I'm sure this will come as a complete shock to anyone who's been reading here for longer than a day or two, but Monkey has a small group of friends with whom he gathers every few weeks to play Dungeons & Dragons. This band of merry nerdlings is made up of the nicest kids imaginable with even kinder parents, and we especially appreciate having this group now that some of us are no longer at Hippie School. With Monkey truly homeschooling most of the time this year, every get-out-and-be-social opportunity is even more important for him more than ever before. And he just really loves D&D and...
I'll be headed into our first special education meeting of the season later this week, and it should be a real doozy. Chickadee's guidance counselor has been changed, since last year, and she has a new diagnosis, and we want some additional testing, and... well, you know I always make cookies, but I think I'd better be certain to make REALLY GOOD COOKIES for this one. I pull no punches when it comes to dealing with the school. Five minutes after meeting the new guidance counselor, I was saying, "Look, I'm going to be a pain in your ass. I know this and I'm telling you. I'm here to advocate...
Last night at dinner, the following conversation occurred. Otto: How was your day at school? Chickadee: Terrible. Otto: Really? Chickadee: No. Just messing with you. Otto: And how was YOUR day at school? Monkey: It was good. How was YOUR day at school? Otto: It went well. Thank you. *here there was a pause, as everyone turned to look at me* Otto: Do you feel left out? Me: A little! Of course, Monkey's "day at school" yesterday was on the computer, but today, EVERYONE WENT TO SCHOOL. I've been alone all day and it's rather glorious. (I'm hoping the new co-op goes well for Monkey, as I'll be...
I made the homeschooling child get up early and put on shoes, much to his chagrin. Chickadee was already up, maybe a little nervous, maybe a little excited, but saving us from the "I'm NOT A MORNING PERSON!" slog for this first day back, at least. It's the first day of 10th grade, and---as the saying goes---what a difference a year makes. Thank God. For those paying close attention, you may note that this year, Monkey's shoes are slightly larger than Chickadee's. Next year when we do first-day-of-school pictures, I think he'll be taller than her, too. I've been telling her for years to enjoy...
Today is the first day of Monkey's last year of middle school, such as it is. ("Such as it is" because homeschooling does not include the typical hallmarks of those hallowed middle years such as gum on the underside of your desk, stolen lunch money, and being knocked into the lockers every so often.) This is a sacred and serious occasion, which we are marking by... ummmm... well, I should probably wake him up and then figure that out. I am TOTALLY on top of things, as you can see. His online classes "open" today, and then our new homeschooling co-op starts next week, and everything feels...
... but school starts next week. I mean, that should be illegal, right? Monkey is embarking on his last year of middle school (!!!) and Chickadee will be a sophomore at the high school. I... may need a moment here. It never seems to matter that I've been with them for their whole lives, the fact that they're lurching towards adulthood always surprises me. Like, isn't he just four or five? And she's only seven or eight, I swear. Anyway. The back-to-school dance feels a little more serious this year, so of course I wrote about it for Alpha Mom. We have some big decisions to make, soon. And...
I went through a long (longer than I will admit) period of time when the phrase "all kids do that" made me furious. Irrationally, completely, insanely full of RAGE. It seems to be used, most often, for someone to dismiss a special need or parenting concern with a not-so-subtle overtone of "you're overreacting." To be fair, I think many purveyors of this dreaded phrase are trying to be... comforting? Supportive? It isn't always meant as "calm down, crazypants." Sometimes it's meant as a kind of solidarity or empathy, a sort of "I feel you," albeit one that rings hollow because they don't, not...
I'm sure this is going to come as a shock to some of you, and I hope it's not too devastating, but... I don't think either of my kids are going to end up at the Olympics. Or getting sports scholarships to college. Weird, right? I mean, I myself am so very athletic... in my mind.... For years I assumed my sports aversion was a (non-genetic!) quirk of mine and tried to help them find their sports. Acceptance came when I made my peace with the fact that I absolutely do want them to have team experiences, and I want them to get exercise, but those two things don't necessarily have to go together...
So the supplies were gathered up, the trailer packed, and this is the part where I would normally conclude "and we were off in a cloud of dust," except it has been so rainy that there is no dust. We were off in a cloud of mud? Mud doesn't really cloud. We were off in the splash of a puddle? That sort of works. We packed up and left, is the point. Because why sit around at home when you could sit around in a forest and be eaten by bugs? [Fun storm fact: Right before we left, the monotony of regular thunderstorm after regular thunderstorm was broken up by ye olde BIG ASS THUNDERSTORM FLASH...
