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Ruffling my Feathers


 
I received my first “call from the principal” last week. He informed me that Gus had been in a fight. I am pretty sure my “I don’t give a @#$*” attitude surrounding the call did not go unnoticed.
 
However, I know my kid and if he got in a fight, well 1 of two things happened 1) his little fiery Greek temper reared its ugly head (that’s hereditary – so to be fair how can you get mad at a kid for his heritage??) or 2) someone really pissed him off.

It seems it was the latter. It all had to do with a ball. I would venture to guess that this is what most 10 year old boys fight over; ball possession.  Seems the “victim” of this fight stole a ball and wouldn’t give it back when asked politely and then not so politely with a shove as he walked away. As it were, it came to fisticuffs.

Later, when having the “talk” about the altercation, Gus explained to me, that after the first push by him, the other boy pushed him to the ground and started wailing on him… and when the dukes came out, Gus had no idea what he was supposed to do – being his first fight and all – so he decided to punch the kid in the face until he could get back up. Not a bad strategy.

I was informed that next time the consequences for Gus would be much more “severe”. Oh no. Please, not more severe. Even as I pretended to be upset when speaking to Gus, I had a hard time mustering the gumption. He is a 10 year old boy! And I got my first “call” home at the end of grade 5, not bad by my books.

Here’s something else I find concerning at school. “The Book”.

The Book is what grade 5 students use to learn about the Human Body. I am not sure who wrote this book, personally, I believe it may have been Larry Flynt. The Book gave Gus all sorts of graphic information that I would like to thank the school system for. Pretty sure a 10 year old doesn’t need to know half of the X-Rated material my kid came home with.

While cooking dinner one night, Gus came to me and informed me that he now knows that babies do not come from the priest doing magic at your wedding. Like heck, they don’t! Of course that was true. Darn school board. Then I had endure his version of how babies are made. Let’s just leave it at it wasn’t overly accurate and he left it at the woman then has to fertilize the egg the man gave her. Hmmmm…. Close.

I like my version better. The priest waves his magic wand… and voila a baby is planted, which is then whisked out of the mother’s tummy by a doctor’s magic wand. Makes much more sense and is a much more pleasant visual for a mother and son conversation.

But, the kid no longer believes me. He now knows the technicality of it all. And a further credit to the school system, thank you for providing my 10 year old with the embellishing words to further describe this process. Because that is what every mother wants to hear, her 10 year old speaking poetically of sex.

I have also even learned a few new words from The Book via Gus. I would consider a protest burning of The Book if there are any other mothers out there that care to join me?

Completely off the topic of school, but sticking to the topic of things that irk me… The neighbour’s pool has consistently caused me a wee bit of resentment and the occasional hissy fit. Not so much the actual pool, but the pump house that goes along with it. Up until late last summer, when the good lord took mercy upon me and decided to end that miserable pump’s life, it sounded like a jet engine outside my bedroom window. When that thing bit the bullet, it was sweet relief.

The new pump is much more serene… babbling brook, rather than AK47. But I do have to say, that it still will wake me or cause me some sleeplessness as I decide if that really is the pump outside my window or a thieving sneak who is rustling grocery bags in my room as I lay in attempted rest. For the amount of use the pool gets and the grief that it causes me (I am choosing to ignore the fact that I, in my younger new home-owner days, may have caused some indisposition upon my neighbours… that is in the past. Let bygones be bygones, right!?) I should have full access to that pool. They may as well just cut a gate for us in the fence. That sure would be a lot easier for me for when I throw the pool parties that I plan to hold as soon as they grant me that 24-7 access.

Of course, I have many more vexing matters that are floating around in my old noggin… and I really wish I could share them all with you, but I am afraid that some may incriminate me. And I fear the repercussions of over sharing may get my feathers ruffled even further.
 

 

 

 

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