Sorry for the radio silence. We’re, uh, all fine here. Thanks. Fine. Great. If someone asks, I give them a smile and say yes, yes, wonderful, how are you? We’re not, of course. I can’t change it, but I can endure. I’m good at enduring. However, the next deliverer of a chipper “God never gives you more than you can handle!” is going to lose teeth.

If you know what it means to take meds for a migraine, then take meds for the side effects the migraine med gives you, then take meds for the meds for the migraine meds–and then argue with someone on the other side of the world about Screen Shot 2015-08-12 at 3.49.52 PMshitty customer service (ahem, @AmazonHelp, using insulting phrases in a chat window) while worrying about a dozen things you have no control over, then we must be having the same day. The best bit was being offered $5 at the end of an excruciating 59 minute phone call. “Are you kidding me? The tooth fairy leaves my daughter more than that. I just want an apology and for you to fix it.”

Needless to say, it wasn’t fixed.

Out of curiosity, has anyone out there had Amazon Prime and given it up? Because of the delivery bit and the fact I have to juggle so much, I’ve become painfully reliant on it (even the TP comes through Amazon), but it’s set to renew next week and I’m considering letting it go for good.

A few days ago, I went to the Portland Public Schools website and put our address in. And it popped up with an elementary school that is good and very close to our house–not the crappy one a long way from our house–and felt giddy.

I was so happy I could scarcely believe it.

Until I realized I’d mistyped our street number and no, even though the nicer school is closer to us physically than many, many streets of one-family housing that it does serve, the place we live is dominated by condos and apartments, and we are thus relegated to the back of the educational bus. The school in walking distance that serves the one-family houses would be very convenient: the “neighborhood” school has horrible ratings and involves a 30 block bus drive. Hence the homeschooling that I’d never intended to do.

My reaction to the possibility of having pH in school–think “I just passed the bar!” elation–followed by realizing I was wrong–disappointment–was probably predictable. What was more surprising was what pH thought.

She was horrified. “But I LIKE being homeschooled!”

What?

I thought she hated it. She fights me on so many things that I assumed she wanted to go to school, any school, ASAP. (And if/when we move, there’s a good chance she will.)

Last night she had a tantrum–nothing like the crazy one of a couple weeks back–but enough that I decided it was a good time to take my recycling out to sort. I ended up talking to a neighbor, who said she didn’t know how I did it. (I hate it when people say that.) “Which part?” I asked. (It was the constantly being with another person part, which probably explains why she lives alone and I’ve never seen her children visit.)

“Oh. No, actually, she’s normally pretty fun to be around,” I said, and despite the tantrum inside, I meant it. I can actually conceptualize the empty nest feeling (something I couldn’t have said even a year ago) and realize that, adolescence depending, I’ll probably go through it.

When I went inside, I asked her if she was done with her tantrum.

“Yes.” She sniffled a little bit.

“Thank God. Want some ice cream?”

If only dealing with the hell that is Amazon support could be so pleasant. I’ve clocked about two hours with them on the phone  over how they “accidentally” canceled Kindle Unlimited, which resulted in the removal of the borrowed books from my devices. (FYI, when that happens, you lose all record of those books, and fixing the service means signing up again, like a brand new customer.)

Calls from Amazon Help today–and there were also chats and tweets:
12:42: Incoming, 59 minutes
14:47: Incoming, 1 hour 6 minutes

…and somewhere in the middle of the same piano sonata I’ve heard 100 times now, I was just disconnected. Nice. Just…nice.