Fickle fickle me.

There I was, ranting and raving to all who would listen to my ramblings about how awful Jayce's school was, and how much trouble he got in for such small things, and how much I hate (still do) their undefined uniform policy. Should I switch schools? Do you like public school? Is there another charter school in the area that is better? I fed off all of the negative information, although it was interlaced with the posative, I chose to focus on the bad. 3:30pm and in walks my foot in my mouth. Jayce came in excited he had not recieved a warning that day, and as I went through his folder there was a new colored note from his teacher:



'Just a quick note to tell you how pleased I am that Jayce, sat tall and was an active listener during class today. Jayce had a great day! Signed his teacher. '



Ok, so he is staying put. And I am yet again, a fickle fickle mother.