I am guardedly optimistic. Prince agreed to all my revisions on the private school tuition stipulation, so I will only be responsible for bus fare. His attorney told me that the stipulation has been signed and is on its way back from the courthouse. I will not fully exhale until I have the signed stip in my hand, but things are looking up. Franny will be starting her first-choice, all-girls school in the fall.
I am also elated that Luca has gotten his first job. After getting rejected by Trader Joe’s, he applied to a high-end healthy grocery store that, astonishingly, is even pricier than Whole Foods, and was hired. At 16, he is the youngest kid ever to work at “Health Foodie.” Luca turned a “maybe” into a “yes” by stopping in six times to talk to the manager, who eventually hired him because of his persistence.
This job will look good for Luca in court, which may be where Prince and I are headed, once again. Prince has contacted the educational specialist who placed Luca at residential and has the man convinced that Luca needs another stint in boarding school. While Luca has made his share of dumb-ass teenage mistakes, none of them is outside the range of typical adolescent male behavior. And given the nightmare that has childhood has been, I think we really should be asking ourselves how he’s done as well as he has.
According to Prince in his last OFW — and who knows what the truth is — the consultant said that Luca not wanting to live with him is a sign that he’s not “willing” to accept his parents’ divorce and thus should be sent to a residential treatment facility. There may be logic in there somewhere, but right now it’s eluding me. As is the logic that someone who can’t afford child support can pony up 100 grand for boarding school.
It’s a glorious sunny Saturday on my spot of the globe, and I am still on the up side of the divorce rollercoaster. Luca’s hanging out at a friend’s house and Franny and I are off to get mani-pedis (hello, tax refund!). I plan to breathe in every last drop of good times before the stomach-lurching drop that’s sure to come.
How’s the ride on your divorce roller coaster these days?