Poopshe Bears

Pomp and Circumstance

Wow!  It's been two months since I blogged about anything!  Would love to say I was sitting on a remote beach somewhere without benefit of any modern conveniences such as computers and cell phones... but the reality is I've been hard at work... working, mother, wifing, etc...

In the last 36 hours I have sat through Ethan's high school graduation and Kelley's 8th grade graduation ceremonies and I have to say I have learned a few things...

1)  First and foremost I am PROUD of these boys. 

Ethan graduated magna cum laude at age 16 and is now somewhere in "identity crisis" mode waiting for college.  (I should be appearing on Oprah any day based on his meltdown Saturday night over his apparent and appalling lack of a childhood directly related to the fact that he skipped 1st grade, is the oldest of 4 children, and I made him do more chores at an earlier age than any of his friends - I'll keep you posted about the Oprah-date)

Kelley graduated, also with honors, from middle school and is heading for high school, safely from his bed where he is trying to make a quick recovery from walking pneumonia (that we discovered - credits to the urgent care for getting us in and out in 2 hours in time to change clothes for Ethan's graduation - yesterday morning).  He made a valiant effort to attend the 2½ hour long (yes, I did say 2½ hours! 1 hour longer and 400 children less than Ethan's of the day before) ceremony and has 1 more final at the high school tomorrow and then back to bed.  Football workouts start on Monday!

2)  Any school that is going to attempt to host a 2½ hour long graduation ceremony in an unairconditioned gymnasium with 60% seating capacity should have a suggestion box and a PTA committee to assist.

3)  People are tacky and classless in large groups.  The blatant disregard for the teachers and staff requests that all applause WAIT until ALL names are ready is appalling.  I am thrilled for you that the first child in your family for 10 generations has managed to graduate 8th/12th grade, but I would like the joy of hearing my own child's name read, which I cannot because you are whistling, yelling, hollering, and making a public nuisance of yourself.  Ignorant, selfish, egocentric, narcissistic, and rude are just a few words that come to mind.

4)  The tendency to award all children for just showing up negates the hard work and achievement of those children who actually deserve the accolades. 

The high school has done away with the Valedictorian and Salutatorian on the grounds it is "unfair".  Unfair to reward and acknowledge 2 students who have worked hard to achieve this momentous status?  Instead they elected "anonymously" chosen speeches to be read and the top 10 students received a medal, but none were identified as being better than any other.  Heaven forbid.

The middle school, bless their little hearts each one, gives out certificates to each classroom for (no joke) 1) all kids with A's all year, 2) kids with B's and C's all year, 3) kids who have made the most progress all year, and 4) kids who have worked hard even if their grades don't show it.  Seriously!  (explains the 2½ hours doesn't it). 

Sadly, those 8th grade students who have actually excelled and are taking high school classes, not just 1 but 2, and not just freshman level but honors sophomore (that's 10th grade) classes are not recognized because their teachers aren't there to hand them out. 

We are caught in a society of praising everyone the same, regardless of effort and achievement.  It's like we're keeping our children stuck at age 5 in T-Ball - that amazingly pointless version of baseball where there are no positions, no scores, no winner, no pitcher and all kids receive the same trophy - but for life.  What are we doing to our children?  This is not how the "real" world works.  We are teaching them they don't have to work for anything, just show up, and that working hard for something brings no results so why bother.

5)  Kelley has a great 10th grade honors geometry teacher.  He sent the middle school a certificate for him for "outstanding achievement" all year (he had a grade point average of 4.0).  This is the first time a high school award was included for a middle schooler, but not the first time an 8th grader earned one. 

6)  Kelley has a great school counselor.  She presented him with this geometry award and made a point of explaining that this is a 10th grade  honors class at the high school.  He was called to stand up before the entire assembly.  Hurray!  Finally, a child, just one, awarded for an achievement earned and not part of the masses just because everyone is getting an award.

I totally agree that no child should be left behind.... but no child should be held back either.  Let's stand and praise our nation's chilren for their accomplishments, efforts and successes... in the classroom, on the sports field, in serving the community.  Let's encourage them to try harder, work smarter, enjoy learning and help others. 

