Yesterday was pretty ****ing rubbish for me. I don’t think the busy full on day I had Tuesday helped. I don’t think the fact I think I’m entering the hormonal induced emotional rollercoaster stage of my menstrual cycle helped. I know that my conversation with the Senco didn’t help.
By the time I got home from school it was 10 to 11. In the space between then and leaving for school again at 20 past 3 I cried, wrote a blog post, had a slow conversation via FB messenger with a friend abroad, ate a bowl of cereal and cried some more. I’m pretty sure that was it. If there was anything else I can’t remember it. I didn’t wash up, I didn’t hang the washing out. I may well have looked at some other peoples blog posts, sounds likely, I can’t remember. And at the end of it I felt utterly utterly exhausted.
In fact, when it came to getting ready to go to school, the memory of what happened the last time I’d asked the Senco (via email) for this Thrive documentation and tried to point out, as nicely as I could, that their communication strategy left a lot to be desired from my point of view, and the ensuing conversation with his class teacher in the playground where she defensively explained to me that they had been telling me stuff and that wanting to know any more was unreasonable, the conversation that left me wanting to cry, well the memory of all that flooded back and mixed with the memory of crying that morning and it set me off all over again. I was sat in my dining room in floods of tears desperately trying to pull myself together and failing. I has no idea what to do. I didn’t want to go to school, I didn’t want to see his teacher. I nearly rang my husband but I wasn’t sure what he could do either. I contemplated ringing the office and telling them I’d been delayed so that I could pick the kids up late from the office staff and not have to see his teacher. That is how rubbish I felt. That is how little I wanted to go to school. I imagined I felt how a reluctant child who hates school feels at half past eight on a school morning.
Eventually, I managed to go and wash my face and get out the door. I went to my daughters playground first. I tried to act normal, to hope that no one could tell I’d been crying, I had a conversation with someone. I picked my daughter up, reinforcements to help me feel brave, I held her hand. And then I walked onto the pavement outside the railings with her round to my sons classroom, instead of through the playground right up to his class door like normal, hoping that my son would come out to meet me like lots of the other kids do and I wouldn’t have to speak to his teacher, and if she did ask me to come and speak to her I’d have distance and railings between us and I’d be able to say “not today”, like I’d heard someone say to a different teacher yesterday.
In the end he did come up and find me no problem. And his teacher wasn’t there either. In fact, it was the teaching assistant that takes him for Thrive. I kicked myself that I’d missed the opportunity to talk to her, as she’s lovely, but mainly I was relieved I’d survived the ordeal.
And last night. Last night I was shattered. I didn’t want to do anything except sleep. I managed not to until putting the kids to bed.
But today. Today has not been so good either. Hubby hadn’t slept well, having to put the boy back to bed twice in the night (which I slept through) and he was not happy at being woken at 6.30am by shouting and stamping. It was one of those mornings in our house. Eventually I managed to drag myself out of bed to face the day, leaving husband hiding under the duvet, and calmly talk to the boy. Then I made the cups of tea for grownups and real fruit milkshakes for kids. Then I went and spoke to the boy again (when he’s in that mood, if you leave him he messes around and gets loud, if you stay with him he gets cross that you’re there and asks you to leave so he can do it himself, if you try and tell him what to do he argues, it’s very difficult to move forward, in the time I’d been downstairs he’d put a waistcoat on over his pajamas and tied some string around his ankle) and gave them milkshake to drink (trying to get the calories into him that calm him down without backing down on my “dressed before breakfast” rule).
Then I went to have a shower. And I cried some more in the shower. I don’t like this. I don’t want to start crying everytime I have to take the kids to school, that would be most inconvenient. Luckily husband was up by then and the kids were finally dressed and breakfast happened and we got to school ok. Today is Teacher B day (so I was less stressed) and I told her he’d not slept well and had been having trouble concentrating. She thinks he’s worried about the transition to juniors (they’re all going to see there new classrooms and meet their new teachers today), the school are really focusing on that and as someone on their SEN programme he’s had several trips over to the juniors to find stuff out. I think it’s great that they’re putting the effort in but they don’t seem to get that starting new things isn’t a problem for him. As long as he knows they’re coming, he likes new things, new adults, its all a new information source to him.
Afterwards I walked back with another parent of a child in his class who was also at the coffee morning yesterday. And I found out that she doesn’t feel like she’s been told what’s going on either. And she also has no idea what her son does in Thrive and hasn’t been told what they’re trying to achieve and hasn’t seen the documentation either. Unlike me she doesn’t even know who takes her son. I wanted to hug her I was so relieved that it’s not just me.
So, now I’m in danger of spending a second day obsessing about this and feeling upset and getting nothing done. Except eating cereal. I’ve managed that (with cream, as we’d run out of milk)(how on earth we had cream in I don’t know, it’s not normal).