Ranting and Raving

A small rant:

I love my staff, but I am so tired of being in charge of stupid shit. Can't someone else handle the stupid shit decisions so I can focus on other stuff? 

Case in point: I came in this morning and found an email that said, "Loretta left me website info for sprucing up our Santa suit for the December 3rd Open House. She measured Michael and his waist is 62”. He feels very strongly that we should have a new belt, wig and beard. She left info on the website – SantaSuitExpress.com. 

As to belts to get one the right size we have a choice between a $19.99 or $36.99. As for the wig and beard we have the choice of $19.99 or $39.99. I have the print out on the website that I’ll leave in your box just in case you want to see it. I checked other websites and they seem comparable to this one."

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? There's $150 in the budget for a suit. It's been there since January. I don't care what you buy with it, but do I REALLY NEED TO BE REVIEWING QUOTES ON FUCKING SANTA CLAUS BELTS?????? Gah. I wrote back and told her that there was still $150 in the budget, and that I would leave the minute details of how it was spent up to her and Loretta and Michael. Only I said it nicer.

Sometimes it seems like my staff WANTS a micromanager. And I desperately do not want to be a micromanager.

A rave:

Dylan's soccer team is seriously the Bad News Bears of local soccer. They haven't won a game all season. They have been trampled slightly worse by some teams than others, but they always lose. So what's to rave about? My son does not notice, and he does not care. Whenever I ask how his game was, he says the same thing: "Awesome!"

The coaches are awesome. There's one head coach, and a couple other parents who have been pitching in. They are teaching six squirrely little boys, of varying temperaments and skill levels, how to play soccer by breaking it down into the basics - running, passing, dribbling, kicking. They don't put up with a lot of fooling around, and I've noticed that Dylan (who has raised being squirrely to an art form) listens and follows directions way better than he did at the beginning of the season. I think some of that is probably transferring itself to the classroom, because his teacher also noted that he's settled down a lot in class since the beginning of the year. (I'm not seeing much difference at home, but that's a distant dream anyway). 

I am now a firm believer in the value of team sports for kids. He might not be on a winning team, but Dylan has learned that if he listens to directions and practices and tries, he will get better at the things that he wants to be good at.

A larger rant:

Every morning, I drop Dylan off at school. Two afternoons a week, I pick him up there, too. The rules of the school parking lot are simple: pull all the way into the roundabout as far as you can, don't leave your car, have your child get out on the curb side. That's it. The unwritten rules are to be nice and drive politely, because the people all around you - the crossing guard, the kids, the other parents - are part of your community. You are all here, in the parking lot, because you have a stake in one or more of the children that go to that school. These other people are your kids' friends' parents. They are most likely having just as difficult a day as you are. The school crossing guard, who takes her job seriously, is there to keep the kids safe. Everyone should be cooperating with her, because who doesn't want things to be safe for our kids? Not to mention - we're trying to model good behavior and patience and manners for the benefit of our kids.

I know a number of other moms who like to walk in and meet their kid outside the classroom after school. They tend to arrive earlier so that they can get parking, and also so they won't get caught up in the big line of cars that always forms. And yes, the parking lot gets very crowded at 2:55 when school lets out. And the line into the roundabout backs up through the school parking lot, sometimes all the way to the street, where more people are waiting to turn left into the parking lot. 

One afternoon, a few weeks ago, I was sitting in the line, waiting to turn left, and heard honking. It didn't seem to be behind me (and I couldn't go anyway) so I ignored it at first. Then I became aware that the honking was coming from the car in front of me, who was also waiting to turn left.  But the parking lot line had backed up, and there really wasn't anywhere for the cars in front of him to go. He kept honking, though. He finally managed to pull into the parking lot, but his progress to the empty parking spaces was blocked by a big line of cars --the same big line that is there every other day of the week. As the people at the front of the line picked up their kids and pulled out, there was more space for others to pull forward. Finally Mr. Honksalot was able to get through the link and pull into a parking place, which he did at high speed, just to show how angry he was. He proceeded to get out of the car and stalk across the parking lot, right toward the car he'd been honking at. He wanted to yell at someone's mother for delaying him for three minutes. Because that's how important he is. In addition to yelling, he also picked up a sandwich board that said "NO PARKING, BUS LANE ONLY" and brandished it at her. And in her defense - she wasn't parking in the bus lane, she was waiting in an overflowing line to pick up her kids, just like we all do every other day of the week. Then he stomped inside the school and got his kid. When he came back out with his kid, he yelled at the other parent some more.

Seriously? Dude, you are yelling and stomping and swearing and waving signs at someone's parent, in front of your kid, their kid, everybody else's kids and parents, at the elementary school. The freaking elementary school. Where the staff are trying to teach our kids to be "respectful, responsible and safe."

I happened to be behind this tool at the stop light. And then I happened to be following him around the corner, on the way to our house. I made a note of where he turned in, and later used my Mad Stalker Skillz to find out his name and contact information. But I don't really know what to do with the information. I was mad enough to think that writing him an anonymous note would be perfectly appropriate. Writing a letter to the school seemed like a good idea, too, although what could they do about it? Join me in mute rage?

So... I'm posting here. Take that, anonymous asshole parent!