Private School - More Than the Three R's

Being a product of the public school system, I am of no help to my poor children who are navigating the tricky waters of private school here in New Orleans. Not only do they have to figure out uniforms, a ton of new rules, a new schedule, new teachers , new friends and of course new subjects, they are going to be subjected to religion classes too. Catholic, no less! Don't get me wrong, I"m not knocking Catholics. I'm admitting in a round about way that my kids have a sketchy religious education. A brief stint as methodists, followed by a long period of inactivity, and then an introduction to unitarian universalism has most likely just confused them. And now, we're throwing them into the Lions Den (just kidding; couldn't resist that reference).

But, going to a Catholic school won't be so bad. As the school administrator who so kindly took us in said, "You'll come to appreciate us Catholics more and more". I don't doubt it. I already do, in fact. Just providing a solid education for my kids for the next year is reason enough for me to be thankful. Being successful in finding the right school for kids is a seriously tough business. Were it not for the guidance and kindness of some neighbors, friends and administrators, our kids might have suffered the horror of homeschooling with an over-medicated mommy.

The entire school system in Louisiana (or New Olreans at least) is messy and complicated. For example, deciphering which private schools offer the best and most generous scholarships is difficult. Sometimes it feels like trying to get initiated into a secret club. I'll never forget going to an after work party years ago and listening to 20 somethings answer "What school did ya go to?" It was truly bizarre. No one gave a rats ass if you were at Yale or Tulane or DeVry. They all wanted to know which high school you graduated from. Yes indeed, high school. "Did I miss something?" I wondered.

Each school system and each school for that matter, says a lot about who you and your family are. If you traveled the Holy Name/De La Salle/Sacred Heart route, you were most likely Catholic, middle class and had some serious roots in Louisiana. There are lots of grads with names ending in "eaux" at these schools. Wore the green Newman shirt? Your daddy was a lawyer or business owner or a football star and could afford the very best. Had the good grace, luck, or horseshoes needed to make it into Lusher? Your parents were the ultimate hipsters, an enlightened bunch of artists/musicians/hippies who appreciate a fine, liberal public education.

Like so many other things, Katrina apparently changed the education system forever in this city. The school system was practically gutted (as the weekly alternative paper in town says) and charter schools sprang up everywhere in response. Ineffective teachers were put out to pasture and Teach for America moved in. The education system is getting better in terms of quality, but certainly not in terms of quantity. The best public and charter schools have ridiculous waiting lists and the absolute luxury of picking and choosing (minus the required district spots) the top students. So, where does that leave the rest? Wandering the desert in search of answers and a sign like oh, I don't know, a burning bush perhaps?

We didn't have the luxury of a burning bush, only a burning desire to find a good school. We spent months asking questions, filling out forms and phone calls, and we still came up empty handed. Despite its association with evil and wrong-doing, on Friday the 13th, we scored an appointment with Holy Name of Jesus on our first try (now there's a good sign!) and were quickly accepted into their loving arms. I hope we stay put.

Have we figured out the car pool or the uniform changes yet? Nope. But, we're learning. Have we short-changed the kids on school supplies already? Indeed. A trip back to Office Max however, will change all that. Like I said, this is new territory for all of us and we're doing the best we can. Thankfully, we're in a place where forgiveness is routine. Amen to that.

It's Eatin Time!

The fast is over.

We're back in NOLA, in the land of food and a glutton of amazing restaurants. I don't know why, but we just didn't eat out much in Charlotte and we've done just that every single day in the one week we've been back in New Orleans. Yes, there are a gazillion great restaurants here, but it's not like Charlotte was a complete wasteland. It just didn't seem quite as meaningful there.

It's weird to be back. I've titled this new blog full circle, cause that's how it feels. New Orleans is where I met my husband and where my life completely changed. (no need to cue any sort of Air Supply song; it's cliche all right, but 100% true.) I am mostly happy to be here, but somewhat apprehensive too. Starting over is tough anywhere, but somehow it feels like it might be harder here than in Charlotte. I was lucky in the Queen City, and very successful as a writer. I had a fresh start and could be anything I wanted. I don't quite have that luxury here. I'm somewhat remembered, but not as a writer. That just might confuse folks.

The kids are adjusting, but it's harder for them too. They had friends in Toronto, but not BFFs. Plus, they see them at least once a year since we travel to TO frequently. I'm not sure how often we'll get back to Charlotte and that's makes the sting of leaving that much more painful. Poor Cyre is sad, sad, sad about leaving her friends, her school and her Meredith. Truth is, I miss Meredith and the McVadons too. I can only imagine how she feels. Remember 12? Your friends were your whole world (I'm not far from that at 42!) and giving them up is like having an organ ripped out. Okay, a little dramatic; but, I swear all the moping is affecting me.

Keller is happy to be here, but missing his buds too. He is enjoying all the weirdness, the food, the music and le bon temps roulez here. However, I think he is mostly confused and a little bored. He doesn't have the freedom to wander the neighborhood, killing the Dutch. He can't run over to the neighbors houses at 7 am on a Sunday and bombard them with WWI weaponry facts. (don't you want to live next door?) Once the kids start school and he has a routine and regular people to talk to, I'm sure he'll settle down.

The best part though, is how happy my husband is. He's smiling all the time and no longer looks ashen. His walk has a bounce once more. He's grateful, thankful and humble too. It's a lovely combo, though I'm sure it will eventually get old. Playing music every day knowing he can take care of his family has turned his world around. It's the way it's supposed to be. I'm looking forward to that kind of experience myself.

So, off we go to eat more food. More later.

Meg