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The meeting turned out to be some rather benign bureaucracy, but after it was all said and done the evil step-mother tried to climb all over me about homeschooling. So I did what any mature person would do. I looked at her, let the silence hang dramatically and then carried on as if she’d said nothing at all. Okay, less than mature response but it drove her completely batty that I was not even deigning to answer her. After three cycles of this, she gave up and stormed off into the parking lot, looking for all the world like a very aged teen having a hissy fit and I do believe I heard a snicker from Mr. Doofus once she was out of range.

That’s the thing, when people want harvest a public confrontation, I am notorious for not rising to the occassion. Maybe it’s from all those years that I spent not talking because of my speech impediments, but somewhere along the line I learned that not arguing was often times far more powerful than taking the bait.

I bought a purse last weekend, I couldn’t believe it– an actual grown up purse. It’s weird to think that I’m almost thirty (don’t tell any one, I usually claim that this is my eighth year of being 21) and I’ve never owned a real purse. Usually I tote around mini backpacks or use teeny tiny hard cases, and I’ve been known to use altered cigarboxes (being a former cigarette girl, it was part of my look) but never EVER an actual purse. I found one that is a bit backpack-ish, dark brown leather, white stitching, drawstring top, magnetic snap, and little pockets inside to organize my stuff (you know adult stuff like stamps and checkbook). When I realized how much it cost I tried to put it back, but Matt insisted that I buy it. So NOW, I have a purse. The drawstring with the flap was the real selling point, since it’s big enough for my yarn and socks, not having a zipper to snag my yarn is a major advantage.

We cleaned out under the carport Sunday and yesterday. I can’t believe how nice it looks, one of the neighbors actually commented on it this morning. There are two piles of construction debris that are still pretty ugly (and two cars that I’m going to get rid of), but she said she was really suprised to see how beautiful my garden is instead of the huge ugly pile when she was doing dishes (her window faces us.) I thought it was really nice that she made the effort to come over and tell me.

I have a fire in the fireplace, the house is cozy, laundry folded, hard drive defragmented, and socks on the needles. I hardly know what to do with myself, if it stops raining I’ll consider taking the kidlets to the library, if not I’ll start some lunch and throw some roving into the crockpot.

Funny, the counselor from the school called. Why do these people think I need to justify my decision about homeschooling? It’s so darned odd. They wanted me to come in for a “team” meeting, I refused, citing my right to choose the best options (eh-hem– education) for my son.

Started a new pair of socks for Lexi, black with bright green hearts. Rit dye and Kool-Aid. I was looking at the smart toys for babies in all of the high contrasts and I asked Why not? Babies her age spend a huge amount of time looking at their feet, so if I give her really interesting socks to look at all the better, at least in theory. I made her a striped pair of hideous mint green and charcoal gray stripes and she loves them (well, she loves taking them off and inspecting them.)

I’ve never been one to put babies in pastels anyway. I loved dressing Josey in white and navy when he was a very little guy, with his dark hair and slight freckles he looked absolutely stunning. Lexi is so much fun to dress up, I’m sure she knows that she’s at the pinnacle of baby fashion– she makes this funny little Mona Lisa smile when I put hats on her. So enigmatic and chic for a baby.

I braced for a battle and it never happened. I asked Josey’s dad if he had any objections to me taking Josey out of public school and homeschooling… and he actually said it was fine by him.

As the custodial parent the final call was mine to make, but I figure life is easier all around if we cooperate. Then today the weirdness begins, which makes me wonder if Josey’s step-mother isn’t a larger part of the problem– she starts giving me the third degree on why I didn’t just wait until the end of the school year to start homeschooling “so that he can at least finish out the end of the year with his friends?”

I asked her if her daughter was around a dog that bites would she leave her with the dog just because they’d be leaving in ten minutes. “That’s not the same thing.”

Yes it is, it’s the very same thing. Josey’s problems are not because he can’t make friends or get along with other kids, his problems are because the adults at his former school are behaving badly. I won’t go so far as to say that it’s a bad school, or that his teachers were bad, but I think it’s ridiculous to tape an 8×11 note to a child’s chest to remind him about his library book, or to punish him for reacting when another child pushes him, or punish him for another child talking, or to keep him out of each and every recess because of relatively minor transgressions. Oh that’s right, I have the problem child, I should just get used to this and having the school not listen to me, and let them give Josey a stinking gummi bear when he’s a “good boy”.

So, today was our first day of homeschooling, I introduced him to playing the recorder, we practiced his writing skills, we worked on some fun spy-stuff and now he (the problem child) is sitting quietly reading a book (the child they claim has no focus). Hmm.. he seems pretty focused right now.

