You are strange and off-putting. Go now.

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Yay - a mommy duty weekend! And the weather is actually cooperating. My past few mommy weekends have been sucky, weather-wise, so I'm hoping to get an Austin Zoo trip in. 'Course that means driving all the way down to where I work for one extra day this week, but oh well. Bean will be thrilled to see all the hawks on the streetlights along Mopac. And Miss O can wave 'hi' to every bird she sees. Good times :)

After a few days in a row of Dave getting calls to pick her up early, Bean wrapped up the week by making it all day at school today. Her OT called the school and talked with her teachers a bit, and they've been having someone spend one-on-one time with Bean at nap time, but I'm not sure how sustainable that is. We're going to look at a school that caters more to her needs, but it's considerably more expensive and a helluva drive ... but they have OT's that go to the school, which would be nice.

I just don't know what's really right for her, yanno? Is it better to put her in a special school, or better to keep pushing her limits? I mean, her coping and integration skills are really good, all things considered, and we're like 7 months (gah!) away from when Kindy starts ... is it better for her to be in regular preschool where she has to work a little harder to keep pace? Or better for her to be in an environment where things are structured more to help her succeed?

Parenting is hard. How come no-one ever tells you that straight up? It's really damn hard sometimes. And sometimes it's just weird.

Do you know what she asked for the other day? "Mommy, I want to go to a doctor who will let me see a broken bone and the inside of a bone." Since I'm fairly certain I won't be able to find an orthopedic surgeon to accommodate her, I offered instead to go buy different grocery store bones so she could see what they look like inside.

Her response? "But those will be dead bones, not alive bones." Well yes, sweetie, I know. But, one: no doctor is going to show you the inside of a bone, and two: you're four and a freakin' half. Seriously. The fact that we'll be futzing around with animal bones is effed up enough.

All this because of my sad little broken and permanently disfigured left pinkie, and her request for more info, which led to wanting to see pics of broken and dislocated bones, which led to an image search on the interwebz, and a picture of a compound fracture. If she ends up an orthopedic surgeon, I expect a posh retirement for me. Her dad's on his own: he thinks I shouldn't give her so much info. Not only do I give her the factoids, I'm her "favorite person in the family", so I figure I'm set when I get old.

(Quote from "Buffy vs. Dracula")
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