Snow Much Fun!


I hate myself.  I literally googled this “Fun snow day activities.”  I did that. I normally never would, because, let’s face it, I am not a good parent, I am the most unfun person in the world, but heading into our third storm in 10 days, desperate times folks. Did I say I hate myself? I mean, I hate other people. These were the top hits.

1.       “Create a furniture train, make tickets, take off to anywhere you want to go… Chooo Choooo.” I am sorry, the fuck? How much fucking furniture do you people have? I can’t even make a god damn caboose.  I mean, not that I had any intention of doing that, but I like to use the excuse “Darn, seems so fun, but I just don’t have enough furniture.” Also, can you imagine if I was like “Hey ah, Bigs, here is your train ticket, to ahh, the, ahh, living room.” He’d leave.  He would literally be like “Yea so peace, I have tried to deal with your crazy, I out.”

2.       Bring the snow inside. No. Ok, no. I don’t even like when people come in my house with wet shoes, let alone with a shovel of snow.  And what exactly am I doing with it once it doesn’t comes inside? I’m sure as shit not making an instantly meltable Frosty.  The deeper suggestion – MAKE A SNOW CASTLE??? WHO. ARE. THESE. MONSTERS. MOTHERS. Because I never want to meet them.  They are the moms that don’t drink at soccer games because it is “illegal.” Dummies, it isn’t illegal, it is just frowned upon, we all know that. Can you imagine me back at work, when someone asks what I did on the snow day and I am like “Made a snow castle. Inside. Inside my living room.” They would be like “You know, Nara, you have had a great run, but ya crazy, see ya.”

3.       This one was great.  “Invite the neighborhood kids over and start a band!” I love that the asshole who wrote that one ended with an exclimination point!!!  I also do that when I am trying to act fun!!!  Listen, Bigs lost his saxophone. I’m still paying for it, and absolutely refuse to help find it.  It could be “missing” in the trunk of my car, not looking. You think I am having the neighborhood kids over to start a band. No. Firm no.  Also, I love that whoever wrote this one assumes that ALL of the neighborhood kids are talented musicians?  And that they are like “What song do y’all want to play, hot cross buns, or baby got back? And a 1 and a 2 and a 1, 2, 3, SING!” She clearly has never been to a third grade recorder concert! (see what I did there!)

4.       Computer time.  It says “There are plenty of educational sites, no need to worry!”  Listen, you want your ipad and you will leave me alone, cool.”  That is literally the amount of screen time they get. “Cool.” That amount.

5.       Sock toss.  “My kids loved this when they were younger, they would toss socks gently into a basket or bag.” Oh no doubt. Because Bigs is playing full court mini hoop inside the living room (sorry, train furniture room).  I am sure that an invigorating game of sock toss will keep him entertained.

6.       Skype grandma and grandpa! Is skype still a thing? I thought it was now like a….. whatsitcalled, like a sex video site. Like for sexy time. Is grandma on there? Am I the only one who thinks that is what Skype is???

7.       Make a masking tape city.  OK, two things here.  First, I know I am not creative.  Totally on board. Second, whoever wrote this clearly HATES their house. It goes on to say “Tape outlines of cities on the floor.” Who you think I am? An architect? I’m not designing a tape city. Settle down Creative Carol.

8.       Now I am just cracking up, but it might also be the eleven two mimosas, not sure. “Moon sand! Baby oil + flour, hours of fun!”  It then has a hyperlink and says “you can see pictures here” but I am 99% sure that leads to a porn site and this is a wholesome family snow day. Not a skype day with grandma. Get your head out of the gutter. Gutter? Toilet? Whatisit? Get ya head outtathere.

9.       Treasure Hunt. “Hide something in the house and give the kids clues to find it.” Ok, every DAY with my cherubs is a god damn treasure hunt. I have zero need to hide anything. Ever.

