There's this woman I know who is forever bitching about her kids nannies. She bitches about their bathroom breaks, she bitches that they listen to the radio, she bitches that they answer their phones or check their e-mail, she bitches that when she returns home at night her house is not cleaner than she left it, she bitches that even though she told them they could feel free to eat her food for snacks they really should have known that meant only the cheap food and not the nice organic gourmet ice cream she buys for herself at the local farmer's market.
According to her the nannies should spend 100% of their time with the children, and said children should never watch TV, play video games or listen to anything other than classical music. If the nanny checks e-mail or answers her phone, she is not devoting her full attention to the children and this is bad. The nanny must also manage to cook and serve them homemade organic meals, while simultaneously paying 100% attention to them and engaging them in creative education play (see no TV above). She should stimulate them through a variety of sensory tasks and messy play, which should then be cleaned, leaving the house spotless, while still paying 100% attention to the children. I told her this was wildly unrealistic and asked her if this is what she does herself when alone with the children. No, of course not. She checks e-mail and answers her phone and let the kids watch videos, because for goodness sake's she needs to get things done and well, sometimes she just needs a break. But a nanny is a professional, paid to be with the children, and therefore both better at it and presumably more interested in it than Mom. And of course, she spies on her nanny, just to be sure everything is going according to plan.
Since she has the salary to pay a nanny, I'm guessing she works at a job that allows her to decide when she is going to take a bathroom break and how long that break is going to be. I'm guessing she checks private e-mail and makes private phone calls from work. No, wait. I know she does, because she has called and e-mailed me from work. I'm guessing she'd be pissed off if her employer spied on her and chastised her for not putting 100% of her attention into her job every single minute of her day with no breaks.
And I'm guessing she would fire my ass as a nanny. Because there are times when my children are home and awake when I check e-mail or chat or make/take phone calls or sometimes even blog. My kids get to watch TV and play video games and the only thing close to classical music they know is the Star Wars soundtrack. Sometimes I let them eat birthday cake or Halloween candy for breakfast. Sometimes I bribe them with TV and chips and cookies to let me use the bathroom in peace for as long as they can keep themselves entertained that way. Sometimes I let them build forts out of sofa cushions and fill the fort with pipe cleaners and paper cups and just whatever shit they find lying around and want to turn into robots or kittens or whatever they turn it into and then I just leave the living room all fucked up for days. Mom's messy and Mom's not high brow in her food or music or entertainment tastes and Mom's often bored, bored, bored as living hell with kids and Legos and Transformers and Dora the Explorer and Disney fucking Princesses. But I'm hoping they keep me anyway, because I sure love the hell out of them and sometimes I record those conversations they have, hidden in their fort, and listen to it again when they're asleep because they're just that beautiful.
Showing posts with label bitch bitch bitch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bitch bitch bitch. Show all posts
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Why Don't I Just Take Over the Class?
If there's really not enough venom and cursing here to qualify for a true Cunt Face post, it's because it is cross-posted from my own blog, so I'm cheating. It is full of sarcasm and bitterness though!
Few things in life irritate me more than dealing with my son's school. My son is autistic and spends most of each day in a special ed classroom, where he (theoretically) receives instruction that is tailored to his individual needs. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while will recall that I was seriously pissed off at the end of the last school year. I was fed up and livid and cursing in all caps (oh, and there will be just a little more of that today), because I spent all of last year fighting with the school district to get them to bring in additional (legally mandated) resources to address a problem that was interfering with my son's learning. They did nothing but stall, accuse me of being difficult and tell me that, in spite of my son's declining performance, the best people to address the problem were the classroom teachers under whom his performance was declining. Oh, no wait. How silly of me! I forgot. They actually did propose adding one additional resource to the classroom: me, as a free aide.
After a summer filled with down time, and work with one of the world's great amateur behaviorists and OTs (yes, me), my son and I worked out a solution to his problem. He started the school year and has made rapid progress in his former problem area, to the point where he no longer requires assistance. Thanks for nothing, school district.
Of course, a new problem has cropped up in a different subject. I received a note last week from his teacher stating that she was sending his classroom work home for me to finish with him, as he had not been doing his work but had been "fooling around" and "wasting time." I (very calmly) wrote back and said I'd be happy to help him at home, but shouldn't we, oh, I don't know, find out why he wasn't doing his work in class and figure out how to address it? She wrote back and very tersely said that any suggestions would be appreciated.
