Day 542

I dreamed about Dad last night. It was the first time in ages. I was in Queens cleaning up after the flood, but instead of helping Mom, I was helping Dad. He was wearing black rubber rain boots, boots he never owned, boots that didn’t seem odd until I woke up and realized they didn’t suit his personality, not at all. In the dream, we were in the laundry room when suddenly I heard rain beating against the house. The sewer backed up again and water started pouring out of the bathroom. Dad ran to his car so he could drive it around to the front of the house to avoid it being damaged in another flood. I followed him, and when we returned, he and I stood outside, staring at my car which had been flipped by the rising water. The front tires were torn off and it was apparent the car was totaled. I panicked. What was going to do? How was I going to afford a new car? How could this have happened? I had been so focused on staying with Dad, not wanting to leave him, that my own car got destroyed. If only I had taken my car to safety. But I hadn’t even thought of it until it was too late. Together, Dad and I stood staring at the wreck. He shook his head and opened his mouth to talk, but he disappeared before he could speak. I woke up feeling completely disoriented and lost. It took me a couple of minutes to realize I was home in my own bed. 

This morning was rough. I didn’t want to get up. I was severely lacking in energy and I felt overwhelming depressed. It was the start of another school year and in a few days I’ll be yet another year older with absolutely nothing to show for it. Another year and still no job. True, this year it was by choice so that I could homeschool my son again, but that doesn’t really make me feel all that much better. Each year I keep hoping that something good will happen. But it never does. I never seem to move forward. And as I sat in bed, immobile, I couldn’t help but think of all the things that have been taken from me in the last eighteen months. There seemed little point in actually getting up. The world would tick on as it always had even if I didn’t respond, if I just closed my eyes and pretended to disappear. But I couldn’t because it was the first day of school.

We decided to homeschool our son for at least another semester. We didn’t make this decision lightly, but several factors influenced our decision: 1) We aren’t exactly happy where we are and at the end of our lease we hope to move. Why start G3 in a school only to pull him out and start somewhere new all over again. That seemed like too much angst for a kid. 2) Middlesex schools don’t exactly have a very high rating and we didn’t want him to be bored. 3) There is still a Pandemic going on and this time it is affecting kids. G3 would be the only kid in his class vaccinated and there are many parents in the district (as I see on social media) who are against masks. I didn’t want him getting into fights with other kids who might not be diligent about mask wearing. If a kid near him got COVID then he could end up at home quarantined and then what would he do since he refuses to get on camera and learn remotely. The school he is zoned to attend has poor ventilation. And well, most importantly, we don’t want him getting sick. 

Of course the downside to me homeschooling is that he will have very limited peer interaction. But that’s what Taekwondo and Boy Scouts are for. He won’t go more than a day without seeing someone his own age. Also, there is science, which I’m not exactly equipped to teach, but the textbook this year is soooooooo much better than the one we had last year. I won’t feel like a complete imbecile trying to convey information. Although, to be perfectly frank, today we read the first lesson together and G3 absorbed it far more quickly than I did. I guess if he could explain the physics to me that’s proof that he understood it at least a little — right?

G3 was not happy to start a new school year. My spouse wanted him to take a couple of diagnostic tests online to make sure he was on grade level — proof, she said, of where he is so that we can get him appropriately placed when he returns to real school. I wasn’t happy about the idea of testing. I hate tests. No, hate is far too gentle of a word. The only thing testing ever taught me was that I was stupid. I’m still scarred by all the tests I never quite did well enough on. In fact, if it’s possible to suffer PTSD from taking tests, then I definitely do. Reluctantly, I gave in, but only after stating that if G3 didn’t do well I was quitting. Kati laughed — apparently she had more faith in me and G3 than I did. Or maybe she just isn’t as jaded by the whole testing process. G3 did okay in Math. Overall, he’s on grade level. But in English he surprised me. His scores made me feel that my time was well spent last year. For years, some of the teachers and all the administrators in Bedminster told me that they knew better than me, that G3 wasn’t above grade level. They refused to put him in any advanced reading classes. G3’s scores today proved to me that he was wasting his time in that school — at least when it came to reading and writing.

After school, we went for a bike ride — I’ll call it gym class. Everywhere we went the curb was lined with garbage, property destroyed by flooding. It’s depressing how much needed to be thrown away. For some people, based on the size and the condition of their houses, they lost, if not everything, then nearly everything. We got lucky. I can’t imagine how much rougher it would have been if I had to clean up in both New York and New Jersey.