Stink didn’t get into Catholic school. “He doesn’t hold his pencil correctly,” I was told by the principal. I looked at the Jesus statue above her head, his hands all folded into prayer, and I swear I saw his middle finger go up at her.
Cut to five years later and yesterday’s post. I am BEYOND grateful to have my son at a school where he’s nurtured academically and developmentally. There is zero judgement. They go above and beyond to work with where we are at. They find him to be a riot – in a good way. His handwriting is still more atrocious than a serial killer on crack, but they foster what is important: He loves writing and reading. A few tics? Meh. No biggy. They support him. And, well, they support me.
Take this letter I just sent off to the principal. Where else, but my kid’s wonderful public charter school, could I just be myself and state it the way it is.
Hi Principal Kris –
Sorry for being out of it this morning. Stink is on a trial medication study and it’s really affected him so poorly. I’m pretty upset about it. Either it’s the placebo which, giving a kid who tics 10 grams of a sugar pill/day is pretty stupid, or it’s the meds. Either way, his tics are through the roof –insane even for him – and his focus is abysmal. So now I’m taking my kid every week to UCLA to increase duck quacking sounds and have him sent to the office for being more unfocused than a drunk sorority girl at an archery match on doobage.
That’s my rant for the day. I hate everyone.
Are you all happy with your kid’s school?
Chin up, people! It’s going to be okay! (As I tell myself while I down my third cup of Yuban which, if you think about my frazzled premenstrual nerves, is about as dumbass as thinking my pink umbrella toting artist ticker was going to make it through 8 years of parochial school.)
As I tell my kids when I’m mad I can’t think straight and am trying to hold it together, HAVE A NICE DAY!
* Photo of Stink with his steady companion, Z. As of two weeks ago, they plan on going to highschool together and continuing their sleep over traditions. Um, not so much.