The Long and the Short of it

So, we decided to put Josh in school. Just to test it out. Explore our options.

And we decided to homeschool. Just to test it out. Explore our options.

So, we have had two days of both.

Yes, folks, I am probably the first person to have their child enrolled in not one, but two kindergartens.

So, that's the short version of what we decided to do (That was specifically for you, Tina, since you asked). I left out all the heated discussions, the crazy textbook shopping sprees, the nights of excited enthusiasms, the mornings of dread and fear, yadda yadda yadda.

Sooooooooo....

Yeah.

I cannot tell you (but I'm sure gonna try) how heartbroken I am right now. My little gleaming ray of sunshine has had a little cloud following him around for the last two days. And it kills me.

KILLS ME.

Joshua came home from school today, took hold of the red, smiley-faced balloon I got for Jeremy's birthday and said, "I didn't look like this today." He then spent the next 15 minutes standing at the window looking through the balloons at the sky.

The school had their back-to-school night this evening. I attended, but didn't hear much. I was so distracted and uncomfortable (miserable). The only thing I really remember was thinking, "Why on earth does the school have $23,000 as a proposed budget? Do they really need that many pencils?"

After the general meeting, I went to Josh's classroom to meet with his teacher. I was hoping it would be brief (and it was) and as soon as she said, "You can come up and talk with me, if you want!" I ran up there.

"Is Josh doing okay??" I blurted out. I wanted to hear her side of the sad tales my son was telling me. The look on her face wasn't encouraging.

"Well..." she began. "...he has trouble sitting on the mat...and he tends to wander around the classroom...and has trouble listening..."

I could feel my heart snapping.

"And, apparently, he sat by himself during recess." This I already knew, because Josh said to me, "I didn't play with anyone...Nobody would give me a chance."

I proceeded to explain to her that Josh can focus, and that he knew more than he was showing (the look on her face was a brave attempt to cover her disbelief. I am afraid first impressions stick. He didn't want to "perform" during his assessment and, after Mrs. X said to him, "If you don't know the answer, just say you don't know," Joshua said, "I don't know" to everything she asked him. I sat in the room 6 feet away ready to jump out of my skin as she marked her paper with all his "I don't knows," that he DOES know, backwards and forwards.).

I left the school feeling empty.

When I got home, I decided I needed to chat with my little man (cue lecture). It went like this:

"Josh, you need to do what Mrs. X tells you." I then took his little face between my hands and asked, "What did I just say?"

"You tell Mrs. X what to do..."

Right words, wrong order, and missing a few key elements, with a very accurate view of how he feels about most adults in general.

I quizzed him every 20 minutes after that about what he was supposed to do in school. I hope some of it got absorbed.

So, now I feel lost, anxious, overwhelmed, heartbroken...Oh, how I love that little man. And to see the sunshine wiped away is devastating.

I stood in the kitchen this afternoon, brooding as I folded laundry. "What do I do?" I asked myself again and again. I had the radio on to KBYU, and my brain suddenly turned on as these words sang out,

"Where, when my aching grows?
Where, when I languish?
Where, in my need to know?
Where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.

He answers privately.
Reaches my reaching.
In my Gethsemane, Savior, and friend...."

I have never been afraid to ask God for help. Sometimes it's the only thing that holds me together (okay, most of the time). Perhaps it is a heavenly gift. So, I turned to question over to Him: "What do I do?"

Of course, I didn't get the instantaneous revelation. Probably because most of my prayers are like answering machine messages (although, I do try and be grateful), and I try and fill in as much prayerness as I can before the inevitable *beeep* goes off in my head that says I am done.

But...if you think about Gethsemane, the Savior wasn't spared, but was comforted until His suffering passed. So, I hope for comfort...and that some angels will dry my tears.