At any rate, we are now three storms in 10 days with another one anticipated. The little one is constipated, so he wanted to take a tub. Apparently I made it to hot and he just yelled “MOM. THIS MAKES ME NEED SUNTAN LOTION FOR MY NUTS!”  Snow day fun right there.



When your tail is ripped off…

The plan was, just don’t open the door.  Isn’t that how it goes? Lights off, no one will knock, but if they do, just don’t open the door.  But then I heard my little panther “Dis is my mommy’s house” and I had to answer.  I didn’t even have a piece of candy to give my little panther because all along, the plan was, just don’t open the door.
My therapist says it’s ok for everything to still hurt. All. The. Time.  He also says it’s ok for me to drink wine and that sometimes I should just go to a hotel and order room service and sleep all day.  I really like him.
You read about this feeling of instrumental loss when you get divorced.  It is equated to a death.  Part of you literally dies inside.  Years later I am trying to figure out if I will ever get that part back….. You know, like an iguana tail that grows back….. I don’t know if mine will or if it just died.
My therapist says everyone must think I am always fine, because I laugh about my life, I am honest about it, I just push through it, but there are still days I end up on the floor, crying, wondering who the fuck I pissed off to get here.
Sometimes, I still look at my wedding rings, and think about when we bought our first house, or our second house, or our first apartment. 15 years of it and my entire plan was “Just don’t open the door.” More times than not, I wonder if I will ever move on, or even go on a real date, or if my tail will grow back.
I tell myself all the time that someone had to move on first…. I am generally use to being the first one to get shit accomplished, so maybe that is why it is so hard, but I suspect it is something different.
I joke about it, but the reality is, in comparison, I have it pretty good.  When one of the minis pukes and shits at the same time (or, not at the same time) the first person I text is the former Mr. Nara. I wondered with him just yesterday, how it will be when our oldest (slightly vain, already enjoying excessively long showers) hits puberty. I think likely, because when your tail is ripped off, you go back to what you know. But I think too, that because when someone is shitting and puking at the same time, only the other 1/2 of what created that disgusting mess understands.
I am lucky in comparison, but nothing eases the pain of your tail being ripped off other than time.  At least that is what my therapist says.  Sort of.

And just like that, six….

My sweet peanut, this is your day. You have patiently waited 364 days to get here. You have told Biggie and I every day that “Ugh, it is takin fovea to be six.” You finally made it. We have spent so much time talking about your party (gymnastics, obvi) and who will go. And you say it so gently “Mom, do I still have fwiends? Because, mom, I go to a new school now.” (you know, like in case I was not aware). We have talked extensively about what snacks will be served at this glorious event (pretzels, apple sauce and cheese sticks). No one loves their birthday as much as you do.

Every year, every single year pee wee, I tell you, Biggie started our family, and you completed it. And still, even in this last year, with so much that has changed, that still remains the same. You complete our mini-tripod. When my heart broke, it is as though you both took one piece and put it back together.

My heart….


You are our old soul. Just so sweet and kind in spirit. When I remind you all the time to tell me that I am a beautiful princess, you say “But momma, where is your crown hat?” When I tell you that I lost it, or left it at work, you say “Oh momma, I will get you one den.”

You love with your full heart. Every day when I pick you up, you run into my arms, and we race to the car (you somehow win every day) and then we hold hands. Every day.

You even say “Time for me to run into your arms.”


Every night, when we put you to bed, you ask for brother and I to sleep in your room, not because you are scared, or want a sleep over, but because you “don’t like to be away from us too long.”

Every morning, when I lay in bed with you, you say “Momma, you seep in my bed all night, we so cozy.” Then you suck on your boo boo. I could do without that part.


You are our creature of habit. Same breakfast every morning (banana muffins, apple slices and “cold lellow apple juice”). Same lunch every day (cheese and square “quackers” fruit, gummies). And every night when we get home, you need to relax for a minute with a “cow milk.” You are such a creature of habit, that when we went to Disney this year, you and I rode Dumbo. 14 times in a row.