My Son... my inspiration

I don't believe I was ever more proud of my son than on Wednesday evening. 

For those of you who have been following along, my third son, 9-year-old Austin, was diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome this past fall. 

Similar to everything I hear, this diagnosis followed 2 years of chasing symptoms before a chance episode of what I "thought" were allergies prompted me to put him on antihistamines in September.  The sudden and intense onset of entire facial grimaces, a conscientious teacher, a thoughtful/thoughtless comment from a perturbed older brother and a co-worker with a good ear who has a friend with a son with Tourette's led us to finally find the correct door out of our little box and into the world of Tourette's. 

We have been extremely blessed that, although there is no cure, there is indeed no way of knowing the severity of Austin's particular case or even the path it will take, he is surrounded by caring and loving people.

Austin is in a self-contained classroom for gifted children where he is in the 4th grade.  This is the 3rd year of a 4-year program where he has had the benefit of the being with same core group of teachers and children for 3 years.  He also is sent to a "regular" classroom for 4th grade Math.  With his Tourette's and trouble focusing, the team agreed that he was having difficulty in the advanced 5th grade math and needed to take it a little slower and go back over some of the basic concepts before his math pyramid came tumbling down somewhere in middle school.  His Cub Scout troup and Destination Imagination groups were also predominantly made up of children from this gifted classroom.  The children in both classrooms have been extremely accepting and supportive, as well as the neighborhood and our family.

Shortly after his diagnosis, the Hallmark movie, Front of the Class, was released.  Of course we watched, and then Austin watched.  He loved Brad Cohen, who is such a strong person, ambitious, positive and determined not to let Tourette's win but to do with his life what HE wants.  At Christmas the entire extended family gathered around Austin and watched the movie again.  My 21-year-old niece who will be graduating this winter with her teaching degree wept through the entire movie.  I say that, not to embarass her, but only to say how wonderful it is to see teachers who care, who have compassion for their students, who want to teach and I know that she will be a wonderful teacher... the kind of teacher that all students with special needs will benefit from and she will be the one who sets out to help each child and never give up or turn her back on them.

That being said, it has still been difficult to take in all the information that our research has shown us.  That Austin could and probably will be discriminated against, he already receives harassment from his peers and has even been punched on the school bus because he had a tic.  One of the biggest hits was the fact that Tourette's is protected under the Disability Act and what that means or could mean.  We don't think of our child as disabled, he's just Austin and we love him.

I know I'm rambling, but to get back to how he made me proud:

The school counselor came to Austin's class on Wednesday to discuss disabilities.  Her first question was "Do you know any disabilities?"  Of course Austin raised his hand but a classmate was called on.  This classmate turned to Austin's desk where the copy of Brad Cohen's book, Front of the Class, was sitting, and said "This book that Austin is reading is about Tourette's.  It's a disability.  The movie was great!" 

  Later in the session the counselor asked, "Do you know anyone with a disability?"  My son raised his hand and was called on.  His response, "I have Tourette's but I can do almost anything anyone else can do.  I don't let Tourette's stop me.  It's just something that I have, it doesn't have me."

To learn more about Tourette's Syndrome head on over to the TS Association home page.

Hurry up and wait

Just sitting here... waiting... I'm getting pretty good at this.  Okay, well not really.  I can't sit still and my mind never turns off. 

Don't those people who answer "nuthin' " to the question "Whatchya thinkin'?"  (That's my Southern accent coming out - I've been visiting my parents for the weekend) just drive you crazy.

How can you think about nothing?  How can you not be thinking?  Can you pass on the secret? 

Every time I try to think about nothing I sit and think "Wow! I'm doing it, I'm not thinking.  Oh Drat! Now I'm thinking about thinking about nothing."

So where am I and why am I sitting here trying not to be bored?  Well, I'm at training, which is pretty cool in and of its self except that there's a lot of "hurry up and wait" goin' on around here.

