I wish it weren’t quite so easy to turn the keyboard off on my laptop.  I wish, at the very least, that if one were to accidentally press the function key or combination of keys that turns off the keyboard, Windows would have some kind of prompt that said, “Are you sure you want to turn off your keyboard?” and if you accidentally said “yes,” it would come back with, “No, really, are you sure you want to turn off your keyboard?  Because maybe you don’t, really.”  And if you somehow, inadvertently said, “I’m sure, ****it!”, then it would say, “Okay, we want you to go get your mom so we can ask her if she wants the keyboard turned off.  We’ll wait.”  And if you still managed to say, “Look, buddy, turn the keyboard off already.  How many times do I have to ask?”, it would say, “Fine, you want your keyboard off?  Press CTRL + ALT + F9 + #$&*()#$, and then we’ll talk.”  And maybe by that time I will have returned to the room after pouring someone’s juice and be there just in the nick of time to stop my keyboard from getting turned off.  The new WindowsXG (for Giraffe). 

Or, I could finally just burn it into my memory how you turn the keyboard back on.  But that’s asking a lot of me.

So Princess Zurg is receiving Extended School Year services this summer.  She goes Monday through Thursday, from 9 a.m. to 12 noon–except that instead of holding ESY at the school she normally attends, at the easternmost part of the district, they hold it at a school at the southernmost part of the district, so that now she spends eighty minutes on the bus (round trip) instead of the usual sixty.  My curiosity over why they can’t house any magnet programs at schools in the centermost part of the district has yet to be satisfied.  But I digress.

It has occurred to me that I have no idea what PZ does at ESY.  Sugar Daddy was at the meeting where they proposed adding this to her IEP, and he thought it sounded good, and I think he may have even told me what she’d be doing there, but I must not have been listening, because I have no recollection of learning this information.  She and her autistic classmates could be performing Satanic rituals with paste and macaroni noodles and communicating with spirits of special ed students who have gone to the other side, and I would be none the wiser.  I don’t think my husband would have approved that educational goal, but these things don’t always turn out in real life the way they look on paper, so I figured I should just ask PZ what it is, exactly, that she does at ESY.

She says it’s lots of fun.  Apparently they do some dot-to-dots.  She always chooses butterflies.  Or moths.  Because moths can also be beautiful, even though they aren’t very colorful.  Then they do some individual work.  Reading.  Math.  Ummmm…yeah.  That’s all I got.  I suppose I don’t care, so long as she’s enjoying herself and isn’t sacrificing any animals.  If only Regular Old School Year could go so smoothly.

My children have eaten nothing but processed convenience food for the last three days.  I suppose they’ve had cereal and toast for breakfast, but lunch and dinner has been non-stop pizza, macaroni & cheese, hot dogs, etc.  Doubtless they think they have died and gone to the big public-school cafeteria in the sky, but I’m starting to feel a little guilty.  I must be getting better.  Someone should ingest some vegetables today.  Or take a vitamin supplement.  Or exercise vigorously.  Or go to Subway instead of Burger King.  Only I wouldn’t like to take kids to Subway.  I actually think it’s annoying enough to have to tell someone how to make your sandwich every step of the way when it’s just you, a grown-up person who actually knows what she wants.  I almost want to say, “Here, just let me do it, it’ll be quicker.”  Does anyone else feel this way?  It’s not that I’m a control freak, just that when I go out to eat, it’s because I want someone else to make my food.  I don’t want to have to direct the operation.  Too many choices, too many questions–just make me a freaking sandwich without olives, that’s all I ask.  Not that I’m quite up to swallowing a sandwich just now.  I’m going to go have some…yogurt, I guess.  I don’t know what the kids are going to eat.  Who cares?