Oh I know, for something new, let’s go on Dumbo.


You LOVE helping.   I was painting a cabinet for your play room last week, when you asked if you could help. You sat down with me in the driveway and after painting for a minute or two said “Momma, when do we go get coffee? Like workers do. They get coffee.”

You tattle. The other day, you said “Mom, daddy gives me somefin I yike to drink, and it is lellow.” To which I said “Apple juice?” And you said “No, soda, and daddy says no tellin mommy, so I didn’t.”

You love your brother SO much.  I am so lucky to have these two boys, who are so different, yet so alike.  You miss him when he is gone.  And by “gone” I mean, when he goes poop, you go with him.

You are obsessed with your brother. 


You are fresh. In fact, Biggie and I call you “baby fresh butt.” This weekend, you saw that I was walking around looking for something, and said “Momma, what you doing?” I told you that I was looking for Quinn’s blankie, to which you said “Oh, I frew that in da trash, hold my hand and I can take you to it.” So. Matter. Of. Fact.

You are so strong willed. If you don’t get what you want, you will say “Fine, den I goin to bed!” hashtag winning.

You are SO silly. This year, the Y had a “Doggy pool day” there must have been 25 dogs swimming in the pool, and you.

All aspects of your life include a dance party.



You are SO confident in who you are. Let me re-phrase that, you are so comfortable in who you are being naked.  I never thought I would say things like “Dude, put your ding dong away.” so.very.much.

You wanted to walk down the street nude, the comprise was undies.  Because I am a really good parent.


You think you are 25 years old. This summer, after seeing Biggie go tubing once in Maine, you decided that not only would you be doing that, but that you didn’t need an adult. Your papa and I spent a solid day worrying about it, when you just jumped on the tube from the dock and yelled “Hit it, and turn up the speed for dis guy.” True. Fucking. Story.

Hit it.


You amaze and scare me at the same time. You are so determined. You don’t give up when anyone else would have.  And when you are working, you say “I got dis.”

Half size. Full Swag. Always.


Every day, I worry… Am I enough for you and Biggie? Can me, this one person, do this alone? Raise two boys. Alone. And every day, you both remind me,  I can, because you do it with me. You have taught more in six short years than I can ever teach you. I have these times that in my heart, you and biggie have always been with me. I don’t remember a day that you were not there.

Biggie and I are so excited to celebrate six with you.  Your favorite toys (guys) and your favorite food (pizza, circle kind, that “Da guy brings to da door.”). Happy six my sweet love.

Scared for the one I love….

IMG_2580 (2).JPG

It’s weird. I always try and keep my blogs about my current life and funny.  Because, well, generally my life is always a hot mess pretty fucking funny. Let’s face it, the last few years have not been easy on me (or my grey hair for that matter), but you know what, your ex-husband gets engaged to his mistress you realize you are WAY fucking stronger than you ever thought, you get through.  You just do…. First and foremost for me, is always my minimuffin tops (shout out to my fellow fat kids)….. They are really my whole heart and soul.  They remind me the things I am good at (laundry) and the things I am not (cooking, Bigs told me the other night his dinner smelled like “Beaver food” which brings in the question “You eat fucking beaver food dude?”)…..  Anyholla.

I knew, in my heart, I knew I would never be ready for these upcoming weeks, but now, I just have this heaviness in my heart and pit in my stomach (it’s not even because I am hungry, which I always am)….. #peewee is starting school….. Interesting fact, he has actually gone to a “special needs” program for 3 years now.  Three fucking years.  When he started, he couldn’t speak.  He couldn’t walk up stairs. Couldn’t even consider walking down stairs. He couldn’t run.  Well, now, he doesn’t shut up, he has a candor about him when he speaks that is nothing short of hysterical, does not even consider holding my hand walking up stairs, and actually runs (although, he sort of looks like a cartoon character when he does, still)…..

