Today we had a meeting at Geoff's school. He wrote an essay, tongue in cheek, satirical, meant not to be taken seriously, that was taken very very seriously, and I mean... very.
I won't repost the essay here, though tempted I am, because I do not wish to get into some heated debate with a reader who doesn't know my kid is kidding and thinks we should institutionalize him. I'm fighting a battle right now on the administrative front to make sure that he isn't suspended or expelled or punished.
But I've said it before and I'll say it again -- Jonathan Swift would have been sent to the principal's office for "A Modest Proposal" had he written it at age 15. And Doug said, no one should listen to 15 year olds, ever. That's how the Salem Witch Trials got started, because someone took a 15 year old seriously.
We laugh, we joke, it's how we cope.
Anyway -- the meeting went well, the people we WANTED at the meeting were not there, much to my disappointment and actually my anger. The people who WERE there were already on our page, and we were singing the same song, chanting the same chant... it was a good meeting but I just feel like this isn't over yet, we'll get another call that the people who weren't there now want to take things a step further and at that point I may just get all Momma Bear on them. We'll see. We'll see.
Doug and I got home, and I loaded the dishwasher, he poured a cuppa, and we chatted for a few minutes while he figured out what time the train was that he wanted to take. He left, and I cleaned the kitchen sink, went upstairs to check the virus scan on the computer (Geoff had told me the internet wouldn't run for him, that he was getting all these pop-ups that said he had to click here with a master card to clear the viruses... we had a talk about that ... he went to school and the scan was still running when we got back. Three viruses later, I think we're all set. I decide to head to work, feeling marginally not late at all...
and cannot find the car keys.
I look in all the places Doug puts them when he comes home and they are not there.
The phone rings. It is Doug. He's on the train. He has my keys.
He offered to get off the train at the next stop, come home, and work from here but I told him to keep going. it would be silly to do that. But I loved him so much for suggesting it. He felt badly, but what can ya do, kid. I emailed my supervisor to let her know and she was alright with that...
so at 9:30am, I have a day to myself. Something I haven't had for many weeks. I folded laundry. I started laundry. I evaluated the disaster that is the study where Geoff basically hangs out all day and Doug works on Thursdays. I may have to go up there next and tackle it.
I looked out in the yard at all the leaf raking that needs to be done and will pay Geoff to do that.
But right now, I have a cuppa. My feet are up. The dogs are surrounding me. And I may not be dancing on a float in the middle of a parade, or usurping the restaurant reservations of one Abe Frohman, Sausage King of Chicago, but I'm smelling the roses in my own special way and loving it.
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