The Joys of Parenting

My darling daughter (D.D.) is probably going to hell: she stabbed a boy in the hand with a pencil *during religion class* yesterday. It doesn't really matter that he asked her to do it, even suggesting that she sharpen the pencil first. I'm sure he meant to pull his hand away at the last minute, perhaps adding a taunting "ha! ha!" What he didn't count on was D.D.'s lightening-fast reflexes, honed by years of flopping and, more recently, ballet.

D.D. apologized, and the boy said he'd been hurt much worse by another boy in the class before, but... still. Where was the teacher in all this?
[Addendum: L.H. pointed out that most teachers wouldn't feel they'd need to keep an eye out for kids stabbing each other until at least junior high.]

Lovely husband (L.H.) is worried about getting a hospital bill or a lawsuit. Germans have insurance for everything, but we haven't gotten around to buying more than our health insurance. It's crazy—at a birthday party we attended a few months ago, every person we talked to brought up the need for extra insurance. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were all in training to be insurance salesmen. Maybe they get a kick-back for bringing in new customers, I don't know.

D.D. is home today with a tummy ache. Last year we sent her to school a couple of times with a tummy ache, and she barfed. So now we know that she's not just using it as an excuse to stay home. No barf so far.

Since D.D. is technically home sick, we've been doing quiet, lounging-about type activities like watching videos and playing on the computer. I had to excuse myself when she went to the Barbie My Scene site, though. Otherwise I'd be the one barfing.

In case you are not the parent of a girly-girl, let me introduce you to the horror that is My Scene. Imagine, if you will, animated versions of Barbie and Ken—hip young things that love shopping and dancing. The interactive games on this site include beauty makeover and clothes shopping. Then there are the video clips—shudder. "Let's roam around the mall, buying things and ogling at and being ogled at by the guys!" or "Let's have a canned food drive for the blind before we go to the ultra-glam high school dance!"

This is not believable as real youth culture as far as I'm concerned. There is no acne, no back-stabbing, no messy break-ups, no sex. Definitely not teenage reality. Fortunately, there's lots of time before high school for D.D. to figure that out.

New bitching topic: the never-ending nosebleed. Enough said.

Weather-bitching level: 1
Overcast. Yuck.