You might have noticed that one of my mantras is “tomorrow is another day.”
Yesterday was so beautiful with my son taking up the charge to get his sister to school, and her recognizing the love that represented.
Forget all that. This morning she’s back to not going to school. Not because she’s tired, though. Instead, she now tells me that she doesn’t like this school because it’s not “close” like her previous school.
When I say “tomorrow is a new day,” I realize it might not necessarily be better than today. It might just be a new day with the same crap. Or worse. Today is a new, worse day.
The private school Maddie went to for the last three years has only 80 kids in 12 grades. About a third of the students are in the middle school as that’s when “the wheels come off,” as the admissions director told me. The high school is tiny, maybe eight kids per grade. And she was a star over there, academically ahead of most kids, full of spirit and sweetness, known and loved by all. I realized it was no small thing to remove her from that environment, where she really blossomed into a self-confident young lady. But this unusually small, close, sometimes overly indulgent community was precisely the reason she needed a change. The world isn’t like that school. She is 15, and I believed a slightly more challenging, although warm and accepting, environment, where she is still taken care of, was right. A place where she would fit in, have fun, and be held to a higher standard. I still think it’s the right choice. It’s a wonderful school where the kids pride themselves on their quirkiness, where acceptance is encouraged and expected. She also has a great special ed teacher almost half the time, and his class is a community unto itself. And she had some friends there already. Perfect!
Yesterday morning started out rough, but as usually happens, she ended up having a good day. She said those very words. She might have even said “great day.” She was cheerful and happy and easy. Then the morning comes, and she slides back down into this pit of despair. Tears and everything.
So after this morning’s pronouncement, I give her a long list of reasons why going to school is a good idea. Remember yesterday? You didn’t want to go and then you had a great day. It takes time to get used to a new school. You just have to find your niche. Going to school is legally required. Let’s talk to your teacher and he will help you. Okay, not him? How about a counselor? That’s their job. You don’t trust them? Why? This is the best school around here for you and we have to make it work. The only other option is a school that’s far away and you would live there not here. Do it for your brother! Even that doesn’t work. One day it did. The next day, nope!
She tells me yesterday wasn’t so great. She was lying about that, she says. I don’t believe that, but maybe that’s true. I don’t know.
Now what? I have emailed her teacher. I have emailed the educational consultant with whom I discussed boarding school. I can’t believe we’re two weeks in, and this is where we are. I need that plan B right now. I had intended to be prepared for this. And yet I’m not.
Tomorrow is a new day. Will it be better? I hate to say it, but probably not. I hope so, but I’m not optimistic. I don’t believe that things magically work out. You have to make them work out. There is effort involved in these things. But I’m not equipped for this. I don’t know how to make this one work out. I hate that more than anything. Hope is the theme this year, and I’m having trouble with it at the moment.
So I take some deep breaths and get to work.
The Year of Living Hopefully 