After five months, the nerve damage from my implants-gone-wrong is still only about 50 percent better. The constant tingling, itching and lip weirdness drive me completely crazy. Several people have tossed out the idea of a lawsuit, but I can’t imagine doing that.
Up in Chico, schools continue to be mask-resistant, which reinforces for Eleni and Jason the necessity of having sent Ember to school down here. Meanwhile, in his homeschool language curriculum Jesse learned that the letter “S” is unvoiced. This knowledge rocked his world and he had a meltdown: “I want “S” to be voiced!” he cried. I suggested Eleni tell him he can voice it if he can figure out how, and that seemed to calm him.
And here’s the news from Albany:
On the first day of school Ember worried that she’d never be able to learn the names of all her classmates, but she already has. Not only that, it seems she’s started to make a friend or two.
She and I continue to be exceptionally busy as we adapt to our new lives. As it turns out, there’s zero time for extra stuff during the week. We considered a fun after-school class, but both agreed: no way. I’m trying to find a balance between structure—regular times for meals, schoolwork, bath and bed—and adequate freedom for her to play, talk to her buddies and just space out. Charts and timers are a mainstay, so that they and not I can do the nagging.
I’ve been waking between 5:00 and 5:30 to get caffeinated enough to get through our morning rituals. Rousing her around 7:00 is a gradual process as she battles her heavy, fluttering eyelids. Once awake and fed, she’s eager to head for school. She wants to walk there on her own, but that’s not happening. I wish we lived in a safer world. But as a compromise and at her insistence, I started depositing her 25 yards from the playground gate, and keeping an eagle eye from afar until she’s safely inside.
All is going well except for homework. It’s no picnic. Sometimes there’s a fair amount of it, and it takes ages since she’s easily distracted and because much of the material is new to her. At her request, I stay by her side and guide her as needed. At times she just thinks the task is stupid, and resists. Now and then the poor thing gets overwhelmed, curls up in a ball and shuts down. When that happens I attempt a delicate dance of approach and retreat based on her cues, with mixed results, as the clock ticks on. Kids and homework have never been an ideal combination. She’s a puzzle, and each day I try to decode her a little more.
This week, one assignment was to craft the conclusion for a short paper. Well and good, except she pointed out she hasn’t written the beginning yet (that part was an in-class project that she didn’t get to). For now she has an exemplary ending to her paean to the virtues of Minecraft.
While I strongly encourage her to get her assignments done, I’m trying to avoid a full-on battle of wills, reminding her that if she decides not do the work, she’s also deciding to face the teacher empty-handed. And while I profoundly detest being an ogre, I believe (or rather, hope) she understands that, in that case, she is also choosing not to have access that day to phones, tablets, laptops or movies. It would be a thousand times easier (and less anxiety-producing) for me to let things slide, but that’s not doing her any favors. So far, she’s opted to avoid those outcomes. We’ll see what the future holds.
Aside from homework woes, she’s happy to be back in school—learning and socializing again at last—and it’s great having her here. She makes me laugh. She delights and surprises me with her quirkiness. She’s brave and feisty. She’s a great little companion. And I enjoy taking care of her. From the start I’ve even had fun planning our weekly menu, which invariably changes the moment I print it out.
I especially revel in our relative down-time on weekends: the reward after five days of challenging work. When she’s not doing her own thing we take walks or play games. Oh, and view videos: ten movies so far, plus shows. We checked out an interactive program on Netflix where some Brit, name of “Bear” (of course), slashes his way through a jungle. His fate rests in our hands as we, the viewers, make essential decisions for him: should he try to scare away that alligator or swim under the water to escape it?
When bedtime rolls around—which happens way too quickly on school days—she’s been cooperative. Of course it does take time for her to wind down. We tuck in and I read to her (she’s loving the first of the Wings of Fire books, about dragons). Lullabies are so last-week, and thus our latest relaxation technique has been a back rub and/or a grandmotherly palm left resting on her back until she feels more settled: the “Magic Hand.” And the other night she also wanted me to make up a story. It turned out to be about a clan of entrepreneurial rats that opened a nail salon with Billie Eilish as a customer. She added details as the tale unfolded.
Through all these adjustments, she seems to be thriving. I recently asked her in a quiet moment how she felt about being here, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the best. “Eleven,” she replied.
There continues to be Covid in her classroom. For the last two Fridays I’ve gotten the dreaded email about yet another exposure, resulting once again in my having to cancel our week’s plans. Luckily she seems to take it all in stride and not be worried. (That’s my job.) On the bright side, word from the district superintendent is that numbers have been dropping significantly at the schools over the last two weeks, and that the vaccination rate for Ember’s age group is nearly 80 percent.
Yesterday as we were about to leave the playground, Em asked if I’d take her to the local park to play with her two wild friends, as I’d done the day before. Though I learned the two of them hadn’t been masked then, I agreed. But when she ran over to tell them, I saw that both of them had their masks fully off again, in defiance of the clear school rules. (Every single other person on campus was masked.) Some kind of switch suddenly flipped in me and I morphed from Jekyll to Hyde. I strode over and declared, “No masks! Come on, Ember!” So she didn’t get to play with her buddies after all. She understood, but it sucked. Evil Mama Ginna.
It has now been exactly four weeks since her arrival. To celebrate our anniversary, we made a lovely cake in a mold last night. Well, okay, so it’s not so lovely. But can you guess what it is?
No? Here’s a hint: the arrows below point to objects of interest that will surely identify the theme. Now can you tell?
You still don’t get it? It’s so obvious! Alright, here ya go:
Yeah, I guess I won’t be using this cake mold again. Oh well.
Happy one-month anniversary, Ember!
Your organization, patience and your teaching experience are nicely blended with a “go with the flow” ability to know when it’s best to back off, for a bit — but still be consistent in what’s expected of her.
But you must be tired!! Love to you both!