Monday, August 20, 2007

IEP, Pork Chops, and Tempers

Friday afternoon we went to the high school to register Frankie, because that is the day for new student registration, and of course the reason why he moved in when he did and why Brian and Andrew have to share a bedroom for more than a week (not that we wouldn't have wanted him here). But we went after lunch, which is what we did with the other kids because it is not as crowded after lunch. Except that for new student registration, they close at 11:30.

But they told us they would be open at 8:00 Monday morning and we could come back then. Hubby will back me up on that. It is what they said. We also asked if they got the records faxed over and they said that they had. The nice young woman looked at a piece of paper with everything checked off and everything.

So Frankie and I went down this morning at 8:00am. The secretary in the administration office is very sorry. She can't imagine who would have misled us like that. Everyone is in the district meeting and we need to come back tomorrow.

We go home.

Hubby, who was also in the district meeting, checks in at the high shool after lunch and calls me to tell me that the counseling office is up and running and I should go down. So I do. Frankie asked if I can do it alone. "Only if you want to take the classes I pick out." He comes with me.

We get down there and wait and then see the registrar who is very nice and very sorry. They have the transcript, but not the birth certificate or immunization record and she cannot register him without that. So sorry. I ask to look at the file and see the nice list of everything checked off is actually a copy of a request of things they have asked his previous high school to send, not a record of what they have. I call Diane (social worker) on her cell phone which I am really only supposed to use for emergencies, but this feels like an emergency to me. She's home sick. She said that she did send it, but I should call her supervisor and ask to have it resent. And there is good news. The mythical IEP has arrived. The educational specialist "Kevin" is driving out to the school today. Maybe he hasn't left yet. I can call and ask him to bring me a copy so that Hubby can read it too.

I go home. I call Kevin. Yes he has received the IEP, but he has already left the building and, "I can't believe this, but I left it behind. I'll have to bring it out tomorrow, or maybe I could fax it today." I ask him to fax it to me and to the school, at which point he realizes that he is not talking to the school registrar and asks me as politely as possible who the blank I am. I tell him I'm the mommy. He makes nice happy noises and promises me everything I want. I hang up.

Evan asks me how many potatoes he should cook for dinner. I tell him he's the trained cook; he can figure it out. He protests me snapping at him. I say with tension, but a little humor, "I am trying to deal with all this school stuff. Really, I can't make any decisions about the dinner. You will have to do that." He has some snappy retort, but I don't bother to remember it.

I decide that I really want to have everything faxed to us too, so I call Hubby for his fax number at work. I go to his desk to write down the number.

I begin to dial the number and Evan says, "Do you want me to cook all of these?" Thinking he is talking about the friggin potatoes I say, "I don't think so." "Well, that means there will only be two left." I, infinitely patient and sensitive, say in a voice that is louder than strictly necessary, "Why the hell do you even ask me if you already know what the right answer is?" He protests my unfair treatment. We argue about whether his response to my question constituted already knowing what the answer was. I notice he is talking about the pork chops and say, "Oh. I thought you meant the potatoes. Sure. Cook all the pork chops."

I call the supervisor. She agrees to fax a copy of the birth certificate, immunization record, and IEP to both the high school and the school where Hubby works so that we can have them too. She will call me back when she has it all together and faxed so I can tell him to look for it.

Evan asks me where the olive oil is. I tell him I don't know. He tells me that he has to have olive oil for this dinner. I tell him that I am a little distracted right now. He says, "You have been waiting for months for a new kid. You wanted this." (Or something to that effect.) I have some sort of snappy retort, but I don't bother to remember it. Probably wasn't very good.

I send him to the car with the code that will open the back hatch while I look in the cupboards. I know I bought some yesterday. I remember asking the man at the store which aisle it was in and going to the other end of the store just for it. I know I bought some.

I can't find it so I go to my purse and get cash. I meet Evan at the back door and hand him the money and say, "Please go buy some."

"I can't go to the store!"

"Why not?!!"

"I haven't showered!"

I stand there in stunned silence, thinking about the various states of ugliness in which I have gone to the store. "Why not?"

"Yondalla, I'm a gay man. I can't go out without a shower."

I know when I am not going to win a fight. "I am so going to blog this!"

"Go ahead!"

Trying to get me to see reason, he tells me that if I go buy the olive oil, he can shower while I am gone and he will be ready to cook when I get back. I stomp off to find my purse grumbling about expecting phone calls. Evan says, "Don't worry. If anyone calls while you're gone..."

I interrupt to yell, "You'll be in the frigging shower!"

"Well, yeah."

I go to the grocery store, get the olive oil. While paying I mis-type my code and explain to the cashier that it is all the teenager's fault. "He can't go to the grocery store without a shower. His hair is like an inch long, he doesn't look any different showered than unshowered." She laughes. I leave wondering if she recognizes me and connects me with Evan who worked there a year ago. I doubt it, but the thought gives me some evil pleasure.

I get back and the supervisor calls. She's got the birth certificate and the immunization record, but what do I know about the IEP? Am I sure it is there? I tell her that "Kevin" said it was quite a few pages long and so he might have to divide it into more than one fax. So it must be there.

She says she will call him on his cell phone.

Which brings us to the point where I sit down at the computer to blog my day.


There is a flipping IEP. Hurrah. I still haven't got the call saying she found and faxed it.

And Evan says the pork chops are going to be really, really good. They better be.

This would be an update, except that it happened before I hit "publish." The social worker called. She faxed the entire 49 page IEP to the school. She is scanning it and emailing a copy to me.


  1. {{HUGS}} What a way to start the week. At least, it can only get better....right????

  2. and i was bitching because they are showing my house between six and seven! who writes a 49 page iep? whoever has to set it up and follow it are going to be really happy! here's to a better rest of the week!

  3. What a time you have been going through! That must be SOME IEP. Hope things get straightened out. Bset to all.

  4. It is true, gay men can't go to the store without showering. I used to drive my mother crazy as a kid because I would have to wash up, change clothes and fix my hair before we could go pick up a gallon of milk. Of course I was about 13 when this all started.

    I have found a cure though. Parenthood! It is true, I'm now happy if I've brushed my teeth before leaving.


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