But here I am, filling out his back to school paperwork, for him to go to a different school than his brother, because as amazing as our town is, they can’t service him with his needs in district…. So, the little puff pastry will go into a class with 15 other kiddos he doesn’t know.  He will be “that kid” you know, the one who has his own teacher, because he still can’t write, he can’t hold a pencil, he can’t go to the bathroom alone, he gets confused. He’s scared.

Selfishly, I’m scared.  I’m so scared.  I’m proud of him that when he was able to run, he no longer had to wear braces on his legs.  I’m proud of him that he hardly has to use sign language to speak to me anymore.  I’m proud of him that he can try and play with other kids.  I’m so scared.  I know he’s different.  His brother knows he’s different. Deep down inside, I feel it in my heart that even he knows he is different. So I lay awake at night, scared. Scared he will get picked on more than he already does.  Scared more people will ask “What’s wrong with him.” (Sidebar, props to me for not cold clocking the bitch outside of Dunks the other day who asked me that, I just said “Him, nothing, you, appears as though quite a bit is.”).

So, as I fill out his paperwork, I wonder questions that no parent should ever have to wonder.  Will he be able to go on field trips? Will he go to gym class? Will music class be too loud for him? Will someone help him carry his pizza to his desk on pizza day? How am I going to get him to understand that his beloved “guys” can’t go to this school, and that there is no “school boo” to snuggle if he gets scared? What will happen if he needs me, but doesn’t know how to say it? Mostly, what happens when he gets picked on?  Because he already does. And I know he will.  Just because he is different.  He doesn’t love any less, he likes the same things as other 5 year old boys, but he is different. And different isn’t “cool.” What will happen now? What will happen in one year, or three or five?

So my beloved friends and family, if (when) I am bitchy (ier) than I normally am, it’s just because I am scared.


The hot mess nest gets hotter. It actually catches on fire.

I think sometimes, people don’t really believe me about what a horror shit show my life can be…. Like, as if I make it up for humor.  Listen people (listen, read? Idunno) you don’t make shit like this up unless you are craaayyyyy I mean like octomom, astronut, cray.

So I have been tied up this week (whoa, not literally, but you know, like busy, I’m not into that shit) in 2 huge projects.  One personal, one professional (wait, is it a project if it is personal? Or just like a thing? Idunno).  Both draining. Normally, I can take this shit and run with it.  The ex-husband formally known as Mr. Nara (Mr.Nara 1.0?) use to say I was the least emotional / sentimental person in the world.  Partially true (it is hard to be like “Yep, that’s me” because there has GOT to be someone who is less sentimental than I am).  Anyholla.

The combination of early mornings, late nights and not having a clear direction on where I am going in either of these “projects” may have totally fucking gotten to me just a teenie bit. Wednesday, I am driving peewee into school, and remember that I forgot something. Shit, what did I forget? Oh! His backpack…..  So, we turn around and head back to the ole homestead.  I leave the car running while I run inside and actually think to myself “Wow, self, that is LOUD.”  Then drive off into the sunset. There is no sunset in the morning, FYI, I made that up.

Then, well, then there was yesterday.  Again, dat bitch (my car) was totally fucking PMS’ing…. But, hello, I had places to go. I got through my normal daily routine, ja know, napping at work and surfing the interwebs until it is time to go home…… I can’t type express enough, HOW long of a week I have had at this point (Thursday).  I am just looking forward to going home and eating. And by “eating” I mean drinking.

So, I am jamming out, when all of the sudden, I realize something smells.  But imma like “Weird, smells like someone’s car is on fire.” BECAUSE CLEARLY IT ISN’T MINE. It actually was mine. So there I am in the middle of the road (road? Highway? What do we call it when there are four lanes, separated by those dividers? Rural Route?) when I realize it actually is, in fact, my car.

