As much as I hate to admit, I really do hate moving.
We have moved 13 times in as many years, and The Kid and I are looking to make another move this summer so that he can be back in school among his buddies this fall.
Neither of us want to do homeschooling again.
He doesn’t like having me tell him what to do, and I don’t like having to talk til I’m blue in the face to get him to do stuff. So I...
Unplug the computer.
Hide the iPod.
Block G4 on the cable channels.
I’ve done everything I know to get him to pay attention, short of duck-taping him to a chair and putting blinders on him.
Hellzapoppin’, I cannot wait for these next 10 weeks to be over! No more homeschooling and a summertime full of "I’m bored!"
What more could a mother want?
How about a full-time maid, cook and masseuse?
He whined and moaned and complained about the school here, which is why we ended up homeschooling in the first place.
He has made some friends here but says they aren’t like his buddies back "home."
Kid ... which home?
I am so tempted to make him spend a couple of weeks with the polygamist kids out in Colorado City so he can understand what real life is like.
Summertime temps hovering around 110 in the shade, dry as a bone, and those poor kids are wearing Levi’s, buttoned up long-sleeved shirts, and working their tails off building homes. Then they get to go home and try to decipher which one is their momma and which ones are their sisters, ’cause they all look alike: Braided red hair, gunnysack dresses, and stoic looks on their faces. It ain’t a glamorous life, but I guarantee you those kids never say, "I’m bored"...because they’ll get put right smack to work!
"Go help your sister milk the cow!"
"Which one is my sister?" says the young polyg boy, gazing at a room of about 15 girls, all about the same age.
"The one who looks most like you but is only missing one front tooth and not three!"
Ah yes, my son would have a great time...
And so now we get back to the move.
I know, I must be nuts.
I do not want to pack boxes, I do not want to clean house. I do not want to even think about house hunting.
I’m beginning to feel like those folks in "The Grapes of Wrath"...moving around like a wild pack of gypsies.
I just want to stay put for one more year so I can pawn off all my junk on the local thrift stores. I was really hoping my next move would simply mean packing up my computer and that’s that.
Seems like every drawer is now a "junk drawer," not just one.
On top of us "maybe" moving, Hubs is going to have to fend for himself and stick with the job he has because 1) he’s too old to try something new; 2) he’s not really old enough to retire; 3) there just aren’t that many jobs out there, and he said he ain’t flippin’ burgers. I might have to, but he’s put his foot down.
He’s already bellyachin’ about us not being together, but I reminded him that more people than he thinks are now starting to live this way. We have a friend who lives in Texas and drives a truck for a living while the family lives where the kids have their friends. Another guy drives a truck out of state and hired a nanny to take care of his five kids because he doesn’t have a wife. And never mind those two examples, there are thousands of folks in the military who live that kind of life, year in and year out.
The job out here on the Left Coast is good — the school system stinks.
If you’re hanging the wash outside one day and you happen to hear the theme from "The Beverly Hillbillies" comin’ outta nowhere, it’ll be us, ridin’ into town.
Like a wild pack of gypsies.