Tenterhooks

I got a phonecall on Tuesday. To all intents and purposes it was good news, even excellent news, even a happy ending to years of sweat and stress and nail biting and polite negotiations beyond any previous understanding of my ability to remain courteous under fire.

Yeah, right, been there before. After the initial reaction (which was to whoop and go teary eyed as if I'd won the lottery or someone had declared world peace and enlightenment for all), I remembered that news of a ship on the horizon is not, actually, a ship on the horizon; nor even does the appearance of such a vessel mean much unless it then also proceeds to head towards you. Even then there is the issue of whether it truly is on a rescue mission or just blythely and ignorantly set on a course which will run you over.

Cynical? Moi? On the contrary, I have simply learned from bitter experience that it doesn't do to spend too much energy rejoicing on trust, when you are treading water in the middle of the Atlantic (and/or ocean of your choice).

This two day silence, rather these two days filled with high energy procrastination such as playing blogthings quizzes and blitzing someone else's house - these have been my equivalent of the Victorian dead faint followed by smelling salts and fresh air and a day on the chaise longue in the conservatory sipping beef tea, to recuperate. Honestly, there's never an asphyxiatingly restrictive corset around when you could use the excuse.

Did you know corsets were the cause of the earliest Western plastic surgery? Women actually used to have their bottom two ribs removed to allow the waistline to be so severely cinched. Yes I know, I said Western, I acknowledge footbinding came earlier, and head binding earlier than that. Yes, yes I know, I'm doing it again.

So, the deal (given that I'll only believe it when I see it), is this:

The policy makers at County got into a huddle, presumably decided I had them bang to rights for telling me that the school I wanted for son was 'full' and using that as the reason for refusing him a place. They may prefer to deny my assumption or refuse to comment, but for their own reasons they decided to approach the 'full' school yet again and ask them to accept Son as one over the numbers.

The new Headteacher (Yes! Miracle! Between the last time of asking and this one, a new Head stepped up!) - ahem - the new Head looked at the advices and this time said "Well, OK, we could squeeze him in, but he needs a full time INA (Individual Needs Assistant)."

The policy makers, allegedly, agreed to this and increased his statement banding and the amount of funding that goes with it, to allow for a full-time, all-year member of staff to be employed. Just like that, by the sounds of it as a snap decision during the same telephone call. After I've been begging and pleading for crumbs for over two years. %&(^£"&!!

So the school said.......................... yes.

And the final statement should be coming out to me this week, naming the school I wanted all along and giving son the provision I asked for all along.* Wow.

*At which point, however, I start nitpicking to make sure that the INA is listed as a provision in the statement, his/her hours and qualifications specified also, that the other provisions are specific and not the woolly drafts we had before, etc etc etc. Oh, and then I have to raise the testy subject of transport, ie stick my hand out for yet more money. See this is the tension of fighting on behalf of a kid with differences. Even when you so desperately want to throw your hat in the hair and shout Hallelujah, you just know it's not over. It may never be over. Hey ho.

I understand I am supposed to rejoice on the basis that I got the County to comply with more of the law than they usually do - that seems wrong somehow and makes 'victory' (however partial) a little hollow.