August 5th, 2003

running, bomb tech

Oh, dearest, dearest...

...a thousand times I've told you I love you. A thousand times you've told me, "I'm sorry."

When will I learn to hold the love, to let go the desire? I love you. A thousand times, I love you.

They ask me why I let you keep doing this to me. I've known from day one that it's me doing this to myself, and all you've ever desired for me is happiness. As you are kind and gentle and brotherly-protective of me, you wish to shield me from all harm, even from yourself... I wish nearly the same for you, but I know of no one more worthy and more suited...

A thousand times. A thousand times a thousand.

We played the child's game, did not/did too, not/too, not/too, not times infinity... We're past pretense of pure adulthood. Slowly, slowly, we learn each other.

And each step more, I love you, and sometimes I doubt that I can measure up to your dreams, because I know I don't, I can't...
running, bomb tech


Woke up. Dragged myself in to school, a good 15 to 20 minutes late. Thank gods for lab partners. They were setting up the DHCP server. w00t. Was my usual witty & charming self.

I'm getting good enough to correct Sandstrom when his head goes blooey and he claims that walkie-talkies were a good example of the thing that is not duplex, nor half-duplex, but is one voice in the night shouting. Um, no. Half-duplex all the way, baby...

me = smartass
running, bomb tech

Afternoon: Lit, Scanning, DBA, with a side dish of GHAA!

After the Connectivity class, I read my assignment for Lit before hitting LJ. In Lit, we discussed "Greasy Lake" and the old classic, "To Build a Fire". I remember that from 4th grade survival class. I hadn't picked up on all the richness, the nuances, but that's quite all right.

Kilbridge was surprised that I'd come from Alaska. Arizona's a little... hot.

Scanned more of the photos between Lit and DBA. Saw someone who looked a lot like reichiere, but with different hair. Lo and behold -- BLOND STREAKS! WOW!! It was her after all.

Scanned some truly delicious photos of Darkside in a suit. Mmmmmmmyeah. They'll get shared at some point, but... yum. Yum yum yum. Not only is he sweet, in that pickled-cactus sort of way, he's also elegant. And there's a photo of him in a suit holding my palantir. I tell you.

DBA class covered the exam. M'love remembered the question about making the CEO coffee from when he had that pair of teachers. Little Fayoumis was pretty well-behaved, though he did manage to break the cheap-ass plastic cap of one of the UPS giveaway highlighters. I got docked 20 points on Lab 3 for inappropriate bolding. Oy to the motherfuckin' vey; it was otherwise perfect.
loud fayoumis

With a side dish of drama


Who do you think I'll trust, someone who's known for making Drama out of stuff, or my baby sister? Hmm.
  • Current Music
    LF watching Watership Down yet again...
running, bomb tech

On task? What's that?

Sat the Little Fayoumis down with his homework around five. At 6, he was done with the first line of about 4 iterations of "Jj". 6:30 saw "Kk K|", only one and a half sets.

Tomorrow and hereafter, he shall only get game time/movie after the successful completion of his homework. And if he doesn't get it done because it takes all afternoon, then no movie. I made that mistake today. I should have started him on his homework the instant he got his face washed from getting home, and I should have been there in the kitchen washing dishes and telling him to write every five to ten seconds, instead of being on the phone with swallowtayle ironing out drama and trusting that he was doing his work like I'd told him to.

If I do not stand over him every second, he takes a horribly long time because he will not do it: he will sit there and play. If I do stand over him every second, he fidgets and plays and when I instruct him to stop playing, and start writing, everywhere gets itchy and he has to blow his nose and he will argue with me.

I had to count to three several times. I sent him to the corner. The wailing commenced. He did not feel that I was justified for sending him to the corner for not doing as I told him to immediately. He got a swat on the butt, and remained in the corner.

Swats on the butt are approximately as hard as a "gimme five" handslap, if not softer. They are also reserved for the big bad crimes. I feel that the not doing as told is becoming enough of a problem to justify the occasional swat, because it seems that nothing else is getting through to him.

I sat him back down and more defiance commenced. Corner again, and again with the wailing. He was headed for bed, as he always goes to bed when he cries. (Unfortunately, that's a nice cozy place with blankets and pillows and teddybears, and is perfect for crying something out when he's just tired and cranky, but no good at all for stopping crying quickly.) I directed him to stand in the corner. He pitched more of a fit because he always gets to go to bed when he cries. I ordered him to remain standing in the corner, and it was to this scene of domestic bliss that marxdarx returned, wailing and all.

Oh, and did I mention that there was some dramabusting with swallowtayle going on at the time?

I slipped in the west bedroom with marxdarx and gave him a rundown on the situation, including the spank. He was taken aback, as the spank is reserved for the gravest of misdeeds. He told me that even though he was itching to take over the situation, I should carry it out, as I'd been the one there for when it started.

LF chilled down with the crying, and got sat back down. He was almost ready to write again when he started complaining about needing to blow his nose. I asked him if it was really a real actual booger in his nose, or just an excuse. He said it was an excuse. I told him to pick up the pencil. "But there's a booger in my nose!" "You said it was just an excuse." "But it's really a real booger! I hafta blow my nose!"

A paper towel was procured, and five minutes saw the extraction of that booger. I sat him down again, and there was another booger. A few blows did not get it out. I sat him back down, paper towel at hand, because I could easily see how this could get to be a production lasting half an hour or more. I had him try blowing his nose, then writing a letter. Blow nose, write letter. Blow nose, write letter.

This was working pretty well until he started crying with frustration at being incapable of getting snot out of his nose (in general, not based on my rules). marxdarx took over at this point, and was informed as to when he'd started writing this, which put the game in an entirely different ballpark.

Little Fayoumis does flinch sometimes when marxdarx talks to him with that impatient/frustrated/angry edge in his voice. I can understand why, because an edge to the voice like that counts as yelling in this household, whereas Marx probably doesn't even notice it. I sometimes do that too, but I'm generally aware of it. I've just been in this household longer, and wasn't raised with too much of it. With me and Little Fayoumis, me raising my voice and speaking crossly at him is about on a level with a spanking from Mommy. Cross-parent miscues?

The other reason for the flinch is, of course, the guilty-jump. He knows full well that he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be, and he doesn't know exactly how much trouble he's getting in. Is he going to go to the corner, or just get warned about it?

marxdarx got him to get it all done, by dint of leaning over, coaxing, snapping, encouraging, scolding, giggling with, and prodding the entire time. Which is how it is.
running, bomb tech


No, of course you can't just tell him to do something, leave him alone, and expect it done. You have to hound him every minute, and tell him the moment he gets off-task, and yes, this is normal for that age group.

The issue with disobedience, though, is when he does not pick up his pencil and start writing when I tell him to work, and when he starts scratching himself for no apparent reason when I tell him to stop playing and start writing.

You really and truly can do the dishes, or pick up the living room, or do *$%&@! near anything while he's working -- as long as you pop in and out every minute or two to remind him to work, not play. You only have to sit next to him and do things for him and get the Golden Hand Award* for the first few minutes, and then keep up the regular reminders to get back on task.

I know this. I've known it for a long time. It's not new to me. I get frustrated when he won't remember to do two simple tasks in a row (the command "Brush your teeth after you get a drink of water" results in no drink and brushed teeth, or water and teeth still scuzzy) but I have no problem with poking him back on task every minute, give or take 30 seconds. I've been frustrated with the "tell him to do it and leave him" thing.

*The Golden Hand Award was a notional award presented by my father to pushy parents who were clearly shoving their child every inch of the way through amazing accomplishments, such as science fair projects or an instrument or other things like 4-H or Pony Club.