Thursday, December 28, 2006
didn't mean to alarm you
Well my dear reader, I must apologize if my last posting left you cause for alarm. That was certainly neither my intention nor desire.
Please allow me explain m'self. . .
This morning I awoke with what can only be catagorized as a minor anxiety attack. There are no major problems, all is well with The Boy, The Wife, and The Family. All is well with me.
My anxiety is caused by a perfect storm of minor worries, slowly converging and brewing on the horizon. For some reason it all piled up in my mind and woke me this morning. Let's call it a post holiday hangover.
For starters, there is the ever present fear about The Boy getting sick. History has demonstrated that the colder, wetter months of winter in my beloved city are a dangerous time of year. He is prone to respiratory infections and has a long history of pneumonias. This fear is currently fueled by the recent death of Carlton. His death represents my worst fear about The Boy realized. It has prompted The Wife and I to the beginnings of a very serious and unpleasant conversation about The Boy. Like Carlton's wonderful family, we too have been in the PICU, physically exhausted, emotionally charged and just plain fucking overwhelmed, forced by circumstance to weigh options and make decisions with potentially life-altering consequences. What are we going to do when our luck runs out? There has been talk of things like "DNRs", "quality of life" and an evaluation of everthing about The Boy and our reasons for the adoption. We have recognized that we have to make some very grown-up decisions and put thoughts to paper, legal ones. There is talk of things such as wills and insurance. We need to be ready if the dread day comes and we find ourselves with moments to act. What will we do? What will we do if is not The Boy but one of us in such dire straits? We are currently not in complete agreement. Sometime over the next week or so we hope to steal away for an afternoon and go work this all out in the same fashion we have made all of our other major life decisions.
Yes my dear reader, you guessed it.
We need to go to our favorite Texican restaurant, get a booth, and keep ordering margaritas and queso until we have figured it out.
In addition to that, there is this:
As I alluded to earlier, this isn't the most inexpensive time of year. We have been treading water just making ends meet with the new house. Every now and then it feels as though our heads are bobbing briefly under.
Now I'm not one prone excess.
Yeah right, I don't even believe that. If it is worth doing, it is worth doing done right, whatever the cost. Yes my dear reader, you are doubtlessly recalling a night or two from the past that left me with a bad hangover and hazy memories of some girl I knew I should avoid but was too drunk to care. That same passion for life continues and flares up tremendously during the holiday season.
Oh, and the joy of seeing the spectacle and splendor of Christmas through the eyes of a child!
We spare no expense.
My credit is currently amazingly awesome. Really, phenomenally and quite surprisingly so. So awesome that I have aquired a fucking lot of it. Prior to buying the house I had completely repaired the thermonuclear credit devastation from my divorce. (Yes, in retrospect I should have at least talked to a lawyer.)
Prior to buying the house, I was a ratio lovers dream.
No longer.
I fear we are overextended. Hell, again who do I think I'm fooling? I know we are.
In the long term I am not worried. I am confident, but not certain (and therein lies the problem) that a hefty tax return will be coming our way in February. Le'me tell'ya, my dear reader, if you ever want to get a giant tax return just adopt a child with disabilities. The Feds literally pay you. And now with the additional mortgage interest deduction. . . Hell, the forms just got way more complicated.
Anyone know a good CPA? Wait a second, I know one. I was once quite close to her daughter, who for some blessedly mysterious reason remains my most forgiving and therefore the most amazing and endearing of friend.
So I can see the silver lining in that dark cloud. I'm just not sure what to do in the meantime.
And then there is this:
TAKS-Alt.
I hate it. It was coming. Now it is here. It will devour me.
Briefly my dear reader, and rest assured I shall doubtlessly rant in greater detail in the future, it is the world of standardized testing coming to and colliding with special education.
It is where the world of the grandstanding politician and bureaucrat collide violently with mine.
To say that I think it worthless is to undervalue the word worthless. To say that it will take an underestimated 250 or so hours of my time between now and April is to undervalue my time.
