Y’all, there is something I did not say clearly, or maybe didn’t say at all in my last post, the one where I made it sound like I was mildly annoyed with life and then I found some magical YES and everything was peachy again. And that thing I didn’t explain was this: It took me a really long time to come around to place where I believed I could handle homeschooling. I never thought I would find myself there. It was a long and perilous process, and finding A Good Place where I could see a brighter future for all of us took some doing.
We got there, though. Lord, I was relieved. We had A Plan.My husband—level-headed guy that he is, and also knowing that I like to check and double check and triple check to feel secure—suggested we have one last IEP meeting with my son’s school to ask for everything we want for next year. Because then we could move on knowing we’d done all we could, and there would be no wondering, no regrets.
“What do we do if they say yes?” he asked me, before the meeting.
“They won’t,” I said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“But what if they do?” he pressed. “Then what?”
“Then I don’t know,” I said. Because I didn’t.
And I’d love to tell you that I was fearless and daring when I marched in there and held my ground and didn’t let them hem and haw their way around the problems we’ve had this year and all the ways in which the system has let us down; I’d love to tell you that as I laid out our requirements that I was facing down demons, taking no prisoners, and otherwise making brave with the metaphor of your choosing… but the truth is that it’s not hard to be brave when you don’t have anything to lose. “If you cannot make this happen, he cannot come back next year,” I told them. “It would be irresponsible of me, as a parent, to send him back here if we can’t make this stuff reality. I won’t do it.”
And I had already decided to pull him, so no, I don’t think it was particularly daring of me. I really just wanted to watch them squirm. I wasn’t bluffing; I was ready and excited to walk.
But then they said yes.
I mean, yeah, there was some dithering around at the beginning of the meeting, and I said “here is what we need” and they said “no way” and then I calmly made my statement about how if that was the case, he wouldn’t be coming back, and suddenly they were ready to be helpful. They could offer this, and that, and the other thing. And while they couldn’t do exactly ABC as we’d asked, they were more than willing to do DEF, which might would. Would probably work, even.
So I did the logical thing: I came home and cried, because now I don’t know what to do.
We could go ahead and homeschool anyway. The school has not, shall we say, always been stellar at doing exactly what they promise, after all. Or we could try to start another year there, knowing that we can pull him out and homeschool if it doesn’t work (though that’s apt to be traumatic for him). Or we could let him go back, next year, but still homeschool my daughter, who still really wants to try it.
I am not good at not having a plan. I need a plan. I had a plan, but now I’m doubting it, because the things that made me believe it was The Only Way have changed, and now I have several possible plans but no actual, definite plan.
And in the middle of all of this? A job offer fell into my lap this week. And maybe it selfishly sways me towards sticking with regular school. Maybe.
In the meantime, my husband has dared me to just sit with the possibilities instead of rushing to decide RIGHT NOW. It’s making me 100% crazy to just… wait. But I also know that as long as it took me to come around to homeschooling, I still can’t just turn my back on a genuine offer from the school to make things better. Particularly when we’ll be homeschooling for middle school, anyway (because my son will not thrive at our middle school, no matter how many unicorns they promise him), and that’s only a year away.
So much is in flux right now. Every fiber of my being wants to tuck my life into order and instead, I am just waiting. For inspiration. For knowing. For it to be time. For the fear of choosing wrong to ebb away.
I will make the right choice, eventually. And until then, I will sit with being unsure, and it won’t kill me. Probably.