Big changes ahead

So, it turns out both my children are changing high schools next year.

The youngest and I met with the deputy principal of her new school on Friday. She has been hassling me for months to let her switch to a selective sport high school.

I suspect her eagerness to leave her current school wasn’t helped by a nasty bullying incident earlier this year.

But the youngest insists its about being in a more sporty environment, as her current school doesn’t have any playing fields or a single blade of grass to its name due to overcrowding.

Selective sport high schools don’t have skipping programs, so she had to be selected for a standard sport. We decided netball was her best bet. It was a bit of a wildcard because she played in the E grade this year and her team lost just about every game.

But the youngest is very determined and she aced the try out.

So she’s in.

During the interview, the deputy principal asked if the youngest knew anyone at the new school. The youngest said no. The deputy principal asked if the youngest was worried about not knowing anyone. The youngest said no.

The youngest is even insisting she doesn’t need a lift to the school on the first day and will be fine to just catch the bus and walk through the gates and into the office on her own.

I swear she must be adopted. I would be a bundle of anxiety and panic.

The youngest thinks the school uniform at the new school is fabulous because it’s a skirt and a polo shirt. Her current school might be public, but it’s a bit obsessed with acting like it’s private and is about to bring in compulsory straw hats for all the girls. You may also recall me telling you about the “wellbeing” teacher’s speech on orientation day kicking off with a lecture about how many centimetres above the ankle everyone’s socks needed to be.

You’re also allowed to wear your sport uniform all day on Wednesday at the new school. And playing netball is regarded as a “subject”, like philosophy or drama, so it’s one of the youngest’s electives for year 9.

The youngest is beyond stoked, despite the agonisingly long commute that will be involved every day.

Aside from signing on the dotted line for my second child to switch schools, I didn’t get nearly enough done over the past few days as Christmas looms.

Geez the weekends fly by fast.

The things I DID get done were:

  • I slept in until 7.15am on Saturday morning …  highly unusual for me
  • I scrambled out of bed to go for a bleary walk with friends
  • I drove to Silverwater for a pre-Christmas jail visit
  • I drove DD to the airport for a family getaway to Japan
  • I had a drink with my ex
  • I went to a pump class at the gym
  • I went to Bunnings and Petbarn to do some Chrissie shopping for the animals (not a euphemism) and buy house paint
  • I started painting the facade of my house
  • I went to the youngest’s end-of-year skipping performance

The things I didn’t get done were:

  • Christmas shopping for humans
  • Painting the whole facade of my house
  • Cleaning the inside of my house

I am getting too old to be painting houses. Everything hurts, from my feet up.

It was also a little traumatic because the colour I choose – Ancient Ruin – initially looked silvery grey on the walls, rather than the stone/taupe I was expecting. So I worried that the house looked like a square spaceship.

But I soldiered on until 8.30pm last night, as I’d spent my last $80 on four litres of the stuff, so I was determined not to waste it.

Fortunately, it seems to have dried quite nicely.

I have no idea how I’ll reach the high, pointy part of the house above the hedge, but that’s a problem for next weekend.

Speaking of my last $80, I am very much looking forward to getting paid today. Not having a zack in the bank really sucks (don’t tell the youngest, but I drained her bank account to pay the mortgage, I’ll put the money back this afternoon, I promise).

And tomorrow I’m booked at 11.45am for “welcome call” from someone called Shalvan, who works at the bank that is refinancing my mortgage. I have no idea why it will take 45 minutes to an hour to welcome me but, since they’re coughing up the cash, I will be very sweet about it.

That should keep the wolves from the door for a while until I work out a way to downsize my life … and still enjoy it.

Song of the day: David Bowie “Changes”

 

 

 

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