Feisty

It's been a month of flu for all of us.

As I write, Son#2 is on Virus#2 (or #3 or #4, not sure anymore), and a 39 degree fever.

No school for him today.

I'm still snot-snotting through my own phletora of flu bugs.

I've taken steps to enrol Son#1 in a Rudolf Steiner school where he'll get the opportunity to mature a lot more before the Dutch school system decides his future.

We need the cooperation of his current school, and I don't like that part of relinquishing influence and control.

Let's just cross fingers and see how it goes.

Last night, the husband and I went to Son#3's musical which was held in the little Protestant church on our street.

A boy sitting next to him said something to make Son#3 cry a bit during the show.

During last week's parent-teacher meeting, I heard that Son#3 is getting bullied a bit.

One of the bullies was the boy sitting next to him.

For all his cleverness, kindness and humour, Son#3 is a very fragile soul.

Luckily we're back to summer time.

Outside my study window, the pear tree is just about to burst into bloom.

Everything grows and renews itself.

Even the munched-down box hedges that were attacked by the horrid European box tree moth plague in the summer.

We've organized a home exchange with someone in the South of France for the last week in April. 

It will be our first break since the summer last year.

Just 4 weeks and we're off.

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When you're weary, feeling small

Son#1 is struggling at school.

When a sky-high IQ, ADHD and performance don't go together, schools drop you like a hot cake.

This past week was ridiculous.

A test every day.

Plus homework.

He did poorly, poor thing.

His (Dalton) school was a poor choice.

The meeting with his teacher was what we expected:

Thou shalt perform, or get sequestered to the lower grades.

In other words: Son#1 will do work far below his level, mixed with kids that don't match his intelligence.

Where do you then dig up hope and stimulation to feel motivated?

The husband and I both work.

We cannot guide him in all his many school projects and tests.
And when you know that 30-60% of highly gifted kids never finish school, you worry.

Meanwhile, I'm so tired that I can't bring myself to do anything.

Laundry shmaundry.

Studies - pah, for idiots.

Just give me sleep, a million bucks and a year in Spain.

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African childhood

My brother, my cousin, and I.

In the subtropics, where you grow up in the swimming pool and Santa Clause wears shorts.

Squish over to early middle age where one gets ZERO attention from the opposite sex anymore and one lives in a freezer.

The corners of my mouth are turning down, like I smell something distasteful.

Mmmmmm.

I had to pick sick  Son#3 up from school early.

I fed him oreos while we snoozed on the couch.

Tomorrow the cleaner may or may not show up, 

we just don't know.

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Just soar

We are all busy - too busy if you ask me.

Poor Son#1 went from no homework to writing 5 tests a week, some of them covering a whopping 9 chapters.

Plus homework on top of that.

Just to put it into perspective: he is 12.

How on earth learning is supposed to be fun this way is beyond my scope of comprehension.

It slobbers and gobbles up our lives, having to stay home and study every single weekend.

There is my work, the husband's work, Son#2's homework, music lessons, medical appointments, my studies and an inability to stay upright after 7 p.m.

One can't get much done lying down, so my window of activity is tiny.

Son#2 and I go to bed together every night, until the husband picks him up and carries him to bed. 

I spoke to my mum and we talked about obstacles & how I keep thwarting my own success.

I seem to always trip myself up.

I'm listening, mother dearest.

Shake off the shite.
Love yourself a little.
Don't be afraid.

Just soar.


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