That said, I feel like the phrase "you have to do what's best for your child" without any mitigation or parameters is becoming another American problem. It's that old entitlement thing that gets me right in the gut. When parents use that phrase "I have to do what's right for my child" to attempt to torpedo a teacher or a school or a program that's working out for the other 19, 30, or 140 children in the same program. Or when parents use the phrase "I have to do what's right for my child" to do what's right for them, never bothering to get down low and check in with said child. He or she may be thriving in an environment that is uncomfortable for the parent. And what about at least adding to the phrase so it goes something more like, "I have to do what's right for our child and all the children of our community." Or at least try. I feel like there'd be a lot less whisking out to private school if parents felt that all the children in the public schools are their children.
I'm feeling my role as president of the community association of my daughter's school this morning. Feeling the responsibility, the weight. I'm not light this morning. My desk has so much friggin crap on, which I try to "organize" by sticking different types of crap into different cardboard box things, but there is no order. I turn my head to the left and there's the two pieces of felt waiting for me to sew a pillow with my daughter for her secret santa, who apparently likes orange and blue, elephants, and beards. So that's all incorporated into this upcoming project. And I am not a crafter. This is potentially going to be one sad pillow. Wait. Wait. Here's that power of positive opportunity...my daughter and I are going to kick that pillow's ass. Yea.
There's just so much stuff here, laundry running and dog hair to be vacuumed, random beeping - the coffeemaker? the washing machine? something deep inside my head trying to remind me of something? I feel guilty writing this, but I miss the quiet non-responsibility of the hotel. Where any mess was mine and minimal and clean-up-able and where the linens had no stains and someone came in and made my bed. Where I walked downstairs in the morning and ordered a starbucks, charged it to the room, wandered around, the quiet, the peace. I was lonely there and I missed my family. But now that I'm back, I'm already struggling with this low-grade irritation feeling, like a little infection that keeps nudging at my brain. Off to couples' therapy now. I find that keeps things honest at least. I think I need to make a list, get some stuff done, then when I pick my daughter up, just concentrate completely on sewing a blue and orange bearded elephant pillow and being with her. Computer will be off. Texting off limits. Dinner will be simple. Bedtime will be early.