Category Archives: back to regularly scheduled programming

Bends Over Backwards So You Don’t Have To

Like most people, I prefer it when everything runs smoothly.

 

That is why, if we were  expressing this moment in interpretive dance, you’d see a small ineffective waif clinging to what remains of the status quo while angry imps, representing chaos and bad choices, hit her with mean words and dust mops embroidered with the word “WRONG”.

 

Those of us still plagued by old school ideas about raising and educating our kids consider them a set of guidelines that while sometimes suffocating are still better than any sort of idea we might come up with ourselves. They’re a necessary evil, and we tell our kids to buck up and get with the program so that the life machine can swallow them up a little easier when the school system spits them out the other side. And for a while, that worked here in our house as well.

 

Enter, the dragon. Or more specifically my third child. No core curriculum could interest him. No seat was big enough to contain his energy and more tragically no teacher could tame him enough to make him fit the confines of a classroom. At age four a preschool teacher deemed him “unteachable” and “a danger” and recommended an army of specialists with long lists of credentials. He confounded them all.  People who shouted loudly and forcefully to discipline him harder had no real understanding of what they were dealing with, and made an already strained situation worse with their frustration. In the middle of all this frenetic grasping at straws and last chances up in smoke stood the kid who was the reason for it all, looking at all of us as if we were already dead but just too stupid to fall over.

Cut to six years later, all the educational buffoons and braying donkeys were wrong. The small boy, about whom someone once remarked “he’ll either burn down the world or rule it with an iron fist” is a thriving, intelligent, kindhearted person with limitless possibilities. I used to struggle with the upsettingly tremendous sense of burden I carried with me when making decisions about how to proceed academically, personally and parentally (not a word? FU spellcheck) with my third kid, but now the sigh of relief you hear is deafening. The endless disciplinary hearings and terrifying diagnoses that made up so much of my nightmare fuel back then are distant memories. They’ve been replaced by the pounding elegance and delicate savagery of a boy who made his own way, despite every odd being stacked against him, with sharpened wits and a broad field of vision that enables him to see where he’s going and how he’s going to get there.

I dare say, he’s my boldest creation.

So if you find yourself mired in a pit of parental despair, surrounded by angry “specialists” that just charged you ten thousand dollars for the pleasure of sitting down and discussing the somewhat questionable neuro/psych/edu. test results they got, and what it all means for your poor kids future, remember that from the ashes of this complete and utter bullshit can sometimes rise a little phoenix – and keep ahold of that while you take a deep breath.

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Filed under 2015 is the new 2013, am I doing anything right?, average is so much easier, back to regularly scheduled programming, I'm back bitches, kids with issues

I Steal and Feel No Remorse

What happens to someone when all of their ideas become stale or regurgitated?

What if they are so unindustrious  that everyone else alive today can seemingly take a common theme and work it so masterfully that it resounds with others but even with a shiny spin and some skillful smoke and mirrors moves you STILL can’t get it to develop properly?

Notice that initially the mystery person in question here could have been anyone and now suddenly it’s mutated into me?

Yeah, I’m out of steam. So what?

It happens every single year at the same time just like clockwork. There’s the inevitable whining about how busy my life is and how difficult it’s become to type out a couple hundred measly words that don’t even have to conform to any sort of well written standard.

Or maybe I give you the sob story of a difficult year, with difficult kids.

Then I get a huge God complex where I INSIST that the rules of grammar and nature don’t even apply to me because I’m trying to bear my soul to you goddamnit and you will NOT entwine me in your meaningless minutiae!

Whah whah.

ANYWAY….

Last month my buddy at 20 Prospect crafted a post about the Invisible Sun, (which gives its heat to everyone, RIGHT STING?) and I found myself scratching my matted head, dumbfounded because I too had a post titled “Invisible Sun” in my draft section.

What are the odds?

 Realistically, the odds for me are slightly higher due to the deeply felt love and adoration I harbor for the three divinely talented and  impossibly adorable members of the STILL defunct POLICE.

sigh....

But I digress.

Ahem.

So here is the original post that I kinda stole from Gordon Sumner and sorta pilfered from Tom and I don’t really fucking care because there are people starving somewhere. Or so my mom says.

Did you ever happen upon one of those people who has heat radiating out from every pore, warming everyone they come in contact with during the day? Like a compact version of your own personal invisible sun? You can almost see the little joy explosions erupting from their surface and the little baby magma splatters hit your arm and become instantly infectious rendering you powerless to stop their migration straight to your cold, hard, jaded innards.

There is nothing not to love about these guys. In a world overrun with life vampires who try to suck the wind out of your sails and the happy from your soul these sparkling gems of humanity are a rare and delightful find. Like the caramel milk chocolate prize in the fruity gel filled crapfest that is the Whitman Sampler.

When I find one of these people, I just marvel at their goodness and then I latch on to them and try to ride the well-tailored hem of their coattails for as long as humanly possible in the hopes that some of it rubs off on me.

Who wouldn’t want to be attached to someone who will fill your world with YES and can simultaneously override the inborn Moro reflex that tries to prevent you from taking the inevitable fall you will have when you let go of this fast-moving dynamo?

There are days I feel that only a truly industrial sized steel wool pad could scour the rot from my soul but then the invisible sun comes along and scorches it to ash with the blinding heat of positive thinking and the intensity of twin stars going super nova.

You gotta love a bitch who burns with such brutal ferocity and the conviction of righteousness! I should knit her a cape.

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Filed under 20 prospect, analogies gone wrong, andy summers, appreciation, are there any new ideas, aspirations, back to regularly scheduled programming, Do sociopaths feel remorse, I'm shallow, people who radiate goodness, stealing isn't as bad as it sounds, the police

Today In DC

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Filed under afternoon time wasters, back to regularly scheduled programming, bad days that turn good, beginning of the week blues, being lazy, clearly i'm at a loss today, DC

Just A Quick Update…

Bitter cold and boredom breed a blank slate and sadly I’m the poor shmuck holding the empty notebook. Since this is the internet perhaps I should call it the wordless void of the vast white draft page?

Not really sure, don’t really care.

This week has seen a LOT of sickness over here in the Dufmanno household. Hacking coughs, terrifyingly high fevers, and rivers of mucus kept me busy mopping brows, administering large doses of antibiotic and ibuprofen and watching with a great deal of worry.

Now that we are seemingly out of the woods I’d like to return to my regularly scheduled programming as of 9:00 am tomorrow morning so consider this your warning shot across the bow.

This robot rules the kids shoe section at Nordstroms. At night he comes alive and kills people.

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Filed under Back to basics, back to regularly scheduled programming, Hospitals have cable, I hate flu, pneumonia sucks, robots cure sickness, the return of askew