So it took 15 or so minutes to reacquaint myself with the improved blogger and remember my user name. I don't know what happened. I used to think of so much to write about. Maybe my life used to be more interesting. Or maybe I used to be more confident that what I had to say would interest people. Who knows!
For whatever reason I was gone, I am back with stories of a nightly visitor. At least twice a week this summer Mrs. S. (my children's principle) and I get together in her office during my dreams. Usually we are working through placement red tape. During one episode Nicky and Andy had been placed in a Kindergarten class together and I was trying to convince Mrs. S. that no, Nicky belonged in the second grade. Slight particulars of the dream change but the theme is the same. Mrs. S. needs to fix a problem with my kids at school and I'm in her office to convince her. One night there was an irritating variation. It seems we'd spent so much time together that Mrs. S. began confiding in me about personal matters regarding her neighbor. I woke up shaking my head. Now she wants to be friends and all I want is for her to go away.
I must have that PSTD gene. Luckily I've never witnessed any real horror. Can you imagine what would happen to me? Mrs. S. is benign enough at first glance and yet she has somehow become the symbol of everything that makes me anxious. She's a slight lady of 50 who looks 70. Rumors abound that she's a lush. I was truly traumatized last year when she lied to me about there not being any available first grade classes to switch Nicky into when her original class was not working. It's an understatement to say I was uncomfortable when I had to sit in Mrs. S.'s office with Nicky's teachers while they tried to convince me that I was crazy and then cried when I wouldn't back down.
Maybe the true trauma occurred when the year unfolded and I saw that my intuition was correct regarding Nicky's original class.
Now it is time for a new year and new teachers. I've sent in my request to Mrs. S. (of course a year will never go by again without one of my letters). What bothers me is that some at the school (Mrs. S. and some teachers) would put their own agenda and best interests ahead of my child. I have never in my life been lied to as badly or made to feel as crazy as I was made to feel. You'd think having gotten my way once, I wouldn't be as worried. And yet all summer Mrs. S. and I meet bi-weekly in my fitful dreams. Maybe in a few weeks when class lists are posted and fates are accepted, Mrs. S. can go find Ebeneezer Scrooge or someone else who needs a visitor.