But I've been at my parents since Saturday because they live just 30 minutes from my training facility, which means two things, 1) My southern accent is back, at least according to my children who I have been dutifully calling daily, and 2) I'm traveling without children and spouse which means I'm having a much deserved sabbatical from the "give-me's", which has been nice and, since I'm the baby of the family and the only child around these here parts, I've been pretty spoiled all weekend, which has also been great!

Funny thing is.... before I left I was convinced a weekend away would help the sleepless nights and stressing over the children... reality is that between the thermostat set at 80, the fire station around the corner and the mattress that has made it's purpose in life to attempt to throw me to the floor, I'm still not sleeping very well and given that I have a lot of "waiting" time and I haven't mastered that "not thinking" thing yet, I've had plenty of time to stress over Ethan's college, Austin's Tourette's, Kelley's nutrition needs in light of his intense weigh building routine, and Grace's, well I'm not really stressed about Grace, but you get the point.

But, I'm going to enjoy the day.  It's beautiful here in Columbus, Ohio.  67 and sunny today, the crocus and daffodils are blooming here, I didn't have any part of the cooking, dishes or laundry this past weekend, and Ethan has had the truck and the daycare run for two days.  In other words, they should have sufficiently missed me and my homecoming should be well received.

Thank you for all your kind words about mothering.  I know I'm not alone.  There are so many times we all feel like the worst mother in the world, I know for myself I've won the "Mother of the Year Award" multiple times for ruining my child's day or life, and that really, in the grand scheme of things, if all they have to complain to Oprah about is the fact that I didn't let them drive the car to school every day I'm doing pretty good.

Have a good day!  Enjoy the flowers if they're up where you are.

You don't miss what you don't have, until you don't have it.

Ever noticed how:

...you never need to go anywhere until you don't have a vehicle.

...no-one is every looking for you until you're on the phone.

...you're never hungry until you walk into the grocery store.

...you never have to go to the bathroom until you realize you aren't within 10 minutes of one.

Generally I don't take a lunch, or if I do it's at my desk.  There's a million and one reasons:  it's too cold, it's too hot, gas is too expensive, I'd rather leave early, it's too far from the nearby restaurants and stores for a daily jaunt, etc., etc., etc... And generally I just work it on through or take a quick break at my desk and bug out of here early on Friday's.  Until this week.  I don't have my truck you see.  Ethan's high school is taking their Ohio Graduation Tests, something all 10th graders are required to do, and something he's already done.  So all other grades cannot be on school grounds until 9:45-ish AM. 

Now, either I'm the greatest mother in the world, or I have a giant "sucker" stamp on my forehead - I'm not really sure which - but he pouts his lip, flutters his eyelashes and gives me one of those rare "I love you Mom" hugs and I melt and he drives.  My husband, knowing I'd get sick of not being "able" to go somewhere at lunch suggested the child ride his bike the 2 miles and the groans of dismay just broke my resolve.  "Mom, I can't ride my bike!"  Which means, Mom, it's not cool for a senior to ride his bike to school.  and here I am being chauffeured. 

Shoot!  You know, there's a million things I want/need to do on my lunch hour this week.  Like.... I don't know... shop for yarn?

And the sock drama continues

It's funny, really, when you think about it.. well perhaps you never do, actually before yesterday I'm not sure I did either... do people notice your socks? 

After the sock drama this week I was left with only 1 pair of clean matching socks.  Now, I'm certain I have more, but being all black, gray, navy, or brown they were most likely all gathered somewhere out of sight in mourning for the 3 lost socks (the optimist in me would prefer to think they've organized a full-scale sock search and rescue mission, but that's just me). 

In my haste to get out the door and running late as usual - because I'm a notorious "snooze-hitter" in the morning and most particularly the 10 or 20 mornings after the Daylight Savings Time event - the only socks I found were peach, or maybe apricot.  What they definitively were not is black or even gray, either of which would have been acceptable since I was wearing black pants and a blue blouse.  And they might even have matched, since the peach socks and blue blouse were complimentary colors, if it was the 1980's and I was coordinating my socks, blouse and eyeshadow.  But what's a girl to do.... surely no-one would notice my socks.  Right?  I mean my pants are long enough to hang over the tops of my dress shoes.  So I'm safe.  Right?  I mean who notices socks, unless they're a sock connoisseur or a sock knitter or you're wearing black knee high socks with sandals and shorts?  Who? 

