It’s been a hectic few days around here. We’re wrapping up the school year, which for some reason makes my grandson think it’s also time to wrap up turning in assignments. Even the science teacher — who’s been suspiciously silent all year — finally reached out. Apparently, he’s missing four assignments this six weeks.
Good grief. The countdown to summer break just got a lot more intense.
Right now, the only motivational carrot I can dangle in front of him is Field Day on Thursday. If he doesn’t finish his work, he’s not allowed to participate. Desperate times call for desperate parenting.
On a brighter note, he did get accepted into the technology school. Big decision time is creeping closer. I know how hard it can be for kids to switch schools and start over socially, especially at his age. But I’m leaning toward the tech school. It’s more progressive, they go five days a week, and their teaching philosophy feels stronger. I’m not a fan of all the online learning at his current school. He’s figured out how to game the system — breezing through IXLs without learning a thing, just hunting for the right answers.
I’m nervous about his STAAR test scores, but I’m trying to be patient and listen. I’m eager to hear what he thinks. And my husband. (You know, the other decision-maker in this house.) We need more teacher engagement and actual communication — not radio silence followed by last-minute alerts.
Meanwhile, I’ve been sticking with my steps and workouts — go me! Maybe I’ll even lose a pound or tone up somewhere. Fingers crossed and abs crossed too, just in case that helps.
In farm animal news… the chickens are on my last nerve.
They’ve taken over the patio, and they have zero manners when it comes to bathroom etiquette. Wherever they are when nature calls… is where it happens. We constantly shoo them off the patio, but if we step outside, they scatter like we caught them mid-crime. (Watching a chicken run is always good for a laugh — I really should post a video!)
Yesterday, my grandson — barefoot, of course — stepped onto the patio and got a lovely little squish between the toes. Chicken landmine. I may have giggled. He’s been a bit of a preteen monster this week, so karma came quickly.
We bought netting to build a barrier and reclaim our patio. But I’ve heard chickens can just fly over fences like escape artists in feathered disguises. If they do? That might be the end of chicken ownership. If I have to pick between my patio or the poop brigade, I’m going with patio. Especially since they’re barely giving us eggs. It’s all mess and zero omelets around here.
As part of my self-discovery journey, I’ve learned one important thing:
I do not enjoy farm animals.
One day I’ll tell the story of our bull. Let’s just say once he discovered girls, there was no controlling him. He started fence-jumping to visit the neighbors’ cows — apparently ours weren’t cute enough? Then there was our rogue cow, No Personality, who led escape missions off the property like a bovine Bonnie from Bonnie & Clyde. We even had to get the sheriff involved. I wish I were exaggerating. (That’s a cliffhanger for another day!)
Speaking of drama… I had a scary moment the other night.
I always go to bed earlier than my husband. Normally, I wake up briefly when he comes to bed — say goodnight, a quick kiss, then roll back over. But the other night, he came in much later than usual. I was sleeping deeply and didn’t hear him come in.
I must’ve stirred a little, and when I rolled over… I saw someone standing beside the bed.
In my half-awake, city-house brain, I didn’t realize it was him. I let out a blood-curdling scream — the kind of scream I didn’t know I had in me. He jumped, I jumped, and my heart was racing. I guess now we know how I’d react to a real intruder. Either I’d scare them off… or cause permanent hearing damage.
The best part? My grandson slept through the entire thing. Oh, to be young and unconscious.
One of my goals during this little “sabbatical” is to sleep through the night. Just once. Ah, the dreams of midlife freedom.
I told my husband I was keeping this blog for me — a way to remember all the moments I’ve had while I wasn’t working. The big ones, the funny ones, the poop-smeared ones. And honestly?
I’ve loved every single day.
Once our mid-size man finishes school, I think the fun will really begin. No more school schedules, no more “Did you turn that in?”, and no more science teacher surprise attacks.
Let the summer (and the sleep) begin.
PS: Thanks to the three kind souls who liked one of my other posts! This blog brings me so much joy. I love writing it. And I love that you’re here with me.
Feathers and Phases 