Fired for Sure

"I. Need. To. Sleep!" growl-shouts Jacob when I go to wake him up this morning at O-dark-hundred. It's hard to get back on track after three day weekends, after school vacations - scheduled or unintentional like the week he just had off for Hurricane Sandy. But he's never been like this.

The whole morning, getting ready for school is filled with Jacob growling and sobbing and angry-crying and clenching his jaw, grit-grinding his teeth, overwhelmed by waves of frustration.

Besides this, his begging for more sleep, he is also demanding "My. Skittles!" a holdover from our struggles yesterday to curb the upwards spiraling trend of candy consumption in our house, engendered by the one-two punch of Halloween and hurricane.

"I'll get fired for sure!" he wails, his latest script - culled from Sponge-Bob - in response to any admonition I make, no matter how gentle.

Me: "Jake, please keep it down, everyone else is still sleeping. I know you're unhappy but you can't scream at 6 AM."

Jake: "Oh, no, I'll get fired for sure!" (cue sobbing)

And I am also pretty sure he doesn't know what "fired" means, afraid he has conflated it with the idea of things catching on literal fire - a frequent of occurrence on Sponge-Bob - and is somehow terrified of becoming actually torched, set aflame for his wrongdoings.

I repeat over and over that "being fired" means losing your job, and he doesn't have a job; that his only job is being my kid and he can never get fired from that. But I can see in his eyes it's just words washing over him, none of it sinking in. A conflagration of misunderstanding sweeping over all.

It breaks my heart when he is this unhappy. Shattered into a million glittery pieces. It breaks my heart that I get angry and frustrated with him, too, at these moments, watching the clock tick away knowing I have only so many minutes to get him dressed and fed, medicated and jacketed and downstairs, ready for the bus. Legally, they are allowed to wait for 3 minutes, and then they are required to speed off.

So I alternately scold and cajole, hug and hustle and DO get the kid on. the. damn. bus. 

And then after waving goodbye to my boy, still alternately crying and grimace-grinding, I come back inside to pick up the heart shards. And they cut deep, so deeply; yet another set of guilt lines, criss-crossing my invisibly battle-scarred arms.

Surfacing

Uncle Walter stopped by to see Mom, too, today

I have been under the weather for so long I had almost forgotten how it feels to be functionally human. Today, finally, I caught a glimpse. Although I am now fully spent, having made up for lost time by filling my day to the gills:

Taking Ethan and the neighbor's kids to school (because their little sister puked just as they were getting ready to head out).

A quick coffee with school-mom-friends (need caffeine!)

Picking up the car from the repair shop (poor old thing).

Driving out to visit Mom, and all that that entailed (heart wrenched in a thousand different ways). Yet another conference with nurse manager on how to get and keep her on track, moving forward.

Driving back to pick Ethan up at school, and oh holy hell the check-engine light comes back on again (our car's resident poltergeist not fully exorcised), so back to the shop and then flagging down a cab to get to Ethan on time.

Dragging Ethan off to an appointment way East in midtown (1 bus, 1 subway, and a 4 block walk away). And if you know the U.N. is in session right now, you know this means closed streets and roadblocks and checkpoints and police everywhere.

Meanwhile, and threaded throughout: Emails and phone calls about Jacob's bussing situation. Which is bad. He's been getting to school AN HOUR late every day. Because the bus has twice as many kids on it as it should, with multiple schools to drop off at. Because the City of New York is trying to save money at the expense of Special Ed kids, the most disenfranchised citizens to start with. Don't. Get. Me. Started. (I will burn a hole in your computer screen with the white-hot lava of my wrath.)

Then back uptown and West to our 'hood for dinner at Shake Shack because it's near the...

Big meeting at Ethan's school about the middle school application process.

(If you don't live in New York City and send your kid to public school you have no idea of the hell that this means. Middle school is the bottleneck. There are many good elementary schools. There are a lot of good - and even great - high schools. There are very few decent middle schools, and NOT ENOUGH seats in them for all the kids who apply, thus making it a tough and very competitive process to get your kid into a one. Shoot. Me. Now.)

Finally HOME, a full twelve hours after having left.

(And then homework to go over with Ethan, but oh dear God he rushed through it, wanting to play his DS, so it all has to be redone, give me strength.)

Diving back under, not expecting much humanity tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

Wordless Wednesday for Real: My Crew

It's true! I am too tired for words. Squashed so flat you could slide me though the mail slot. So instead, here's a few recent pictures of some of the folks I dearly love:

School Mornings with Jake

Ethan in an elevator

Mom in Hospital, Day 12

So, I'll just let that do for a post, as we come to the end of my mother's day 13 in the hospital. More words tomorrow.