The Little Man Turns Nine

My child is growing up. Technically he’s half way to “adult” this year. Seems mad. In some ways he’s more grown up than half the adults I know. LOL. On the other hand I shake in fear of him behind the wheel, voting in elections, going war. Gulp.

On a happier note, this year I bring you amusing things he has said:

“That’s just wrong. You can’t change the nature of vampires.” – after I explained the premise of Twilight to him

“She’s the same level of crazy as me, we’re a good match.” – about a new friend

“Why would we hunt a bird? That’s a cat’s job.”

“Do you know how expensive jet pack fuel is?”

“I think we should go to Greece, but I’m gonna need an extra suitcase so I can bring sacrifices for the gods. I don’t want my liver being eaten for eternity.” (Too much Greek mythology, clearly)

and my least favorite:

“Why would anyone read a book about that?” after I explained Ostrich Mentality to him. Thanks kiddo. Always a joy.

 

Fiendish Friday: Black Curtain of Despair

sigh. I think most of you know I home school my special needs kiddo. In so many ways, he is the coolest kid ever. And in so many ways, he is the most exhausting child ever.

We fight, non stop, all day, about home school.

So the hubs and I decided it was time for him to go back to school. Public is not an option where we live. I researched 100 private schools in a 30 mile radius. Many started at too old an age. Many were ridiculously expensive. (Think 8-10 times what I paid for a year in college.)

Long search short, we found a couple of options. One the kiddo decided was not worth the drive (90 minutes each way in traffic). One was having a space crunch and not sure they would be accepting 4th-6th graders next year. And one was just about right.

They didn’t take him.

My vista of 5 hours to myself 4 days a week just closed like a black curtain of despair. Another year fighting with the kiddo about his education. Another year of chipping away at my writing goals in ten minute increments. Another year of constant companionship that is beyond chatty. Another year of interrupted showers. Another year of a job at the co-op because my child attends there.

oh the horror. Excuse me while I cry in my spilled milk.