Tuesday, April 29, 2014

A Quick Post



 From my FB page:  I've been kind of quiet on the blog front lately - too much to do, and too much to process, and now some behinds to kick. The school appears to be dragging their feet over starting any kind of tutoring or homebound ed for SG. In fact, I have heard precisely NOTHING by phone or email from them since the day of the last incident where I brought SG home. I spoke with one administrator, who was trying to connect with two other administrators to discuss their plan of action, and that was a week ago. She was nice and said she'd call me, but so far no communication AT ALL. I've collected some work for SG from his teachers on my own (and the teachers did not know that I had him at home and that homebound ed had been requested by his doctor, so the admins hadn't passed on ANY information to his teachers). I'm pretty disappointed (to say the least). Time to rattle some cages.


And from my own scattered brain:  We're just about ready to have the realtor come check out if our house is "staged" well enough to photograph.  I just finished painting the kids' bathroom.  This past week has also seen yard work, totally cleaning and rearranging the basement, painting the deck, and general cleaning and sprucing up all over the house.  Room by room, we're just about there.  No word on the job I applied for (which inclines me to think I won't get it).  I'm subbing regularly, running the kids to counseling and activities, and trying not to lose the few marbles I feel like I've still got.

Hoping for some movement in some direction soon - job OR home OR school, or all of the above. . . .

Friday, April 18, 2014

Stop The World, I Want To Get Off


It's been a very up and down week, and if I balance out the pluses and minuses, I still find myself struggling with discouragement.

Safety Guy was hit at school again last week, punched several times in the head by someone he's had difficulty with all year.  I won't go into the details; suffice it to say that we are DONE with this district.  When I picked up our son that morning after the incident, I had him clean out his locker.  I had him checked out by a doctor (no concussion this time, thankfully), and spoke with the police to see if we should file a formal report, but since the injury was minor, they could only charge the other student with harassment, and the officer said even that wouldn't be likely to stick in juvenile court.

After talking it over with our son's pediatrician and his therapist, we decided to request home instruction for him for the rest of the year, since he'd be extremely likely to be bullied further if he returns to school.  This time he refused to hit back at the other student; next time he probably would hit back, and so be in even more trouble himself.  He has NO confidence in the adults around him at school, believing that they cannot or will not stand up for him and keep the antagonists off his back.  It's a sad situation when your son not only doesn't feel safe at school, but is reluctant to even walk around our small town because he could meet the other students who have picked on him.  

His pediatrician and his therapist are both appalled that this is still going on, and both wrote letters recommending that our son be instructed at home for the last 8 weeks of school; the doctor's letter carries the force of a prescription, so hopefully the school won't play any more games with us.  I just sent the letters (with a cover letter of my own) to the school today, by certified mail.  It's spring break, so we couldn't get the letters to them sooner - no one was in the high school to receive them this week.  I will be so glad when we're in a new school district.  I hope from the bottom of my heart that it's a fresh start and a better situation for Safety Guy.

The past 8 days have also seen two visits from a realtor (we like him, and we need to have the house staged and ready to photograph in 2 weeks), and a job interview for myself (yesterday, which went quite well, and I'll find out in a week or so if I get the job).  I have no idea how the next few months will play out, between putting the house on the market, looking for a rental, either starting a new job (I hope) or continuing to look for work (not a happy prospect), and organizing home instruction for our son through mid-June.  

In the middle of all this, the Princess had a state Horse Bowl competition last weekend, where her team placed first, and she was in the top 20 statewide.  She qualified for the invitational Horse Bowl event at the NY State Fair in August.  She's so proud of herself, and we're very proud of her too.

But it's a lot to process all at once lately, good and not so good.  It's like spinning plates in a circus act, and I don't like the feeling that I'm waiting for something to get totally unbalanced and crash to the floor in pieces.  My brain hurts; my spirit is sore; my patience is thin.  I'd like run away and hide from the world for a while.

I'm pushing on, because I don't have a choice, but I'm having a down day today, which I'm trying to overcome by remembering that it is Good Friday, and there is Hope.  Trials happen; painful times come and go; stress is a part of living.  But we are not alone or forsaken.  There will be better days ahead.  So I choose hope.


