I’ve written so little lately my fingers are rusty with disuse. I sit and stare at the blinking cursor as my mind swirls with half-formed thoughts refusing to gel together in any semblance of order or coherent blog post.
I have so much to say, yet I don’t know how to say it.
It’s my fault too.
I may have something to do with 90% of my “free” time being sucked away for the giant of task of calculating What Kindergarten Option Do I Send the Tackler To Next Year and How Do We Spend the Summer?
The discussion and comments from my post Do You Need a Degree to Be a Good Teacher were amazing. Since then I’ve been on a quest to research in detail all of the options out there.
Because if I homeschool, I want my husband on board and he is a “Prove it with the facts” kind of guy.
I’ve made phone calls. Toured schools. Googled.
A deadline for one of the options is this week, forcing my normal procrastinating hand.
Who knew figuring out kindergarten could be so complicated?
We have public school, charter (public) school, private kindergarten (full or half day), and homeschooling to choose from.
Meanwhile I’m researching possible summer camps. And summer preschool (our current one isn’t open over summer).
The Tackler has far more options than his sister. Then it becomes a balance of chauffeuring duties, practicality (do I spend all of the “free” time commuting, or are we fighting rush hour for drop off, will we even be in town then, is that worth the cost?), and how well it fits the kids.
My head is spinning.
And the pressure to make “the right choice” is weighing upon me.
I could really use a crystal ball. So I don’t screw this up.
Toss in Shaft: my sweet, snuggly, and recently diagnosed diabetic cat (he and I share a profound distaste of needles). And his sudden increase of “WTF is a litterbox? This is MY house.”
I don’t know if it’s the recent diet change, the insulin, or payback for jabbing him with needles, but I do not deal well with excrement or pee outside of the proper disposal container (i.e. diaper, toilet, or litterbox).
I’d probably do the same thing if someone randomly jabbed me with needles twice a day.
Did I mention there isn’t a generic drug for insulin and how it is highway robbery what they charge for a drug required to prevent death? Seriously, we could fly to Iowa on what it will cost for a year of medication.
Why can you not put family pets on your health insurance plan? They are family, dammit.
I’ve added “research pet medical insurance” to my list of things to Google…
For the last few months, she’s been passing out – usually following a panic attack or a state of high anxiety. There was a learning curve, but we learned to adjust to help prevent injuries.
Then the seizures started.
They have gotten stronger.
I watch her body shake, contorted, as her limbs and head bang into the ground – into a grand mal (aka tonic clonic) seizure.
I roll her onto her left side and time it, trying to place blankets and pillows beneath her body to prevent injury.
I release my breath when her body stills, at peace again.
I check her breath and pulse, just to be sure.
The only good news is, she has an aura before the seizure – a sign one is coming.
The bad news is, a part of her feels that listening to the aura means she’s letting the seizure win. She should fight it. She’s strong. She’s pushed panic attacks to the side before, surely she could so the same with seizures.
As terrifying as seeing a seizure is, it is this inherent part of her that scares me the most.
It puts her in the situation of passing out and hitting her head or breaking something. Of doing so in an unsafe location to have a seizure.
She wants to hide, not ask for help.
So I lecture her and piss her off.
Because I’d rather run the risk of her anger for the hope of getting the essential truth across to her: you aren’t giving up by listening to the warning signs and preparing for a seizure. You’re are putting yourself in the best fighting position to not let it win.
And when she does ask for help, I come.
Because no one should have to go through that alone.
My plate and brain are full.
And my stories whirl around, trying to get out. Tales of joy, the circus, new milestones, laughter, even stories still locked away from Christmas.
Hopefully they’ll make an appearance soon.
Before my brain explodes like that dude in Scanners. Or the aliens in When Mars Attacks.