First the Navy. Now this.

I knew it was too good to be true. The husbeast retired from the military and there was this sudden dearth of bureaucratic nonsense. I reveled. I wallowed. I enjoyed. And it's a damn good thing, because I'm back to hoop jumping and stupidity. This time, instead of Colonel Whosit, I'm faced with Doctor Whatsit, something (shrink? administrator? HMFIC*?) for the local school district.

But wait, first, the back story, so this makes more sense and I don't look dumbassed.

Back in June, when we made the offer on the house, I called the local school district about enrolling the Goober for kindergarten. I was blown off. They told me that there's a list of forms and documents needed on the web site (there is), but no one wanted to talk to me, see me, or discuss until I had the school tax form thingie (hereafter the STFT) in hand. The STFT makes me exist, essentially.

Right then. Gathered up all the needed documents. Didn't have the Goober's immunization records. After a great deal of sleight-of-hand, two months later, I think I've got those out of the Air Force medical facility in Charleston. Forget missile launch codes. Try to get medical files out of those sons of bitches. It's unreal.

Anyway. I waited for the STFT. And waited. Called the county. Waited. This week, we got our STFT. It is dated August 16. (Keep that in mind; I'd have done this back in freakin' JUNE, if I could.) It took about twenty-four hours to get someone on the phone at the school, and then, finally, they were willing to talk. With all documentation in hand, they can pretty much enroll the Goob on the spot, so I said I'd be up Monday afternoon to enroll her, after her physical Monday morning. School starts August 29, so in my world, we're cutting it pretty close.

Then I dropped the anvil into the precision works: The Goober is five days short of the cutoff date for age. (Child has to be five by September first. The Goober turns five on September sixth.) I was - stupidly, in retrospect - expecting an "oh, swing by and meet the school shrink, let them talk to your kid, sign a waiver" sort of thing. That's how it worked when I was in school, in another state, lo these many millenia ago. I mean, come on. Five fuckin' days?

Oh, no. Gee. Huh. That's a problem. I need to call Doctor Whatsit at the administration building. I call him. Oh, gee. Huh. That's a problem. Normally early admission paperwork is due in FUCKING JANUARY, but since we just moved... huh. Hm. He'd call me back.

He called back. The Goober - WHO THEY HAVE NEVER MET, WHO IS FIVE FUCKING DAYS SHORT - needs a formal psychological evaluation for IQ, social skills, and behavioral problems. Then the stuff needs to be signed off on by the freaking SCHOOL BOARD.

Okay. So where do I go for the evaluation?

THEY DON'T KNOW, AND OH YEAH, I HAVE TO PAY FOR IT.

So, I've spent the last two days on the phone with half the shrinks in western Pennsylvania, trying to find one who does an early school admission exam or whatever in fuck it's called. No one does them. The freaking CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL doesn't do them. What in the HELL?

Called back to the school, informed them in Polite Yet Strong Language that while I'm willing to cooperate, I can't unless they can find me someone to cooperate WITH. After ten minutes on hold, they came back with the name of one shrink they know of who does these exams.

She isn't answering her phone. I'm going by her office, in person, Monday morning.

So. That's why I haven't been blogging. I've been on the phone, waiting for a phone call, looking up phone numbers, or having myself a swoon on the back porch. To say I have brain melt is a vast understatement. I'm taking the weekend off and starting fresh Monday.

At which point my brain will melt again.




*Head Mother-Fucker In Charge; it's a military rank. Really. Just ask them.