In my typical fashion of being JUST sedated enough, I freak the fuck out. I am in the middle of the Rural Route and don’t know what to do…. I am not a lot of things…. For example, I am not tall.  Likewise, I am NOT a fucking gearhead.  When I turned 16, my dad said “Pretty princess Nara do you know how to change a tire?” And Imma like “Fuck no”  “Nope” and he handed me a AAA card and said “That is how you change a tire.” And really, that is me…. I am not afraid to get dirty, to hammer shit out (omg, that actually sounds dirty, but I don’t mean it to be, I mean like, I am good with a hammer) but I just DON’T do cars.

So, I somehow get my smoking car (that has every light I knew about and a few bonus lights on at this point) into a parking lot.  Meanwhile, some dick gave me the finger as I almost hit him and I was ready to get out of my busted up SUV and be like “FUCK YOU SPARKLE TITS” but I didn’t.  I call AAA, it goes like this.

Me: Imma need someone to come get this car

AAA: What’s wrong?

Me: Yea, I have no fucking clue

AAA: Ok honey (legit) can you tell me what happened

Me: It made some really loud noises this week, I have been so busy, I just turned up Pitbull’s new song because that’s mah jam, then it smoked, not like smoked a cig, but had smoke coming out of it and then it died.  Bitch died.

AAA:  Ok, we will send a tow truck

So at that point, I couldn’t even help it, I started to cry.  Listen, I am NOT a crier.  I have been through things and seen things that have made me who I am and part of “me” is that I don’t do that shit.  Welp, there I was, at the corner of Highland and Swampscott Rural Route, sitting on the dirty sidewalk in all white, crying. I should mention, I am a fucking ugly crier.  I am not like a movie star crier, I am legit ugs. But this was the car that we throw little people through the sunroof when I lock myself out, and that we karaoke in while driving on the wrong side of the road, and sometimes the minis drive (only when I have had too much to drink, safety first).

Well, the tow truck guy showed up and offered me his sleeve to wipe my tears and started telling me how he would make $6.00 commission on my misfortune, and Imma like Sleeve, one more time “Six dollars? You should have left me on the side of the road.” And he was like “Wanna ride in my cab?” No dude. Just leave. Honestly. Go. Leave your sleeve though.



Move bitch, get out the way…. 


Date my friends, and a legit profile. Mayhaps.

I proposed the idea to a few friends that they date for me. OK, that sounds weird when I say it that way… Not like go OUT for me (although, TBH, that is not a horrible idea either, mostly bc I am a legit hermit and like to be home) but more like pre-screen that shit for me. Surprisingly enough, they were like “FUCK YEA.” Alarming how much my friends realize that I need non-stop babysitting their support.

First things first, we decided that if I am to dive back into the whole “dating” thing, that I really would need to be honest with what I am looking for, so that they could create the best online profile for me (see that right there, I am still not going online, now other people are as me.  I mean, for me.  Whatever.).  So, we went through my basic requirements:

  1. Can’t live in your mom’s basement. And, you can’t be like “I am transitioning and living in a basement.” It’s the same thing, you live in your mom’s basement.
  2. Must be employed. Not like “in-between jobs”, but actually employed
  3. Can’t smell. Can’t smoke. Can’t do drugs. Can’t think that I won’t notice when you smell, I will.
  4. Must have all teeth, fingers, toes, etc (I say etc as if this is not an “issue” then I remember the 99% “match” I had once, with the guy who had one eye, and immma like “Fuck, I am so screwed.”)
  5. You need to have the understanding that my life is my life, your life is your life, and at some point, in the diagram of pie charts (side bar, yum) maybe we cross over a bit and share some life together. I don’t expect you to LIKE Bravo TV, but you should respect it. Those ladies work hard.
  6. You can’t complain all the time…. Honestly, I can’t fucking deal with it…. I have two names they are “” and “Narathereisaproblemweneedresolvedasap”. There will be no more of that.
  7. You need to be honest. And I will too.
  8. That also means you need to be upfront. People who know me, know I am not in this lil life of mine to find Mr. Nara 2.0, but I am also too smart to play games. It might take me a bit to catch on, but when I do, the game is over.
  9. You need to understand that much like a Gremlin, I need to be fed every three hours. The ramifications are serious.
  10. The final Mr. Nara 2.0 will understand, that I would like you to be in the top 5 most important things in my life. That I will cherish Mr. Nara 2.0 but that spots 1 and 2 are already taken.  Top 5. Not bad IMO.