It is now a legal requirement of my profession and there's not a damned thing I can do about it.
|
Please allow me explain m'self. . .
This morning I awoke with what can only be catagorized as a minor anxiety attack. There are no major problems, all is well with The Boy, The Wife, and The Family. All is well with me.
My anxiety is caused by a perfect storm of minor worries, slowly converging and brewing on the horizon. For some reason it all piled up in my mind and woke me this morning. Let's call it a post holiday hangover.
For starters, there is the ever present fear about The Boy getting sick. History has demonstrated that the colder, wetter months of winter in my beloved city are a dangerous time of year. He is prone to respiratory infections and has a long history of pneumonias. This fear is currently fueled by the recent death of Carlton. His death represents my worst fear about The Boy realized. It has prompted The Wife and I to the beginnings of a very serious and unpleasant conversation about The Boy. Like Carlton's wonderful family, we too have been in the PICU, physically exhausted, emotionally charged and just plain fucking overwhelmed, forced by circumstance to weigh options and make decisions with potentially life-altering consequences. What are we going to do when our luck runs out? There has been talk of things like "DNRs", "quality of life" and an evaluation of everthing about The Boy and our reasons for the adoption. We have recognized that we have to make some very grown-up decisions and put thoughts to paper, legal ones. There is talk of things such as wills and insurance. We need to be ready if the dread day comes and we find ourselves with moments to act. What will we do? What will we do if is not The Boy but one of us in such dire straits? We are currently not in complete agreement. Sometime over the next week or so we hope to steal away for an afternoon and go work this all out in the same fashion we have made all of our other major life decisions.
Yes my dear reader, you guessed it.
We need to go to our favorite Texican restaurant, get a booth, and keep ordering margaritas and queso until we have figured it out.
In addition to that, there is this:
As I alluded to earlier, this isn't the most inexpensive time of year. We have been treading water just making ends meet with the new house. Every now and then it feels as though our heads are bobbing briefly under.
Now I'm not one prone excess.
Yeah right, I don't even believe that. If it is worth doing, it is worth doing done right, whatever the cost. Yes my dear reader, you are doubtlessly recalling a night or two from the past that left me with a bad hangover and hazy memories of some girl I knew I should avoid but was too drunk to care. That same passion for life continues and flares up tremendously during the holiday season.
Oh, and the joy of seeing the spectacle and splendor of Christmas through the eyes of a child!
We spare no expense.
My credit is currently amazingly awesome. Really, phenomenally and quite surprisingly so. So awesome that I have aquired a fucking lot of it. Prior to buying the house I had completely repaired the thermonuclear credit devastation from my divorce. (Yes, in retrospect I should have at least talked to a lawyer.)
Prior to buying the house, I was a ratio lovers dream.
No longer.
I fear we are overextended. Hell, again who do I think I'm fooling? I know we are.
In the long term I am not worried. I am confident, but not certain (and therein lies the problem) that a hefty tax return will be coming our way in February. Le'me tell'ya, my dear reader, if you ever want to get a giant tax return just adopt a child with disabilities. The Feds literally pay you. And now with the additional mortgage interest deduction. . . Hell, the forms just got way more complicated.
Anyone know a good CPA? Wait a second, I know one. I was once quite close to her daughter, who for some blessedly mysterious reason remains my most forgiving and therefore the most amazing and endearing of friend.
So I can see the silver lining in that dark cloud. I'm just not sure what to do in the meantime.
And then there is this:
TAKS-Alt.
I hate it. It was coming. Now it is here. It will devour me.
Briefly my dear reader, and rest assured I shall doubtlessly rant in greater detail in the future, it is the world of standardized testing coming to and colliding with special education.
It is where the world of the grandstanding politician and bureaucrat collide violently with mine.
To say that I think it worthless is to undervalue the word worthless. To say that it will take an underestimated 250 or so hours of my time between now and April is to undervalue my time.
It is now a legal requirement of my profession and there's not a damned thing I can do about it.
|
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