Snort!

Apparently they do!  I think I made it until 10:00 AM before someone noticed my socks and commented on them.  Now, a seasoned veteran and survivor of the "uneven, mismatched shoe event of 1993" where I went to work in not only 1 black and 1 navy shoe, but of different heights (don't ask... I'm not sure myself except to say I had a nursing baby) I have learned the valuable lesson of not even trying to hide the problem.  Better to just walk in, shoulders back, chin high, and say something  like, "You would not BELIEVE what I did this morning".  Note:  It also doesn't help to say it was because of the early hour, dark room, late night partying, children who won't sleep, pets who make a mess, or any other excuse that immediately goes through your head.  Just own up to it. 

Me... well, I settled for a compromise.  I owned up to it, laughed along and then promptly blamed it on the sock monster.  As soon as the person was out of sight tugged my pants legs down as far as I comfortably could and decided to stay in for lunch, avoid the kitchen club as well, and sit at my desk until time to go home thereby reducing the risk of someone else seeing.  Because, really when the 2nd person notices the only thing left is to post a sign on your chest that says

"HELLO, my name is....

the doofus that wore peach colored socks to work."

Sock Monsters and Rubber Tree Plants

Wow!  I'm am moving this week. 

Remember that laundry nightmare?  Well the last load went in and there are only 4 lonely socks - matches even - left in the basket.  Hurray!  Of course the load is in the washer and the dryer is full as well, but we're still counting it success since the other 13 loads have been folded, hung and put away in drawers.  Well, I'm pretending they're in drawers because, after all this is a "boy" house and the reality is they're probably on the bookshelf, desk chair, foot of the bed, toy box or any place but inside the drawers.  I know for a fact Grace's are in her drawers.  She's still trying to keep her room clean.

Of course there is the issue of my 3 missing socks, but I have hopes they're around somewhere.  I mean, really, I have 2 feet, I wear 2 socks and on a daily basis I pick 2 socks that match.  I take them off together and I even remember sorting them into the piles together.  But somehow, by the time I dumped the dryer basket on the sofa to be folded they were gone.  I even set the 3 aside for a couple of loads because I figured their matches were a load or so behind from the shifting piles in the hall.  So it was with mixed emotions that I threw that last load in, which are jeans and not socks, and saw the 4 little socks in the basket.  Relief and elation that I had reached the bottom before Saturday morning.  Dismay at the very sad fact is that the 4 socks in the basket are all white, no-show socks... Ethan's.  Not a navy, gray or brown girl's trouser sock in sight. 

Someday, when we rip up the concrete flooring or dismantle a wall we're going to find a sock-monster colony wallpapered with mine and Grace's socks.  They only seem to take ours... perhaps because they're pink or have flowers...  probably because they don't have holes in the toes from nasty, uncut, unpainted toenails or smell like old gym lockers or permanently brown from splashing through mud puddles and football fields.

We've lived here almost 12 years and you would think with all the missing socks stashed away somewhere my heating bill would be seriously impacted in a positive way.  All that cotton and wool... it should be like living in a knitting stash. 

It has occurred to me that I just might be clinging to my hope of finding my socks a little too desperately... I feel rather like the ant and the rubber tree plant, but I have to be honest, I'm starting to think I'm never going to see my cute little navy blue socks with the blue flowers again.

Daylights Savings Time

I don't know how, I don't know why, and I don't know who so it must be Daylight Savings Time.  It's the only answer really.  Or at least the only one that gives me hope that this last weekend has been a once-a-year occurrence and can't be repeated, or at least not all at the same time.

This weekend started pretty well... with the exception of my nagging bronchial cough that just won't go away or get better (despite antibiotics and repeated hits on my inhaler) everyone seems to have recovered from the viruses that have been ripping through here.  The weather even warmed up and I threw open all the windows and doors in the hopes that fresh air would help the clorox/lysol saturated surfaces to throw off any lingering germs.  Friday was shaping up to a pretty good weekend...

