It's That Time of Year...Again - Page 2
My husband, who grew up in Switzerland and walked to school barefoot in the summer with about six other kids from his village, doesn't "get" anything about Americans of a certain socioeconomic class — about our insatiable need to know everything about the school's educational philosophy. He only raises his eyebrows when either of our sons is stumped on something really, really basic.
"What do they teach in American schools, anyhow?" he'll say. He actually knows every single capital of every single American state, can locate each one on a map and knows more American history than I could ever pretend. And I won't go into his reaction when I tell him that we have traffic duty or some other inane volunteer responsibility. Suffice it to say that chefs, by nature, use very foul language.
I admit to worrying and complaining myself, sometimes in commiseration and other times because the pull is just so irresistible. Half the time I'm thinking am I missing something or do I just not care? But I'm trying NOT to get sucked into it all. I really do think that everything is going to be all right with our kids. I guess I can only speak for myself, but down deep I don't lose any sleep over it. Basically, I want them to learn and have fun, have time to relax when they get home or run wildly. Whichever, whatever.
Can't there be something in my life that isn't thought about ad nauseum?
Really, I wish that everyone would just RELAX.
Elizabeth blogs regularly at a moon, worn as if it had been a shell. Two of her kids are in a terrific local charter school and the other is in a special day class at a large LAUSD middle school. She doesn't know what the hell she's going to do about middle school or high school.