|
My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
|
7:49 p.m. - 2011-05-11
Wolf is flattered and said to thank you all for the congrats and good wishes. Having grown up on Mom's blog he's not foshed at all to get such love and friendship from my pixel pals. (Just think! When I started blogging at D-land Wolf was a 3 year old who had just transitioned out of a crib into a toddler bed and now he's going to be a freshman in high school!) I thank you guys too. It means a lot to me to have you join our happiness. So. As you already know, the meeting was a success. Actually the district was extremely accommodating. The current director of special ed services has completely turned things around at Podunkville. I give her a lot of credit, this was NOT a district that looked kindly at students who might lower the grade curve. With Ms H's help Podunkville CSD finally understands kids on the autism spectrum are going to happen, yes, even amongst the WASPs. Nice teeth and an Ivy League diploma aren't going to protect you from Asperger's. The district couldn't just keep dumping them somewhere else either, there's too many kids like Wolf. Good kids, wired differently and often tough to fit into the traditional classroom structure, but just kids nonetheless and entitled to an education just as much as Chip Abercrombe-Fitch the Fourth and Muffy with the trust-fund and her own horse. As much as Podunkville's administration (and even more so, the PTA) liked to pretend they were a posh prep school with only day students and no uniforms, it is a public school and everybody gets to go there. Even the 'different' kids. Now we just have to get through the rest of 8th grade. No easy task, Wolf is really, really, really ready to get gone. Not that I blame him, frankly 8th grade sucks no matter where you attend school. Today was interesting in a different way. I became an official member of the sandwich generation- still raising kids and now taking over the care of elderly parents too. My darling MIL has made a sudden lurch into being an old lady. She's distracted and increasingly timid about trying new things or even keeping up with things she took in stride before. I know taking care of FIL is tough on her. His dementia is still relatively mild, but he can be a big pain in the ass and temperish as a toddler. Plus he's no company whatsoever, outside of tantrums he doesn't say anything. I swear! He just sits and stares into space all the time. But even without the burden of FIL's junk, MIL has become dithery. Tiny changes or decisions throw her for a loop. Frets over the remotest of possibilities. My formerly lion-hearted MIL has gotten a big honking case of the fretful "What ifs?" For instance if we decide to meet them at our favorite diner (something we've done dozens of times) now all of a sudden MIL needs to nail down plans for every contingency, no matter how wildly nuts it is. "What if the diner's crowded?" "What if it rains?" "What if they're closed?" "What if the place is being robbed?" "What if there's escaped monkeys?" "What if we get hit by an asteroid?" Sha, MIL, sha. Everything will be fine. If there's asteroids or monkeys we'll deal. Sha, already. My first official duty as the Sandwich Girl was to take them across the river today so FIL could be examined by a new (to them) ocular surgeon. FIL's got this deal with his eyelid, it's involved so no need to get into the whole thing. Anyway, MIL flipped out over the idea of driving there on her own. No big. I'd take them. Well, planning the D-Day invasion took less time than working out the simple arrangement of them driving here from their house and me taking them the rest of the way in my car (my place is on the way anyhow). It's at most a 40 minute trip, so let's make it an hour so we have time for a wrong turn or two, okay? Soooo NOT okay with Dithery MIL. She wanted, no lie, to leave here at 10:00am. The appointment was for 1:30. Right? You do the math. After several intense phone conversations I convinced her to come here at noon. They did but when they arrived she was bug-eyed with anxiety. To calm herself she decided she'd be 'helpful' and give me all the coupons she's been collecting for me. Nice, but we were already in the car and I was trying to drive and really didn't have the free hands or time to oooh and ahh over saving 10% at the car wash. Looking hurt and slightly huffy over my ingratitude she shoved the coupons back into her tote bag. That's another thing that's new, MIL's become a schlepper. Carries half the contents of her house in tote bags now. I assume to cover all the contingencies she sees lurking everywhere. If there's a sudden May ice storm, she's ready. There's a parka, a folding shovel and a bottle of lock de-icer in her bag. If someone needs to tune a bagpipe, MIL can handle it. If bees attack, there's a full eclipse, or just a whim for pancakes cooked over an open fire, MIL has everything at the ready. Oy. I love her dearly. And I'm not really complaining. Okay, I am a little, but this new reality is going to take some getting used to. I figured being an orphan and all I'd get to skip the sandwich thing. However, a good and loving DIL's gotta do what she's gotta do.
|