Then Saturday hit.  Not really Saturday morning, because that was pretty good, but Saturday afternoon.   Wow! 

I screwed up the times for Austin's Destination Imagination practice.  That wouldn't have been so bad, considering this leader has changed the schedule no less than 4 times and the emails are starting to cross over each other, but with his illness he'd already missed 2 and his competition is next weekend.  Fortunately the leader called to check on him when he didn't show up, so he shoved his sandwich down his throat while Mark ran him out the door.

The washing machine, who had also slept in with me, starting pouring water on the floor.  Not a good sign.  So when Mark got back he grabbed the toolbox, Ethan, and the snake.  That should have worked, but it didn't.  So he headed across the street where our neighbor works for one of those companies like Roto-Rooter that does this for a living.  His wife assured us he would be home "early" and he would come over with his machine before they left the weekend and invited Grace over for a playdate.  Great on both counts!

Unable to wash clothes, I headed for Grace's room armed with garbage bags.  Grace recently got a twin bed which takes up much more room than her old junior bed and so a little deep cleaning and reorganizing was in order.  3 hours later.... oh my gosh, no wonder her room was never clean lately.  Grace back home and in love with her spic-n-span clean room went in and closed the door. 

Somewhere around 8 pm we realized that neighbor was not coming home any time soon or even close to what would be considered "early" and laundry was going to have to wait until Sunday afternoon.  Now, I'm not complaining, really, but 6 people, 4 of whom are men, 1 little girl and 1 woman with "work clothes", a flooded floor, and a 14-year-old who went out to "clean the yard" of winter's debris which apparently meant "shove your first down as far into the mud as it can go to see how deep it is" and there is a lot of laundry piling up.  Those of us who had hung our towel after the last shower were in good stead, the rest, not so much.  The hallway had about 12 semi-orderly (depending on when you walked by) piles of laundry color-coded and in priority order.

Scattered throughout this weekend was my oldest son's, Ethan, physics project the infamous and notorious "spaghetti bridge" for which we have cleaned off the dining room table and are eating off of t.v. trays.  We have hot glued, white glued, elmers glued, I think we've even gorilla glued, cooked and dried, twist-tied and rubber banded almost a box of spaghetti.  Ethan's eaten about ¼ box of raw spaghetti and the only thing we have to show for it is 1 long bundle that probably wouldn't hold up a cheerio.  At intermittent moments throughout the weekend I caught Ethan, sitting perplexed, head on hand, staring at the spaghetti and chomping. 

Today is Monday and we're still suffering the aftershocks... The washing machine has been band-aided until the neighbor can get over and I stayed up until 2 AM washing about 9 loads before I crashed.  There's still about 5 to go.  The spaghetti is still sitting right where it was and there is not a bridge in sight.  Half the children overslept, the other half grumbled and growled their way out the door.  Sweatshirts worn every day have been "misplaced", everything is soaked from 3 days of persistent rain, and it's Monday morning.  Sitting down at my desk I opened my email and discovered that my catalog that I thought was ready for the printer, needs margin adjustments - on all 272 pages!

Yep, it's got to be...Daylight Savings Time.

The only good thing?  We all get to go home that hour early.

Youth is wasted on the young

So where have I been lately... well I've been sitting in quite a few doctor's offices the last 2 weeks...

Visit 1 - With oldest son, Ethan, with whom I have to admit I have not darkened the examining room door now for about 4 years.  We're still working on that whole military thing and with the deadline looming I've been a little hectic trying to obtain a resolution of the whole "asthma" thing.  Days of calls, emails and voicemails led to a visit at his GP who, surprisingly, couldn't see Ethan without me present.  Go figure.  Of course they didn't mention that until he had been sitting in the room for 10 minutes.  I, meanwhile, was over at the school picking up another child, Mark was at Cub Scouts with another child, and the 4th was in the back seat calmly sucking on a peppermint, when I received the panicked call that if I wasn't there in less than 5 minutes they would give his coveted and hard-won appointment away.  Kidding right?  No, apparently not.  I asked for the nurse to plead my case that child #2 was on his way out and I was only 1 mile away but no, I was informed we were down to 3 minutes and counting.  I prayed Kel wasn't at the door watching me leave, called Mark to re-route him to the school, and flew across town to Ethan's side, Grace in tow.  Where.... we waited.. and waited.. and waited. 

