When we went in to the public school down the street a couple of months ago, the principal of the afternoon school asked us to come back at the end of the school year (but, you probably already knew that; sheesh, I feel like it's all I talk about these days.) The kids would do testing and he would introduce us to the principal of the morning school; we would hopefully receive a clear confirmation regarding schooling for the kids there next year.
So this past Monday we gathered up every document we could think of, combed the
kids' hair, and headed back out to the public school down the street.
We were supposed to be there at twelve-thirty on the dot. We were. We sat in the waiting room and waited for a really, really long time. Selma colored. Malachai read his book. Josu sat on my lap and fretted "What time is it? When will it be our turn? Why aren't they here?"
I held him tight and whispered to him:
"God is near, sweet boy; He is not outside of this; we can trust Him"
We were finally called up, only to be told by the secretary that she had no idea who we were or why we were there. Neither the afternoon principal nor the morning principal were present; they had been gone for a while . . . we needed to leave.
And on our way out the door, we ran into both principals. The afternoon principal greeted us warmly and introduced our kids to the morning principal as future "academic olympians" for the school (it was like a reunion of old friends! crazy, I tell you!)
Ah yes, they still wanted to make room for us, but they couldn't guarantee anything yet. We needed return in the fall . . . on the first day of school. They could only tell us for sure then.
So, we keep slowly moving forward with our school plans; we'll show up on the first day of school with neatly groomed children and hearts full of hope.
Meanwhile, we are preparing ourselves for a possible last minute "no" from the school. We've been checking our budget numbers to see what line items could be cut if we needed to find a private school for the kids; we make mental notes of schools that we stumble upon on our afternoon walks . . . and very often, I whisper to my own heart:
"God is near, Naomi; He is not outside of this; you can trust Him"
Since I've been home schooling the kids, Selma's Spanish has grown a bit sloppy, and all year long I have found myself urging her to think, read and speak more in Spanish. To be quite honest, I don't love fighting that battle (but I do anyways because: bilingual child, right?)
In this season of the World Cup... when everyone from the shoe shiner to the the executive businessman can be overheard talking about the latest game; when even the cream cheese company finds a way to incorporate a soccer ball into their advertisement; when school children get their classes suspended in order to be able to watch their national team play; when every social event is planned around the next soccer match . . . .
it shouldn't surprise me that this morning I woke up to Selma loudly announcing the play-by-plays of Malachai and Josu's finger soccer match - in perfect spanish.
How was your 4th? Ours was extremely average in every way.
We've deemed the 5th of July Interdependence Day, though, and it promises to be very spectacular. We've invited our community group, invited our friends, invited our neighbors. We bought a watermelon and are preparing to taste a whole spectrum of international foods.
(there may even be sparklers; it's going to be a good day)