What?! Um, unless I'm mistaken, she's the teacher. She's the one with the degree. She's the one with the actual training in working with kids with special needs. She's the one whose job it is to figure out how to engage kids in learning and how to ensure that they behave themselves in class. Oh, and lest you say she's overworked and underpaid (which she is). She's also the one who was such a big expert, so perfectly capable of handling my son's needs herself, that she adamantly and repeatedly stated that she didn't need or want to bring in an outside specialist to help her with my son last year. But my unpaid, inexpert labor, under her direction, is, of course, always welcome.
So, I sat down with my son for 10 minutes, quickly determined what particular obsessions were preventing him from doing the work, thought up several ways in which we could break the task down into more manageable components for him and got him to finish the work. I wrote the teacher a note with my suggestions on getting him to complete the work in the classroom, put the completed work in his backpack and haven't heard back from her since. And to top it all off, that important classroom work we did hasn't been removed from his backpack all week; each day, it comes back home to me a little more crumpled and worse for wear, because nobody has bothered to take it out and look at it.
This year, I am going to try something new. I am done with threatening to sue. I am done with going into debt to pay for representation to force the school district to bring in someone with even more "expertise" to help in the classroom. From now on, I'm going to be a bitch in a new way. I'm going to tell the teachers how to do their jobs. I'm going to teach them all the amateur OT and behavioral techniques I've painstakingly learned through the last six years. I'm going to share the knowledge and share the wealth and maybe, just maybe, one day they'll be able to DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS! If not, I'll at least have saved some money, stayed out of blood pressure raising IEP meetings and ended up no worse off in terms of the education my son is receiving.
Few things in life irritate me more than dealing with my son's school. My son is autistic and spends most of each day in a special ed classroom, where he (theoretically) receives instruction that is tailored to his individual needs. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while will recall that I was seriously pissed off at the end of the last school year. I was fed up and livid and cursing in all caps (oh, and there will be just a little more of that today), because I spent all of last year fighting with the school district to get them to bring in additional (legally mandated) resources to address a problem that was interfering with my son's learning. They did nothing but stall, accuse me of being difficult and tell me that, in spite of my son's declining performance, the best people to address the problem were the classroom teachers under whom his performance was declining. Oh, no wait. How silly of me! I forgot. They actually did propose adding one additional resource to the classroom: me, as a free aide.
After a summer filled with down time, and work with one of the world's great amateur behaviorists and OTs (yes, me), my son and I worked out a solution to his problem. He started the school year and has made rapid progress in his former problem area, to the point where he no longer requires assistance. Thanks for nothing, school district.
Of course, a new problem has cropped up in a different subject. I received a note last week from his teacher stating that she was sending his classroom work home for me to finish with him, as he had not been doing his work but had been "fooling around" and "wasting time." I (very calmly) wrote back and said I'd be happy to help him at home, but shouldn't we, oh, I don't know, find out why he wasn't doing his work in class and figure out how to address it? She wrote back and very tersely said that any suggestions would be appreciated.
What?! Um, unless I'm mistaken, she's the teacher. She's the one with the degree. She's the one with the actual training in working with kids with special needs. She's the one whose job it is to figure out how to engage kids in learning and how to ensure that they behave themselves in class. Oh, and lest you say she's overworked and underpaid (which she is). She's also the one who was such a big expert, so perfectly capable of handling my son's needs herself, that she adamantly and repeatedly stated that she didn't need or want to bring in an outside specialist to help her with my son last year. But my unpaid, inexpert labor, under her direction, is, of course, always welcome.
So, I sat down with my son for 10 minutes, quickly determined what particular obsessions were preventing him from doing the work, thought up several ways in which we could break the task down into more manageable components for him and got him to finish the work. I wrote the teacher a note with my suggestions on getting him to complete the work in the classroom, put the completed work in his backpack and haven't heard back from her since. And to top it all off, that important classroom work we did hasn't been removed from his backpack all week; each day, it comes back home to me a little more crumpled and worse for wear, because nobody has bothered to take it out and look at it.
This year, I am going to try something new. I am done with threatening to sue. I am done with going into debt to pay for representation to force the school district to bring in someone with even more "expertise" to help in the classroom. From now on, I'm going to be a bitch in a new way. I'm going to tell the teachers how to do their jobs. I'm going to teach them all the amateur OT and behavioral techniques I've painstakingly learned through the last six years. I'm going to share the knowledge and share the wealth and maybe, just maybe, one day they'll be able to DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS! If not, I'll at least have saved some money, stayed out of blood pressure raising IEP meetings and ended up no worse off in terms of the education my son is receiving.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
A real Cunt Face can bitch about anything...
