Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Socked in the chopper by life...

Yesterday, I had begun a long post of ramblings, some serious, some not, arising out of the end of my exhaustion and at the prospect of things looking up, with the intent of finishing it when I had time tonight.

Today shot that all to hell. In about 20 minutes.

I picked up The Kid this evening only to discover his eye was purple and swollen after colliding face-first with another child on the playground. He seems ok with it, but for a mother to find the child who was spotless this morning turning another color when next she sees him, it is a nasty shock.

We got home and checked the mail, and lo and behold my latest financial aid offer for the 2006-2007 school year is already in my mailbox. I held my breath, closed my eyes and tore open the envelope.

After last year's fiasco (losing my financial aid for defaulting on my contract by dropping a class), I was not eligible for any federal loans, and the grants they offered (IF I'm fulltime which I can't be because of work issues) were laughable.

I held my composure as best I could, ushering The Kid inside so that I could make him some dinner (and dig out an icepack for that eye). He went upstairs to stow his things while I went to the kitchen to survey the fridge for something to eat. By the sound of it, he'd just reached the top of the stairs when I heard several successive thuds. The Kid emerged in a crumpled heap at the base of the stairs. In his haste, his slippery stocking feet skidded on the stair treads and he'd tumbled down the stairs. I rushed to him and grabbed him off the floor, clutching him as he cried on my shoulder, trying desperately to assure him that he was ok, while assuring myself taking a silent assessment of his appendages for broken or disjointed fingers or toes. Everything appeared to be in order, and slowly the tears dried. Once he'd declared himself hungry, I knew he was alright, because The Kid is always hungry (growing like a weed, he is) unless some other urge is strong enough to overtake his stomach.

I scrounged up a meal pieced together from leftovers and he dove into it while playing a reading game by himself, lost in his own happy little caccoon. I stared at his full, smiling pink cheeks for a moment and sank into a kitchen chair. And I sobbed. Big warm tears splashed my shirt and the table. The Kid could not ignore my anguish, and abandoned his food. He slid slowly out of his seat, walked over, and threw a tiny arm of support around me. He asked me what was the matter, and I quickly cobbled together an answer that seemed simple enough to be understood without giving The Kid any information that he could then pass on which would make it seem as though his mommy was poor (not that I care how much money we have, but other kids can be so cruel, and I am constantly fighting an uphill battle to avoid as many stigmas for him as possible). He leaned on my shoulder and what he said next nearly cracked my heart into a thousand pieces.

"When I'm grown up," he began, "I'll help you pay for your school."

"Oh, honey, you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do. I didn't know your school was expensive. I'll help you pay."

This, of course, made me sob even harder for a few moments, but not wanting to dump my problems on my child, I tried desperately to stop the tears and force a smile.

"I'm glad you're not crying any more," he said. "That was sad."

I hugged him and gave him a special dessert before excusing him from his writing practice for a night to watch a movie instead. He plopped down happily in front of the TV and I sneaked quietly away to the other room to cry as silently as possible.

I have cried enough tears lately. I don't understand why I have to keep crying more of them. I work so hard to try and overcome what life throws at me, and believe me, it throws me a lot. Everytime things are finally going right, something crashes in to ruin it all.

If I go to school parttime, I'll be paying out of pocket for the rest of my educational career. If I go fulltime, I'll have to quit this job and find one that is parttime to accommodate my schedule while paying about half of what I make now.

I can't win for losing. And I feel like, for once, I deserve to win. I deserve for something to go right. It's times like this that I wonder what the universe is playing at -- cold, dispicable people constantly trounce over their fellow man and they succeed at whatever they try, but people like me struggle and struggle and do nothing but good and we are shat upon by life.

I just want to be happy. Is that really so much to ask?


At 4/06/2006 9:20 AM, Blogger Small Town Diva said...

:( Some bunny loves you. I'll pop by.

At 4/16/2006 2:38 AM, Blogger 21st Century Woman said...

Somebunny loves you back.

Pop by or else!


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