I think step-mother’s problem is that she has a case of the “guilties”– she asked me if I was going to pursue counselling for Josey. For what? To deal with the fact that adults can be stupid? People don’t usually try to fix normal, I honestly think stressing out is normal when you feel like you are unfairly targetted. She can’t really handle that I’m a housewife and mommy since she chose to work outside of her home “I like the freedom” she told me once, like kids are some nasty rusty shackles?

After Matt’s off of work we’re going to head up to the Learning Tree and I’m going to pick up some supplies and workbooks for Josey. I’m relieved that Josey likes playing the recorder (for his first session with it he’s not bad, I’m going to have to order some descant recorder books for him) although I did ask Mom if Josey could borrow her autoharp to see if he wants to learn a bit of that too– she said it was fine.

I feel better now. Capt. Stupid of the S.S. Moronic popped his head around the hedge and called me “missy”– It took every ounce of strength I had not to turn around and pull his nostrils off with the claw of my hammer. It’s his dogs that keep tearing our garbage out. Do you know what the yucky factor for shredded used baby diapers is? I have to clean those up every morning because this guy lets his dogs run loose at night.

I just smiled nicely, commented on the day (”Nice out isn’t it?”) and continued building my little garbage bin. Tomorrow maybe I’ll head down to the hardware store and buy a charger so that I can run 11O volts to deter his hell hounds from destroying my sanity.

“Want some help with that?” he asks.

“Do you know what I’m building?” I ask.

“Uh– no.” He says.

“Then how would you help?” I ask.

“Uhhh…” He says.

“Thanks for the offer though.”

“Uh– sure.”

I think that was a pretty controlled interaction. I was civil considering all. I would really like to just get along with the neighbors and we do get along just fine– but that’s because we’re really calm easy going people. If it weren’t for knitting I would have had a nervous breakdown by now.

I think Matt’s worried about me now. He swung by the house for a few seconds to say hi and I was in the middle of a less than perfect moment, and then he called from work and offered to take me out “just think of something fun”. So I had to disassemble the dinner that I’d started making and now I’m supposed to think of something relaxing to do. Which– frankly– is far more stressful than not doing anything at all.

Sweet man. Or scared. I’m not sure.

I could totally cry just from frustration right now. What is it with people that think our carport is just a depository for their waste? We’re already the people that all the neighbors hate because we have two not-running cars in the drive way and a bunch of sewing machine cabinets in various stages of restoration. I try to keep the yard looking decent but it’s hard because it was allowed to go feral for so long before we moved out here so there’s two choices– kill everything and start over or tame it bit by bit.

We chose to tame it bit by bit because I wanted to maintain what my grandma had planted and nurtured for so many years.
But it doesn’t help when my stepdad comes out here and tries to give us quote “firewood”. Twice last winter he brought out “firewood” (which is actually unrecoverable wastewood from some construction/destruction/remodelling project gone all sorts of wrong) so soaked that it wouldn’t catch fire even when I put a propane torch to it. Now it’s so warm that we don’t need to light the fire and he tries bringing load number three out. I’m already trying to get the cars towed out (now that I’ve convinced Matt that it’s just worth it to get rid of them) and I made good progress crosscutting and stacking the wood that was already here (from this winter) so that it could dry out and cure a bit so that it will at least be flammable for next winter.

I really hate this. I know that my step-dad had the best of intentions but I had to send him away with all the wood still in the back of the pickup truck because I’m drawing a line. A BIG FAT STINKIN’ LINE.

I’m just so sick of being the neighborhood eyesore. I don’t want Josey to not have friends over because he’s embarrassed by his own home.

If you saw our house from the outside and then from the inside you would swear that the outside belonged to the Beverly Hillbillies prior to that black gold money, and that the inside belonged to Samantha from Bewitched. It’s mortifying how different the two are– my little garden spots are continuously getting destroyed and I keep clearing them out and replanting, I keep cleaning the back yard and porch only to have more trash stashed back there.

Darn it, now I am crying. It seems like the more I manage to clean up and get rid the more new stuff accumulates. I’m at my wit’s end. This hell for a person like me, I border on the obsessively organized because I have a horrid memory and I’m modestly monomanic, so to simplify things I organize them in such a way that even I can remember where they are supposed to be. Which works perfectly when things are put away and cleared up. When things aren’t put back where they are supposed to be I get so sidetracked looking for the thing that I never seem to get the original job done.

I’ve spent all morning and through lunch cleaning up things I know (dispite my poor memory, it’s not that bad) that I cleaned up last night. It’s almost (if I were the paranoid conspiritorial type) as if everyone is trying to make chaos. I can’t get ahold of Matt today (he’s volunteering to install fire detectors with the fire dept today) and I am totally losing my mind. I keep thinking that I’ll get this bit done, then I’ll feel better and cool off (which is usually why I don’t whine about things because when I get things done I feel too good to bellyache over having to do them)– and today, I must be hormonal or some such thing because no matter how much I get done all I can see is the next chore. I truly think I know how crazy people must feel now.