“Money, money, money, must be funny, in a rich’s man’s world.” I still have not been paid and am torn over what to do. Of course, I’ve done the obvious, I’ve begged, pleaded and sent numerous emails – to no avail. Part of me thinks I should just go home, the other (maybe wiser part) feels that would be wrong. You see I know it wasn’t on purpose. The Big Boss just has so much money that he cannot conceive why I would panic over not receiving my paltry (in comparison) monthly pay check. Yet, here I sit consumed with panic over debit orders and a 3 grand payment I need to make in an hour.
The payment, by the way, is for Melanie Hartgill, an educational psychologist. She was one of my lecturers at varsity and this is the second of my children she is assessing. She is quite brilliant and if you ever need to, her email is firstname.lastname@example.org. She is testing Small boy aged 8 for any signs of dyslexia. Small boy aged 5 adores her and performs far better for her than for any of his teachers, which gave us enough ammunition to fight them on sending him to a remedial school. Honestly, he didn’t need a remedial school what he needed was a better teacher.
The Great Birthday Cake Disaster also turned out all right. My cupcakes were enjoyed by all, except for one little boy who won’t eat pink. Quite understandable and I wasn’t offended. I arrived to collect the mob to find Small girl aged 5 directing aftercare activities from the back of Marco (I think) one of the invigilators (do you call them that?), wearing a massive pink crown proclaiming her a Birthday Girl.
I have returned to office after collecting Small boy aged 8 from Educational Psychologist. Although we have to wait for next Friday to receive the report, it seems that my child is in all likelihood dyslexic. Imagine a blender whirring away, then add a mother. That is me. A whirlpool of undisguised panic. Can he stay in mainstream school? Will he have to go to another school in the afternoon? Does it affect all my children? Who will help me? What did I do wrong? And so on. There’s no end to the cycle of self-recrimination and guilt once you get started. Is it because I work? Do I not spend enough time with him? Yes, logically I know some of these aren’t true, but it doesn’t seem to matter to the pit of my stomach or to my head which is splitting apart as I type.
Maybe I should find a part-time course in dealing with dyslexia and how to teach those affected. Then I could help my own son and hopefully even some other mums. Note to self: Can franchise idea, King Pie does not suit you anyway and find dyslexia course.
Must go and fetch Small girl aged 5 from BFF. Yuck! Small boy aged 6 just enreged from under desk to show me tooth hanging on by its last thread and oozing copious amount of blood. UGH!