Imagine my surprise when, on Friday, I read "And a big thanks to all the parents who got their TOUR PAPERWORK into the office, and payments made by YESTERDAY'S DEADLINE"
Um...
I *thought* Skip was a part of that tour.
I *thought* that we might be getting a bit of information about the tour.
I *thought* we might be in the loop.
I *thought* that because this would be Skip's first year in the Touring Choir, they'd make sure that we had everything we needed ahead of time.
I immediately called up the Office. We'd received NOTHING about the tour. No information. No forms. No payment schedule. No nothing.
"Oh, you mean you didn't get the Tour Information mailing that was sent out in November?"
Um, I didn't know about a mailing. How would I know if I did NOT get it?
"And you didn't get the Payment Schedule and Scholarship information that was sent out in January?"
Um, ditto.
"Oh look, you're not on the list to receive the mailings. That would be why. We seem to have a bit of a breakdown that will need to be fixed. Too bad that you also missed the February First deadline for financial assistance. That'll be THIRTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS, please"
Um. Don't. Think. So.
It kills me that we'd even be considered for "financial assistance", but when you're dealing with a peer-group that comes from Old Money and Dot-Com-Millionaireness, "financial assistance" covers everything south of "Both my parents are doctors and lawyers, and I've got a trust fund from my Oil Baron grandfather". Also, we've really got to sit back and decide if we want over ten percent of our non-allocated income to go to this ONE activity of ONE of our children.
I'm heading into the office in 14 minutes. Latest rumour is that this tour is NOT optional, but REQUIRED. And quite frankly, the last thing that Skip wants is for us to drop $1300 on something that he's not particularly keen on doing.
This could be the turning point in his singing "career". Of course, we won't be TELLING him that this is an option. If given his druthers, he'd do NOTHING outside of attending school (let's not even get into whether or not he's actually mentally THERE when he's even AT school...) and lazing around the house. So Ken and I are rather delicately tip-toeing around the issue of whether or not the Tour will even happen.
Nate came up to me the other day to tell me that he knew what his nickname was.
"Yes, mom. I have a nickname. It's JOHNSON"
Um... what?
I've given up Pant By Numbers for Lent. I like the idea of denial of self, and if I have to make a "deal with God" to do it, well, that's just a little extra impetus, isn't it?
The extra time I'm freeing up should help me get my feet back under me as a homemaker.
Of course, that's assuming that I don't just fill up the hours with that luscious purple sweater I'm knitting for Kelly.
Did I mention that I've finished one sleeve, and am half done the second?
The book I'm knitting it out of is due back at the library next Wednesday. I'd better get busy.
Maybe I should've given up knitting for Lent, too...
Blankie is going to have a new home.
My friend Lisa just went through a devastating ectopic pregnancy.
It was their first child.
Like us, they have no local family here, and we've spent a lot of time together these last few days. I let her know that we've lost four pregnancies, and I think it has given her comfort to know that she's not going through it alone, and that there is someone out there (me) that has a bit closer of an idea of what she's feeling. Of course, I feel like a big old charlatan when I say "I know what it feels like", because I'm saying it having come out the other end, with three kids, after all was said and done.
Tomorrow, Lisa is coming over, and I'm going to teach her how to knit.
Last Friday, I'd told her that when my friend Maggie lost her baby (in the second trimester, to Trisomy 17), she took up knitting, found the ugliest ball of brown yarn, and knit a scarf. Maggie told me that it was her Mourning Scarf, and that every time she knit a stitch, she'd think about the child she lost, and mourn. And when she finished knitting, and bound off, that scarf would hold the grief, and she would move on. She wasn't an incredibly fast knitter, and I think she was quite done with all the stages of grief by the time she cast off the last stitch.
Lisa liked that idea, and wants to knit something baby-themed. I don't know if it'll be so much a morning item, as a remembrance item, but I'm game to get going on it with her.
She wanted to wait a while, because, she said, she needed to find a store, and buy needles and look at yarn, and figure out what to buy.
Buy?
Surely she jests!
I told her to just come on by. She can go through my stash, and we'll find something suitable.
And when she leaves, I'm going to give Blankie to her. A little cashmere hug for her to hold onto while she's sad, and to cover their baby, when, hopefully, it arrives some time next year.
I need someone to spray me with Migraine-B-Gone. Sheesh.
And if I could also get shot with Period-B-Gone, too, that'd be just ducky.
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