Visit 2 - (because the GP couldn't figure out why for the life of him we were there since he's never treated Ethan for asthma (and frankly no-one has since he was 4) but we all agreed that he needs to see a specialist.  Why I had to be there for this decision, why Ethan even had to be there for this decision, why this couldn't have been handled over the phone, is anyone's guess but I'm thinking it probably had something to do with the credit card I handed to the lady behind the window.)  Another 2 days of frantic calls to specialists, specialty labs, more pleading, more begging landed us an appointment with a pediatric pulmonologist who was double booked but was very understanding and compassionate.  At this point I've decided the deadline is too close, the stakes too high and I'm going everywhere with this kid of mine so when those really strange medical history questions come up we can just cut straight to the chase. (fortunately it was a pulmonologist so the only article of clothing that came off was his shoes (note:  buy Ethan shoes, apparently the "cool" jeans hang so low I couldn't see the "faves" Converse Hi-Tops are more hole than sole)

Visit 3 - Eye doctor - for the 6th pair of glasses this year for Austin.  Of course the warranty ran out 2 weeks ago.  Naturally.  But I really did like the eye doctor... he had a great sense of humor!  During one of Austin's rants about the difficulties of life at the advanced age of 9 he turned to me, smiled and said something my grandmother used to say  "Youth is wasted on the young."

Visit 4 - New child, Grace this time, with her annual double-ear infection and "blisters" on an ear drum.  Yes!  I did say that!  Blisters!  I can see the Mother-of-the-Year award is gonna be mine again.  For my defense, it was Saturday when it started, and she was on ibuprofen, claritin and mucinex with a mentholyptus-hazed bedroom and she really only cried for that 1-hour at WalMart Saturday, and the doctor did say the blisters sometimes just happen and aren't related to severity.  Still feel like a heel though. 

So what did I learn (if anything).  I miss the little ones.  Ethan's specialist office was papered in Pooh and Piglet with children's magazines and puzzles.  Neither room we were led to had the little baby examining table.   There weren't any adorable, chubby-cheeked toddlers hanging out in the waiting rooms.  Grace gave one disdainful glance at the stool and climbed up on the examining table herself.  And I miss the days.  The smells of sweet baby cheeks and thigh rolls you just want to eat and tummies to blow on (although Grace does still let me get tummy sugar).  Just for the record, I do NOT miss the diapers.  And it's not even that I want another one, because I really and truly don't.  But it occurred to me that my baby is almost a man and my youngest is a big girl, they don't need step-stools and wrinkle their noses at Pooh, and school is a tragedy, and for a moment... it was just nostalgically sad. 

I love Pooh....

Monkeys names...

 and monkey's faces, often seen in public places...

So, I've been on Facebook now for about 6 months and, I have to be honest, I haven't gone there in 6 months. 

It started as a way to reach my darling nieces whose emails I didn't have and whose mother didn't either.  I thought... "Hey!  I'll try them on Facebook!"  And the darling things "friended" me.  Of course, as a "facebook friend" I have been terribly neglectful.  I never write, I never check, I never drop in unannounced and I didn't tell my husband I was out there.  Not that there was much to tell, until today it was literally just my name. 

But he found Facebook, all on his own, just this week.  Then he started pestering me to join and I had to admit I already had, months ago.  It didn't take him long to wade through the 500+ me's out there and "friend" me.

Work was very slow today... the catalog is being reviewed, the printers are quoting, my boss was in New York driving through a snow storm, the phones were down at the office, and it was Friday after all (I even wore jeans!) So I got my chocolate chip bagel, my French Vanilla cappucino and setled down to figure out Facebook.  And how cool is it?

