Spent the morning with Tim driving us from place to place so we could fill out paperwork that will allow him to run track next semester. I get that they don’t want people abusing homeschooling so that monster-talented athletes are not taken advantage of in their pursuit of their sport. But, really? I would say 97% of the homeschool athletes running through Florida are not Tim Tebows. It’s a LOT of jumping through hoops and a lot depends on how the administrator receiving the documents feels about homeschooling. We already know the administrator at our local high school is not a fan of homeschooling. I don’t know why and I don’t care why. I just want for Tim to be able to run track. Heck, if you’re 16 and you want to chase girls, that’s the bst way to do it, in my opinion.
We are nearly, nearly done. Once again the Board of Education has no one in the homeschool coordinator job so I had to hand that part of the paperwork over to a woman who swore she could figure it out. I’m not holding my breath. I’m kind of confounded by the entire school system. Is it not all one system? Why cannot a person in the high school put a name in and figure out that kid’s educational history? Why can a person who works for the Board of Education not pull up ANYTHING if a kid is in the system? Why have I been paying for and submitting reports every single year since Danny was in third grade if no one is keeping track? It makes my head explode. I’m willing to bear the burden of proof since we’ve opted to be weird, but none of my boxes of proof with letters to accompany them are sufficient! GAHHHH!
After having Tim drive us around for nearly five hours of documentation nonsense, I had him drive to Walmart, you know, because the day had not been fun enough already. Tim and Andy walked across the plaza to Ross in search of giant sneakers for each of them. I got a wild hair when I walked into Walmart. I’m so tired of feeling old and stuck and blah. I wandered into the haircut place. A woman asked me if I wanted a haircut.
She was adorable and my age and so put together. Her hair was beautiful, shiny and black – my hair is never going to do that. I told her I was feeling blah and old and ugly and old. I wandered around and saw a picture of a girl with a haircut I had (really, truly) when I was about 23. I said “I love that haircut.” Donna, the woman who was bored until I arrived and guiding me through the store said “Girl, everyone loves that haircut. I’m sorry. You can’t have that haircut. Look how damn curly your hair is.” That’s when I caved. I turned my head over to Donna.
I’m not talkative as a rule. Donna was a talker. Turned out we both have all boys of the exact ages (no twins for her, she only has three boys) and we were off and rolling. I told Donna I liked her hair as well. I asked if she could do something Diana Ross/Amelia Aerheart/Trixie Belden for me. And she did, but first, she laughed and offered to sell me her wig.
This picture is the cut left to dry on its own. Donna showed me how to blow it out so it might be straight for part of the day and I could look kind of cool-ish.
Cool or not, my hair feels so nice and healthy and, I guess I look not too different than how I normally look. It took Dan, Ian and Mike (Tim and Andy were with me so knew about the cut and HAD to say, “It looks great, Mom,” or some variation!) about 20 minutes to figure out I had lost 6″ off of my head. My neighbor, on a mercy mission giving me her garage for the day/evening tomorrow (to hide stuff for Dan’s Navy interview), and I talked for about five minutes, she didn’t notice. I think I’m just one of those people who always looks the same and every 10 years or so you think, “Huh, she looks way older than I remember.”