Red Mosquito

tree_ wrote:how much is this costing you?

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:A thing happened today, and I'd like to get the other parents' take on a question I have:

Dropped 3-year-old daughter off at school. Teacher informs me she needs a bathing suit to run in the sprinklers today. Go home, grab the suit, go back to school.

When I get in the front door, there’s a straight line of sight down the hallway to daughter’s classroom. Door is open and she’s standing right there. She’s thrilled to see me so soon. “Daddyyyyy!” Gives me a big hug and kiss, is excited for her bathing suit.

There’s also a gaggle of unfamiliar adult faces in the room. Turns out one of her classmates is having a birthday and the girl’s aunts and uncles showed up to celebrate in some capacity.

The birthday party adults start filing out the doorway where my daughter is standing, and the 22-year-old-ish uncle says to my daughter “Move it or lose, pipsqueak.” He thinks he’s being funny but obviously is an idiot. I give him a look that could kill and say “Easy killer.” On cue, my daughter starts sobbing uncontrollably -- strangers are scary and she didn't like the energy of how he said what he said. She completely loses her mind for five solid minutes, won’t let me put her down and get across town for a meeting.

I finally bring her outside to cool down, and the uncle is still there, sitting in the car with his family. I knock on the window and inform him he needs to apologize to my daughter. He does; he’s very contrite, compliments her pretty clothing, her hair, says all the things he should be saying to make a 3-year old girl feel better. Off the hook as far as I’m concerned.

Take her back in, she screams bloody murder for another five minutes. I finally have to peel her off me — she’s absolutely losing her mind — and pass her off to her teacher so I can go to this meeting for which I am now late.

Dust settled, I'm fine with most of what happened except for some lingering questions:

Why are non-parents/non-admin hanging out in the classroom without prior warning to the other parents?

In the age of school shootings, what's the protocol for unannounced pop-ins?

Am I being an unreasonable helicopter parent if I raise this question with the admin?

dad wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:A thing happened today, and I'd like to get the other parents' take on a question I have:

Dropped 3-year-old daughter off at school. Teacher informs me she needs a bathing suit to run in the sprinklers today. Go home, grab the suit, go back to school.

When I get in the front door, there’s a straight line of sight down the hallway to daughter’s classroom. Door is open and she’s standing right there. She’s thrilled to see me so soon. “Daddyyyyy!” Gives me a big hug and kiss, is excited for her bathing suit.

There’s also a gaggle of unfamiliar adult faces in the room. Turns out one of her classmates is having a birthday and the girl’s aunts and uncles showed up to celebrate in some capacity.

The birthday party adults start filing out the doorway where my daughter is standing, and the 22-year-old-ish uncle says to my daughter “Move it or lose, pipsqueak.” He thinks he’s being funny but obviously is an idiot. I give him a look that could kill and say “Easy killer.” On cue, my daughter starts sobbing uncontrollably -- strangers are scary and she didn't like the energy of how he said what he said. She completely loses her mind for five solid minutes, won’t let me put her down and get across town for a meeting.

I finally bring her outside to cool down, and the uncle is still there, sitting in the car with his family. I knock on the window and inform him he needs to apologize to my daughter. He does; he’s very contrite, compliments her pretty clothing, her hair, says all the things he should be saying to make a 3-year old girl feel better. Off the hook as far as I’m concerned.

Take her back in, she screams bloody murder for another five minutes. I finally have to peel her off me — she’s absolutely losing her mind — and pass her off to her teacher so I can go to this meeting for which I am now late.

Dust settled, I'm fine with most of what happened except for some lingering questions:

Why are non-parents/non-admin hanging out in the classroom without prior warning to the other parents?

In the age of school shootings, what's the protocol for unannounced pop-ins?

Am I being an unreasonable helicopter parent if I raise this question with the admin?

I don’t think you’d be in the wrong for asking. It’s been years since I’ve had my guys in daycare, and if one of the kids had a birthday I can’t recall a bunch of extra family there, not that that’s bad. I do wonder if the daycare should and would notify parents of the other kids ahead of time as that sort thing can be fun and also overwhelming.

Also, fuck that uncle.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:Just to clarify, the apology was a teachable moment for my kid, not something I needed to feel better about the world. We’re working on apologies all the time as she’s in the temper tantrum stage now; and I’m generally raising her to be someone who confronts an issue rather than be passive about it.

I don’t think he was out of line at all. As you said, just out of his element. Once he apologized then he became a fellow teacher to my kid so he’s aces now as far as I’m concerned.

tragabigzanda wrote:Yes but the academy will rescind the award when your views on pregnant BIPOCs receiving government subsidies are made public