right sound. Either that, or you wear baseball gloves all the time.
So you get phone calls because you are pretty? Mmmm, now let me see. You have to get No.1 Son to show you how to switch on a light, but you can make video calls in a supermarket carpark? I'm glad you are back at school, no more of these old Hillbilly tales from you.
On the other side thought, my eldest Son had the wee problem at the same age. He would just get too involved in anything else, and not go to the toilet. He would sit there and squirm, and actually hold on to stop it from coming out, and would still tell you he didn't need to go. In the end it got to the point where he was just sent to the toilet about every 15 minutes, and told he couldn't come out until he had used it. That worked a treat because he was sick of missing out on the important things in like (well for him) like watching television or playing lego. Just a thought.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Linda,
The Clapper refuses to respect my authoritaaaaayyyyy!
Lantern,
My kid pees his pants awake, fully conscious, and probably would not do it in a fake diaper. That would take all the fun out of it. I hope he does not have some kind of fetish, and will turn into a big ol' ugly adult baby who wants to be diapered!
Mrs.,
And by getting the Urinator a crab, should I tell him it will pinch his naughty parts until it thunders? I used to have a pet crab. It had one giant claw and one little claw. It was kind of boring.
Diva,
I told the Urinator to put his clothes in the washer. I came back an hour later to turn it on, and they were stuffed in the dirty-clothes basket. So I had to wash a whole load.
Bec,
Ow! That's harsh. Nobody can see my old hag rubbery hands. Remember, I am SO PRETTY!
My kids tell me "I just went." I say, "I'm going to check the toilet. You'd better not be lying." Then they run screaming in to actually pee. If nothing else, this tactic has taught them to flush the toilet, so I believe they peed.
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