Which then lead us, to what would likely be the most upfront honest online dating profile ever.  It would be something like this:

Single shit show of a mom who has 2 perfect minis (see, get that right out there – oh, the mini’s part, imma pretty sure everyone knows I’m a shit show).  Have done the whole “married” thing and well, figured on-line dating was more my style, so then went through the whole “divorce thing.”  May have mis-calculated that a bit.  I don’t cross fit, don’t hike small (or large) mountains, don’t Atkins. I do eat pizza and drink champagne.  Often times together. I color my hair because it is grey, I don’t get my nails done, I don’t fake tan, I don’t have extensions.  I am not even sure I can fully commit that I know what extensions are. I love to cook and am really bad at it.  I go to the gym a few times a week and spend as much time outside being active, as possible. I have no desire to have what you consider to be the perfect body, abs, boobs, butt. I do, however, desire to be with friends and family enjoying life (see above, champagne and pizza). I suck at second grade math, but can read a nighttime story like it is nobody’s business.   I have no desire to spend time with someone who wants me one day, and not the next, I want someone who always wants me to be in their top 5. I’m not in this for sex.  Nothing personal fellas, but we can all get it when we want it, it is not that difficult.  I am sure you are great at it but, it is not my gig. I live in a house with a revolving door.  There is not a day that goes by that there are not friends or family there.  That will never change, they are my lifeline. I don’t want to be with someone who needs to be attached to a phone or computer.  I’m right here.  That should be all you need (and I assure you, nothing, not one thing that great, has changed on your Facebook, so settle down).  I may blog, but I am exceptionally private, there are few people I actually let know me, as we refer to as “real me”.   My blog life is not my life, it is my blog.  I had my heart broken.  I am scared.  I don’t trust people.  I question everything. I have grown and changed.  I believe you need to have both an emotional and physical connection with someone.  A relationship can’t sustain on just one of those alone. I laugh. Loud. Very loud. I don’t want that to change. I will listen, but expect the same.  I get lost with navigation. I love crushed ice.

TBH, I am not expecting my friends to have to screen to many potential suitors… Because, well, ya know, I will never really follow through and put this mug on these interwebs of dating.



FYI, I don’t give a fu*k about history….

My lil hometown is considering a new school (it appears as though 110 years of 200 students wearing on it may have taken its toll)….. Something so many towns would rejoice over (I mean, legit, how lucky are we? But this is 01945 and I swear we need things to bitch about, and this is the big winner!)…. There is so much opposition to it, and TBH I have no idea why.  However, as I like to say, I am also not very smart, so there is that to take into consideration as well. It seems as though the town is divided into two pretty basic groups.

Group #1.  People who don’t want a new school because it lacks “history” Dude. Again, I am not smart, but I feel like we aren’t exactly driving covered wagons these days, but I am such a space cadet, maybe we are….. (sidebar, can you even IMAGINE me driving a covered wagon?).  And, aren’t you supposed to remember history, not live it? Idunno.

Me and Pee Wee, just driving the ole covered wagon to school.

