fingernails & other miracles

Tomorrow is the first day of school. My middle child has been Freaking Out about this day. He will be in 5th grade and he doesn't feel ready at all. Yesterday was back to school night though and he met his teacher and talked to the other 5th grade teacher too and he seemed to relax. Mr. C. is not too thrilled to be going back either. I think he will like his teacher because I actually like her. As long as he does his work I think he'll be fine. Him actually doing his work might be a miracle. At least his friend is in class with him. One particular girl has basically kept him on track for several years. One night in the school gym I got all teary eyed about it because the teacher had recently explained how this little girl sat beside him, would re-direct him, make sure he was on the right page, right book out, etc... He's smart but he really doesn't appear to care about school other than the soccer at recess aspect. I don't know, maybe that has changed. This teacher he has was our oldest's teacher but things were different then, Mr. C. has a pharmaceutical advantage our oldest didn't have.

Oh so I was going to talk about Middle Child. All day Someboy has had the exact hours till school starts in his head, which I didn't even know he could do, and he's been announcing it. 11 more hours till school starts. oh it's 9 more hours. Oh holy night, when did he learn how to count ahead the hours till sometime? This afternoon we were reviewing long division without remainders and seriously it was like he had never done it before. I think I am a superb math tutor because I have a brain that has historically resisted the absorption of these mathy factoids. So it's like I'm learning it all over again for the first time. Which I am. Which means I am not always assuming someone gets it or understands the easy thing I so perfectly get, because I totally don't. So I re-learned division and re-taught it to the boy. I re-learn math better if I can see the answers. So I found some online worksheets on a site ironically named "math is fun" dot something... and they had answer sheets too, thank heavens. But truthfully I will never get past a certain point. I think the easy parts are almost enjoyable now, since I have turned them into tricky little puzzles that I had to invent back-door ways of solving. For example, in remedial math in college which I failed at least 4 times, I discovered that in the tests, which were multiple choice from 4 answers and calculator enabled, one has a 25% chance of guessing the right answer the first time, then you plug the answer in and work the problem backwards, most of the problems can be finished quickly that way. They weren't even timed tests, I just hated them so much it was better to get them over with fast. Because, why spend any more time up there than absolutely necessary? It was so pathetic to show up at that window having stood in that long long line of fellow failures, and be handed yet another failing grade in a course with no instructors, meant for all us idiots who for sure needed not only instructors but private 24/7 tutoring.

Um. Eh. What was I saying? Uh, their hair, that took a while. Two handfuls of conditioner per boy to comb out the tangles that evidently built up over the past week at "dad's" (or where-ever they were) then on top of that, a good sized blob of clarifying shampoo to remove at least a little bit of the chlorine that's been baked into their little heads over the past several weeks - our hairstylist said if they would just get their heads wet with tap water before jumping in the pool the chlorine would not soak in as much.

"Grandma won't let me get my head wet before we swim!"

This is the same grandma that took it upon herself this summer to re-cut their hair herself because the haircuts I scheduled, spent my own time and money to bring them to, listen to their ideas, convey this to the stylist, sit through the haircut, oh did I mention pay money for? Weren't good enough I guess. I thought they were cute. And they are my kids, but hey, that's what grandma's for right? Hack it off, lady. Maybe on the level of hell you'll be visiting they have really bad demon barbers re-dying everybody's rubber duckie yellow helmets in a slightly off-pink.

Oh. As he went to bed, Someboy was also saying he has started to let his toenails grow. The young two are pickers. Fingernail and toenail pickers of the highest order. So to see actual toenail growth, and no bleeding edges was amazing. I was inspired to inspect his fingers. He said, well if I could raise my feet in class then I wouldn't be so embarrassed. Because this year I'm not toward the back! I quickly figured he meant because his nails and cuticles are so dry and scabby and basically sad and horrible. Poor thing. Generally when I notice they've gotten really yucky I wash them extra good and slather on the neosporin and he whines because it hurts so bad to touch them or get them wet because they've been picked to the nub. Seriously his nails have been so raw that he's refused to take a proper shower because he might get his fingertips wet. Tonight, when I looked there was actually some hope there. He mentioned not wanting people to see his nails. So, you know, I praised those little fingernail bits and said oh they're not too bad. Then I got out my Mary Kay Satin Hands set and we had a little spa going for about 15 minutes. We lubed them up with the stinky old lady pink night cream, scrubbed them up, which he felt was strange and like rocks on his skin. Then we soaped it all up, scrubbed it clean, put on cuticle removing stuff (That tough green Sally Hansen stuff for resistant cuticles, but I didn't leave it on the full 5 min.) brushed with a fingernail brush, rinsed, lubed them up again, ever so slightly pushed back the cuticles, oiled them, re-lubed, and put on the Super Cool White Michael Jackson Overnight Fingernail Cure Gloves.

Hot. I think he's still wearing them.

Hopefully he's asleep and not just staring out the window at the raccoons playing in the street light and sewer drains.