I am starting to not feel alone in this world. I am sure you must know by now but I am truly the biggest bitch in the world. I wear that crown with pride! Not everyone can be the biggest bitch in the world though there can be variations (prettiest, ugliest, funniest, meanest, happiest, saddest, etc).
It makes me happy to be able to find any topic and somehow manager to squeak out a bitch or two. So here we go:
Work-- Wilbur is about to get shanked, skinned and BBQ'd. I hate that fat motherfucker. He assumes that I am a slut, a drug addict and a bitch. Well I am one of those things and could be another (which ones???) but he doesn't know me well enough to comment on the shit I say. I am not even talking to Mr. BO but he manages to put his 2 cents in where it isn't wanted. I do say to him, "Shut the fuck up, ass. I have smoked weed once. Just b/c I know about Ice doesn't mean I do it. You know about sex. That doesn't mean you do it." He SO shouldn't be in a room full of girls. It isn't working out.
Home-- If that cocksuking ass of mine doesn't start yelling at our kids more than I am going to castrate him with my teeth and spit his balls in his face. I cannot handle being the only disciplinarian. I mean I can and did for several months, hell years if you are counting, but seriously. I am taking 15 hours and working full time. My mind is maxed out for the moment. If he wants to keep up the magical sex we have been having he better start whipping some ass!
School-- Speaking of shanking, that short piece of shit teaching my Humanities class better watch his back. That b+ I got on the last paper was the final straw. He is in my sights and I am about to put a cap in his bald-headed ass.
Food-- I love food. If I could hygienically mix food in with sex I would be too big to move. I am bitching that fat isn't in. Doesn't it mean good times? I am really trying to justify why I can eat like I have been since my dick has been back home. We are gaining weight and will soon look like Wilbur. That man hasn't seen his balls in years and years. Doesn't he miss them?
I am out of steam. I mean, if this was a live chat I am sure that I could bitch forever but I am out of fuel and am pretty happy right now. I was fucked well about half an hour ago. I really think I held on to C all of these years b/c that man can eat p**** like no one else. If he were paralyzed I would keep him (if for no other reason than) because his tongue is *magic*! I am not bitching there. In fact he probably does because I am a lazy bitch in bed just laying there letting him please me. It rocks. Smile.
It makes me happy to be able to find any topic and somehow manager to squeak out a bitch or two. So here we go:
Work-- Wilbur is about to get shanked, skinned and BBQ'd. I hate that fat motherfucker. He assumes that I am a slut, a drug addict and a bitch. Well I am one of those things and could be another (which ones???) but he doesn't know me well enough to comment on the shit I say. I am not even talking to Mr. BO but he manages to put his 2 cents in where it isn't wanted. I do say to him, "Shut the fuck up, ass. I have smoked weed once. Just b/c I know about Ice doesn't mean I do it. You know about sex. That doesn't mean you do it." He SO shouldn't be in a room full of girls. It isn't working out.
Home-- If that cocksuking ass of mine doesn't start yelling at our kids more than I am going to castrate him with my teeth and spit his balls in his face. I cannot handle being the only disciplinarian. I mean I can and did for several months, hell years if you are counting, but seriously. I am taking 15 hours and working full time. My mind is maxed out for the moment. If he wants to keep up the magical sex we have been having he better start whipping some ass!
School-- Speaking of shanking, that short piece of shit teaching my Humanities class better watch his back. That b+ I got on the last paper was the final straw. He is in my sights and I am about to put a cap in his bald-headed ass.
Food-- I love food. If I could hygienically mix food in with sex I would be too big to move. I am bitching that fat isn't in. Doesn't it mean good times? I am really trying to justify why I can eat like I have been since my dick has been back home. We are gaining weight and will soon look like Wilbur. That man hasn't seen his balls in years and years. Doesn't he miss them?
I am out of steam. I mean, if this was a live chat I am sure that I could bitch forever but I am out of fuel and am pretty happy right now. I was fucked well about half an hour ago. I really think I held on to C all of these years b/c that man can eat p**** like no one else. If he were paralyzed I would keep him (if for no other reason than) because his tongue is *magic*! I am not bitching there. In fact he probably does because I am a lazy bitch in bed just laying there letting him please me. It rocks. Smile.
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