Monday, April 7, 2014

Hope Springs. . . .



-  first shoots of green grass in the ditches along the thruway

-  applying for jobs even when it seems like most applications just go into a black hole

-  cleaning the house (again/still/always) to show it to a realtor later this week

-  talking to a discouraged student last week, and hoping I made his burden a little less heavy

-  watching my daughter do what she loves (ride horses)

-  walking along the canal trail with my son, talking cars and looking for wildlife and signs of spring 

-  laying with my fluffy cat in a sunbeam, listening to her purr

-  sprucing up old furniture to give it a new lease on life

-  the ice on Oneida Lake is finally breaking up

-  flocks of robins looking for last year's berries and this year's worms

-  a bald eagle flying low over our car on the way home yesterday

-  spending time with my sister most nights (virtually - thank goodness for FB IM)

-  whittling my priorities into shape, and my expectations down to size

-  sharing a big anniversary and a handful of birthdays in one big family bash this weekend

-  melt water roaring over Hector Falls

-  rain (instead of snow)

-  green sprouts of daylilies in the garden

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Moving Blues and Walking On


I don't remember struggling with moving like this before I had kids.  I moved quite a few times in my teens and twenties, what with back and forth to college, my first apartment and job away from home after college, moving back to my home town and working, then moving back in with my parents when I went to grad school.  After that, I got married, and we had our first and second apartments.  No big deal, really (although moving home with my parents as a twenty-something was difficult in its own way - a temporary step back on the way forward).

Then we bought a house.  And had kids.

We were lucky - we got to stay in that first house for 12 years.  That's a long time, longer than I've lived anywhere else, ever, in my entire life, when I really think about it.  No wonder it was hard to leave that house, let alone under the circumstances of a layoff.  The move wasn't our choice; it was by necessity, to follow my husband's job.  It all worked out for good in the end, but that move was many shades of hell, for many reasons.  I've had nightmares about moving whenever I get too stressed ever since then.  (I had one last night, the first in quite a while.)

We've been in this house for about 5 years.  Once again, it's time to move, under circumstances that I never thought I'd face.  But even though we initiated this process because of our marital issues, we came to the realization last fall that we would have been doing this move even if we were still together, in order to get our kids into a better school district.  It's our choice to move now, for the good of our family; I'm not blaming anyone.  But it's still got me down this week.

Some people can move as easily as changing outfits.  The living space itself doesn't mean that much to them - it's merely a vehicle for their lives.  Some of us, though, get attached to a place, and try to put down roots.  That makes it a bit harder to pick up and move, even for very good reasons.  I'm trying to look at this in the most positive light I can, and I can see the positives, but I'm still sad and discombobulated over the process.  I'd forgotten (selective memory?) what a pain looking for a rental can be, and what a hassle  it is preparing a house to show.  And packing, cleaning, packing, sorting, packing, donating, packing. It's all coming back now, believe me!  

But wherever I go, there He is.  Whatever rentals are available at the time I'm looking, He's curated as a selection for me.  When the time is right, I'll find the right place.  I need to learn to wait patiently.  (Waiting happens to everyone; waiting patiently is a bit harder work for me.)  I'm both taking control of my life, and letting go.  It's like walking a tightrope - a fine balance, trusting the thin wire of my faith to help me navigate over my circumstances, and keeping my own perspective on what I have control over and what I cannot control at all.

Have you ever seen tight rope walkers cross major chasms, or gaps between buildings?  They make it look too darn easy.  But have you ever watched them set up their wire?  They are meticulous in securing it at both ends, and checking its integrity, and inspecting it for flaws or weak spots.  They prepare, they have reliable help, they practice and mentally focus.  They check and double check.  And in the end, they trust their lives to the wire.  So it is with our faith.  I've prepared as best I can, but in the end, who am I trusting?  My balance?  (Ha - anyone who knows me knows I don't have great physical balance, so I find that image truly funny, me on a tightrope.)  No, I trust the One who holds me up, and who will be there to catch me if (when? - there's often a when) I fall.  

Walk on. . . .