Group #2. People who don’t want their children to ingest lead paint and would prefer that they have heat in the winter  People who want to look at all of the options

I dunno.  I spent 10 years in Arizona, where the actual education currently ranks a solid 48 out of the 50 states (you want low, not high).  And, interestingly enough, MA ranks #1.  #holla. So I lived in real time, through some shit education, (in an economy where they are NOT lucky enough to build new schools).  Oh, oh, funny, I do know what I am talking about here, because when I was in Arizona, I worked, in, you guessed it, education…..  So I can really see the benefits of a new school a fresh coat of paint, not falling down and breaking your hip, more than 8 parking spots for 200 people and a school than can accommodate, I dunno, a fucking god damn fire truck in the event there is a fire clean, functional learning spaces as well as adequate space for the little ones to stretch their legs.

I was asked to look into being a candidate for the feasibility study for a new school, because I likely offer a different vantage point (and, wine). I have two young sons (aka my mini hot messes) but they go to two different school districts.  Why? You ask?  Well, because as group #1 would say, Bigs is not ADA so he doesn’t need to be shuffled to a “safe” school. Makes sense when you say it that way… I mean, he is 8 now and all, and legit doesn’t need safety at all. He will be fine.  BUT THE OTHER ONE…. Pee Wee, well, because he is ADA, he gets bused off (ever met an ADA kiddo, ever tried explaining complex things to them? Like “Oh, mommy can’t bring you to school, now you have a driver, a bus, you need to get your back pack, I know you are scared, but um, I bet things will be ok”) but, I mean, that’s cool, because there is “history” in the 110 year old school, so screw him and all of his little ADA buddies too!

I don’t negate that, 110 years is a long time.  If those walls could talk (well, walls don’t talk, and TBH, they would prob be like “Rip me down and send me to my grave.”)….. So much so, that I decided to ask Dr. G what he thought about schools 110 years ago.  If  you can believe this, a few pictures and even a lillle reading came up…. Some snippets:

Teachers were segregated by gender (remarkable, segregation ended in 1964, but it is being insinuated that we bring it back and segregate ADA students….. I LOVE forward thinkers! That’s right group #1, looking two steps ahead and 52 years in the rear!).

Often times, children rode ponies to school! We bitch about the parking at Gerry, can you even imagine if there were 200 ponies?!??!

Pony Parking.

In the early 1900’s, racial segregation was still prominent, so much so, that if a black child lived and worked on a farm, the owner of the farm could pull him out of school at any time to work alongside his parents.   How’s that for “preserving history?”

In MA, the classrooms were heated with coal. I say we bring it back! The teachers certainty don’t have enough to do, they should tend to a fire as well! That will stop everyone from bitching about the boiler and we don’t give a shit about pollution because, duh, HISTORY!

I refuse to commit that this ISN’T the Gerry heating system, but at any rate, no need to update it, seems fine!


Often times, the schools were one-room schoolhouses. I mean, the Gerry is ½ way there considering the gym, art and music room are all the same! I mean, way to optimize time and space like “KIDS, get your paint brushes and run, run, run!!!!!!! Now whistle! Where are your recorders?”

I’ll wrap this up with one more nugget of info for you folks who still support segregation and discrimination history.  And this one is from the heart.  MY SON DOES NOT DESERVE LESS THAN ANY OTHER CHILD.  People who suggest it should be ashamed. Absolutely ashamed.  I walk through every day with the HOPE that he will be ok.  That he will have a future. How DARE anyone suggest he shouldn’t? 01945 schools are, in often cases, “grandfathered” in to ADA law….. That does not, however, give anyone the right to suggest that ADA students deserve a lesser or “different” education. BTW, I actually don’t give a fuck about history.

In 1975 Congress passed Public Law 94-142, Education for All Handicapped Children Act. One of the most comprehensive laws in the history of education in the United States, this Act brought together several pieces of state and federal legislation, making free, appropriate education available to all eligible students with a disability. The law was amended in 1986 to extend its coverage to include younger children. In 1990 the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) extended its definitions and changed the label “handicap” to “disabilities”. Further procedural changes were amended to IDEA in 1997.

I couldn’t agree more, let’s ship this kid out and preserve history!