Months of filling out forms, making phone calls (some out of desperation), writing notes and chatting (battling the rumor mill) will all come (hopefully) to an end this week when we find out if our son got into one of the private schools we applied him for Junior Kindergarten. (Save the snickering for somone else.)
I know this isn’t the be all end all of anything or that my son will end up some sort of mutant rebel in a crackhouse if he doesn’t get into school, but because I can smell the acceptance diss letters in the mailwoman’s bag, I’m having heart palipatations like you can’t believe. (Only amplified by the fact that we’re headed out on vacation on Friday just about the day the magical envelopes are set to arrive.)
I can commiserate with her, sort of, but she does have a little special-ness that I just can’t compete with. (And not because she’s cute as a button IRL.)
But other than harass my husband with the what-if scenarios (which include everything but me lying naked on the doorstep of our first choice school in a harrowing attempt to woo someone with my sick-ass bod to let my child into the school if he doesn’t get in), all I can really do is wait. it. out, cross my fingers and hope for the best.
The good news is that if it doesn’t work out, a bunch of us are just going to open up a one-room school house in my basement just like Little House on the Prarie. Because I can rock a bonnet with the best of them.
Good thing there’s only 5 days to go. My wardrobe and heart can’t take much more angst.
