her able hands

Living here in this house must have been the dam in the river of life for us, because now that we’ve taken the action to move, the dam seems to have split apart, and the currents are swirling almost too fast for us to keep up.

We’ll start moving things over on Friday, but we’re only about 1/3 of the way packed. Trying to figure out how to juggle all of the different balls has turned into a logistical nightmare. I’m living by the grace of a very long list. Every day I end up driving into town to get rid of bags of things we’re purging. Sorry about that bag on the porch at the thrift store and the overstuffed donation box on Sunday, I tried to get that last one in there, but it wouldn’t fit. I promise it was some good stuff!

In between these thrift/dump runs, and Tylers’ classes, and packing, and doing 432 loads of laundry, and meal prep, and taking care of the animals, and playing with the kids, and the 25 phone calls a day, and planning for a few other big things that are coming down the pike, I’ve squeezed in hours to get things planted in the in-laws’ back yard. My head is spinning, and I feel like a crazy person who wants to kick everybody in the balls. Just because. Can somebody please come out here with a dozen bales of straw to mulch up the rows of fast-growing potatoes? The weeds are starting to catch up with the plants, and I just stand at the kitchen sink and look out at the rows turning green and think, “Huh. Wonder whose dumbass, big idea it was to plant potatoes in the middle of a MOVE? Furktard.”

We showed the house on Saturday to a couple with a ten-year-old son. They seemed interested, are looking for a property about this size, in this area, with an outbuilding so they can have horses. Check, check, and check. BUT! The backyard neighbors’ 22 dogs were out and barking while we showed. Yapping. Incessantly. The father asked in a pointed way if those dogs yap like that all the time. What to say? I mean, it’s the country. A lot of people breed dogs around here. There are three kennels within hearing distance. Collies out back. Hounds on the other side in back. Bird dogs across the road. Dogs bark. All the time. Just like they are right now as I sit here typing, trying to enjoy my morning cuppa and the sweet, sunny breeze coming in the sliding doors. Except I can’t. Because of the yapping of 22 Border Collies who are desperate for a job on a farm with some animals to herd instead of wearing a 3′ deep trench in their pen as they run back and forth screaming at each other and anything that moves. So I had to close the door, lest I break my vow of neighborly kindness and hang my head over the deck railing to yell, “Shut those furking dogs the flippity-flapping-fluuurrrk UP!”

So I doubt we’ll be getting an offer from that family.

In other news, our homeschooling year is pretty much finished, and last week we registered Tyler for 8th grade at the junior high in Kent. His relief is palpable. As is mine. I’ll write more about my feelings on homeschooling later.

It’s a big school, made intimate and manageable by the use of pods, so he’ll spend most of his day with a smaller group of kids and a team of teachers in a wing of the school. He can join the drama club, which he is itching to start. I know we’re welcoming a host of problems and issues back into our lives, but neither of us feels as committed to making homeschooling work as we should. We’re both ready for him to answer to somebody else, his resistance to answering to me, and his apparent lack of desire to learn to answer to himself have worn us both down to the point of giving up. His need to be around people all the flipping day is more than I can provide, me with my need to be away from people for at least part of every day.

He has some lofty goals for high school, and having a solid transcript for 8th grade should help him achieve those goals. If he is willing to do the other work necessary to make it happen. We shall see. As with all of it, I can only encourage and make things available. He’s got to take responsibility for his own learning, and for building the portfolio of visual art work needed for the audition process next year. I’ll look forward to meeting with the jr. high art teacher to talk about that in the fall.

The registration process was interesting. They wanted to do an academic assessment on him because he’d been out of the system for two years. He tested in the high 90’s (whatever that means, I have no trust in standardized tests.) At first the counselor wanted to do an ability assessment to follow up with the academic one to see if he would be better suited to the gifted and talented program, but we talked her out of that. Let the kid get into the routine, let him just have a normal school life for his first year instead of being pulled out of classes all the time to go do something different. We all felt good about that decision in the end.

The school decision seems to have opened up some energy in the work arena for me, and I’m actively pursuing the possibility of a full-time job. It’s a project manager for a major toy manufacturers’ graphic design department. Free onsite daycare (that I’ve heard is outstanding) kind of makes it a no-brainer. As does the copywriting aspect of the position. Part of me wants to weep at the idea of doing the daily grind again, of not being at home to garden and blog at will. Kiss the market garden goodbye for now. But most of me loves the idea of earning some substantial money again, helping us get out of debt, and forcing the family into a real routine where we have to make time to do the things we love and work with each other to make sure everybody gets their needs met. It would mean a new regime if I go to work fulltime. Schedules! Routines! Jobs! Oh, my!

Money. That’d be something.

Technorati Tags: moving, thrift, neighbors, Dogs, homeschooling, school, standardized tests, full-time job, money

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