Very cool! 

I haven't figured it all out yet, but I've found 2 nieces, 1 sister-in-law, a number of other people I really don't want to reconnect with, received a heart, uploaded images, received a "gift" and the frosting on the cake?  I found my best friend from elementary school whom I haven't seen since, well, elementary school.

Yippee!  Catch me there, if you can.

Just another word for cheating?

Okay,

I admit to naivete, inexperience, and all that stuff when it comes to this whole "print management" thing I'm now found myself responsible for.  But, for the life of me some of the questions I'm fielding from potential vendors completely go beyond what I would consider sane reasoning. 

For example,

"What is your % allowance for overs/unders, if any?"

Does anyone know... is this a legitimate question?  I mean, from my standpoint, if I order X number of products then I want X number of products.  I'm willing to wait for back-ordered items, but seriously, if I order 40,000 then is 1% discrepancy okay, because that's like 400 pieces, and at $1.50/piece that's a shortage of $600 we've been overcharged.  And heaven help us if we allow 3%, 5% or 10%, I don't even want to do the math.  Is this normal?  Is it normal for vendors to only supply what they decide and not what they are under contract for? 

Can I decide to only pay 98% of my gas bill and still realistically expect the gas company not to arrive in my driveway one dark, cold morning and shut me off.  Can I buy 13 lemons but only pay for 12 and not have the cashier stare at me like I've sprouted horns?  If I worked 40 hours a week but my company only decided to pay me for 39 would I acquiesce and drive quietly home without a word.  I don't think so.

Are they serious?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I took a chance, dropped an email to the marketing person who was actually, surprisingly, in a cooperative and informative mood... and guess what... I got an answer and it actually makes sense.

Almost always in a job this big, you'll allow for a percent over (I've never heard about under) .  The reason is that it's a very large job.  They'll run the printing in signatures of 16 pages. So a signature prints on the web press, the next signature prints after it, and the next signatures after that.  All of the signatures have to add up so the numbers of each that have been printed match - which they never will because the press is running at very high speeds. Because of the nature of the job, the printer has waste - planned waste because they have to give you 40,000 perfect copies if that is what you ordered.  The signatures come together as a book when they run through a collator, get trimmed and cut to the proper page size, and go through a perfect binder process that glues the book together with the cover on. After that, they go through a separate process to drill the holes.  So in all that process, the printer has to overrun the each signature printed as well as the cover to ensure you get 40,000 copies after the entire process.  If there are problems in the collation or binding, those copies get thrown out.  Even the collating and binding process runs at extremely high speeds, so there is no way the the equipment shuts down perfectly to count.  And of course they may have to trash copies if there is a problem in drilling. 

 

So, when they ask about overrun, they're asking what percentage over the quantity you order that you will accept.  If you don't allow for that, they will throw out perfect books.  The reason to allow a percentage of overrun is because it is cheap insurance to have the extra books.  The difference between 40,000 copies and 44,000 copies is very small compared with the whole job.  This is because the great bulk of the cost of a job of this size is the cost to get it on the press.  By the time you print 40,000 copies, the other 4,000 copies are only the cost of the paper and the ink. You've already paid the cost to get it on the press - get the printing machines and the bindery machines running.  The thing I think you will see on the cost quotes is that you never want to put this job back on the press because you miscalculated the quantity for the initial order (which is always a complete crap shoot anyway).  The cost to reprint is outrageous.  I think I have always let them have a 10% over in the quote.

I hope this gives you enough background to look at the quantities you're having quoted and decide what makes sense on the over percentage.

 

If you have any other questions, please let me know.

See, I am learning! 

 

To recap, yes under prints are insane and not to be accepted, over prints are acceptable.  Just like overtime.  I love overtime.  Don't see it much, but I think it's always easier to stay an extra 30 minutes a day than to go to work an extra day, like Saturday mornings.  Yuck.

 

Check out Jo-Lynne and the other bloggers to see what they're learning this week on her Carnival at Musingsofahousewife.