Thursday, September 5, 2019

Windshield or Bug

Somedays you are the windshield and somedays you are the bug. Yesterday was a pretty buggy day. At work, an attempt made by myself and another coworker to uncover a fellow coworker who appears to be abusing time out of the office by taking exorbitantly long lunches and breaks, was met with a prove it attitude. This is how government employees get a bad rap. I felt totally disheartened after the conference call with our reginal director. Nothing will be done and this person will continue to take 90 minute lunches when we are only allowed 30 minutes. Meanwhile, the rule followers like me will get more and more disillusioned and demoralized. Time to look for another job, it seems.

I usually leave work ish at work, so I figured the rest of the day would improve. After work, the kids and I went to the back-to-school night so the kids (and me) could meet their teachers. I planned for us to have dinner afterwards, since I didn't think we would be there all that long. We found Chica Marie's classroom fairly easily, after getting a map in the cafeteria. She is on the second floor of the school this year. According to the map, Love Bug was also on the second floor. Only, we could not find his room. A different teacher helped us figure out that Love Bug's teacher and another teacher switched rooms. So, Love Bug is actually downstairs. We walk into the room to meet his teacher and start chatting with her. I mention something about attending the kindergarten orientation with Love Bug the next day and she looks at me like I have 3 heads.  Apparently, the special education classrooms, like autism support, do not have orientation. In fact, the kids start a full day right on day one, while their regular education classmates are only there for 2 hours. I was upset by this for many reasons, but I tried to piece things together, including how I need to drop this kids off at different places in the mornings. And still figure out how to get to work on time. We trekked back upstairs to see where third graders enter the building in the morning. And then back downstairs. We bumped into Love Bug's mobile therapist, who has three kids in the school. She reminded me we would meet at our place at 7 for a ISTP meeting with the insurance company representative on the phone. After talking to multiple staff about the whole no kindergarten orientation thing - and being told I should just go for a mani-pedi since I took the day off - we ended up in the classroom of the teacher Chica Marie had for the last two years. She was psyched to have Love Bug just down the hall from her. And she wanted both kids to come visit with her when they could. The teacher who helped write the IEP came to find me, with the kindergarten teacher and eventually the principal. There was a mistake. Love Bug was supposed to be assigned to a regular education teacher. So, they suggested I let him where he was and attend the kindergarten orientation solo.

As we were leaving, the mobile therapist called. It was already 7 and we were not home. We walked to the school, so we hurried home. The mobile therapist was waiting on our porch. We rushed inside and tried calling the insurance representative but she didn't answer. We were too late.

After the mobile therapist left, I made a quick dinner. I got the kids bathed and fashioned Chica Marie's hair into the style she asked for. Then we left to pick up Primero. He had text me earlier in the day, asking to get picked up after work. He mentioned later he might be sent home earlier. He never confirmed, so I went to get him at the regular time. I was slightly agitated because it was getting late for the kids. I text him we were there. He said he wasn't ready to leave but didn't respond when I asked if we should wait or just go home. We waited for 30 minutes before he finally text to say he had a ride home. I was so angry. We got into a fight when he got home.

The windshield won. I was the bug, all squished and depleted, stuck without hope, buffeted by the winds pushing me further into the hard place.

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