But this isn’t that post. This is about Jack’s back-to-school night, which was cool. Half of his class showed up, so there were three of us in the room. I also got to see the lava lamp by the teacher’s desk that Jack is obsessed with.
But this isn’t that post either. This is about the instrumental music meeting that took place before the class meeting. Kids have the option of playing an instrument in 4th grade. I was kind of dreading Jack wanting to play an instrument because I was imagining epic battles during practice time.
I asked him though if he wanted to play an instrument though, because he gets to choose if he wants to play an instrument. He said he didn’t want to. But then he came home a few days later with a sheet on which was written and circled, “DRUMS.”
Because of course.
I spent a little while mourning my quiet house and then I started to get excited. And Jack was excited. And I was excited that Jack was excited. And I figured that this is something he might actually like to practice. Because that kid LOVES drums. I have a photo of him with every single street performer drumming on buckets that we have ever passed.
I showed up for the instrumental music meeting tonight all excited to learn what kind of drum we had to procure for practice. What I learned instead was the philosophy behind not offering drums as an instrumental music option in elementary school, which is weird, because it was an adult who wrote “DRUMS” on his page and circled it.
I went to the hallway and texted Alex to tell him that Jack couldn’t take drums and then I stared at my phone a little more, trying to pretend that I wasn’t broken up.
Because Jack was excited about something that would take extra work and he still wanted to do it. I don’t give a shit if elementary schools don’t want to offer drums. But don’t write down “DRUMS” and then tell the autistic kid he can’t play them. I was already dreading the conversation with him. I imagined it was going to involve across the board disappointment.
Then a nice lady who turned out to be the art teacher saw me looking sad and said, “Are you okay?”
Then she took me to see the (non-instrumental) music teacher who gave me a tissue and I cried even harder, because they were SO nice to me. And they both listened to me and told me they’d met Jack and the music teacher told me how Jack had played the African drums in music and was totally into them and how she could totally see that music is important to him and this all made me cry even more and then she told me about the percussion class they hold once a week before school starting in October.
How great is that? That might be even better than instrumental music drumming. They’re going to have a DRUM CIRCLE.
I managed to pull myself together in time for the full-fourth grade presentation at which they showed a slide that said, “Homework, participation, effort, and work study skills are not factored into grades,” followed by a list of tests and “informal observations” that ARE factored into grades.
I was more than pleased to see that homework thing, but the rest of that sentence was baffling to me. I guess you can’t have percussion class AND A’s (or B+’s) for effort all in one school.
Now, lest you think I hogged all of the emotional drama of the evening, you should know that a squirrel drowned in our swimming pool. Alex texted me a photo of the funeral.
Alex also texted me a photo of the squorpse, but I won’t subject you to that.*
This was all taking place at the same time as back-to-school night. See, we’re draining our pool right now and there’s only a few inches of water in it now, so there isn’t a cover on it. I’ve seen squirrels balancing on the edge of it, but I assumed that because squirrels can jump from one tiny branch to another tiny branch in a different tree that they wouldn’t fall into the swimming pool.
I was wrong.
The children fished the squirrel out with our pool net.
Related: We might need a new pool net.
Alex dug a grave, Quinn and Sam gathered flowers, and Alex presided over the funeral at which all four mourners said some words for the squirrel. (Jack: “Poor guy.” Quinn: “He was a good squirrel.”)
Welcome to Stimeyland, the home of many, many, MANY buried, deceased rodents, as well as a good number of tears. If we ever sell our house, we’re going to have to disclose that our yard is full of tiny, buried rodent skeletons.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better for everyone. Especially the squirrels.
* Squorpse: This term was originally coined by KC. I will probably never give her credit for it again. Tell everyone you know that I made it up.
** I totally invented the term “squorpse.”