Where the hell is my underwear?

Where the hell is my underwear? So after making it as far as Washington DC, I had to rearrange the boy’s backpacks. I had packed their school notebooks in case they wanted a jump start on homeschool lessons. Well, they don’t and the backpacks were very heavy. Cooper kept shouting “I need a counterweight!!” and flailing his arms out in front like Calvin. 

Then the trip advisor forum on paris train stations got me all freaked out about pick pockets- and my mom— still overprotective as hell— kept chiming in to terrify me out of my already stressed out mind. 

So I rearranged everything, put the notebooks in the checked bags and assigned the lighter clothes among the boys’ backpacks. Now a few hours before we go, I cannot find my underwear. I looked around, but am so sick of juggling quart-sized zip locks and space bags that I said eff it; I’ll buy new ones if they don’t make it. They’ve go to be around here somewhere!(sadly, I think I’ve said that before about my underwear, and if I started tagging, it would get embarrassing, probably more so for the people who helped me lose them in the first place— OK that’s not what this post is about).

Why am I taking my kids to France?

Well, the short answer is — I was not satisfied with the educational opportunities presented to them at the time. 

After being wait listed or out-right rejected by the finer schools in Norfolk and Virginia Beach, plan B was sending them to public school. I wanted more for my kids. If these schools couldn’t see how amazing my kids are, then I will take them somewhere else.

I don’t mean to trash the schools where all of our friends send their kids, but my experience was horrible on so many levels. First of all, there is the ADHD issue, so no one wanted Samuel. His anxiety was so debilitating at the school interviews that he couldn’t handle them. When I requested accommodations, they showed their true selves. Fact is, they have enough kids whom they accepted at age 4, turned out to have issues, and now they’re stuck with them. Why should they take on any more challenges? After homeschooling for a year and a half and working so hard on his coping skills, he had come a long way, but he is brilliant and quirky. OK.

My middle kid graduated from his montessori school. We knew this was coming. We did everything right. His school records and experience didn’t fit into their box, but school admissions people should know more about alternative experiences like montessori— it’s only been around for 100 years. I was told by one school that he lacked classroom experience and that he needed to go to a more normal school, get some experience and then reapply. When I told that same admissions officer that my back up was to homeschool in France, she said, “that sounds like a wonderful experience, but it will not help him get into ________(name of school).”

Apparently his former teacher had said he was difficult to motivate— he was 8. And there are more 4th graders on the planet— we were wait listed one school, and barely got to apply at another due to size, then he wasn’t admitted anyway without any indication as to why. Never got a call back to explain. 

I was devastated by how we were treated. I felt like Julia Roberts trying to buy clothes on Rodeo drive. Schlepping my kids to interviews and testing, begging for letters of recommendation. Do not try this in fourth grade; apply in kindergarten and stay put, and if they have any quirks or “issues,” lie your ass off.

Well, I felt pretty rejected too, not just my kids— they bounced back; I did not.

So are we— er— am I —  running away from rejection? Maybe. But after homeschooling Samuel and reading about amazing things people do with their kids, on sailboats, in RVs, traveling the world to study geography and history up close and in person— a seed was planted. 

As I endured this spring, with all of the emotional ups and downs, I started joking that if no schools worked out, I would just take the kids to France. That seed started to grow as a plausible alternative.

Well, after the last rejection, I felt like I had tempted fate by even suggesting it.  I forwarded the notice to Taylor, with re: I guess we’re going to France.

All of that struggle and pain, feeling like my children weren’t understood and weren’t valued, and the feelings that I had made bad decisions for my kids  triggered a mid-life crisis. When a high school friend took her own life during my summer vacation with the boys, that tipped me into full on soul-searching.

So here we are. That’s the long version. I want more for me and my kids. We only do this once. Taylor should be thankful— it’s my mid-life crisis and I’m taking the kids with me! 

And as a post-script, my kids love their schools. Samuel is supported by teachers who have seen it all —and they are great with him. They are supportive and patient. A bright, precocious kid is the least of their worries. He is academically challenged. The littles have experienced a very loving environment in their public school. We’ve had a few hiccups, but they have transitioned well and we've had lots of support. Who knew? 

Well, obviously there’s a lesson here. I thought I knew what was best for my kids. But as it turns out, they are doing fine in a situation that was not my vision for them at all. 

That’s not nearly as humiliating and traipsing them to admissions offices— it’s humbling.