I need a little kids school...

For anyone who's been reading my Facebook posts, this will probably all be old news... but I thought I'd go ahead and post on here. In hopes of drawing it all together for myself, maybe. That's why we tell stories, I think. To organize our experiences for ourselves, primarily; to make sense of our lives.

I am having some monumental mom guilt at the moment, let's just get that out there right now. Why didn't I insist/push/just-do-it find a good pre-k program for Finn last spring when we got here?

I don't remember. I tried, I know. Three co-op preschools were full. One CDSA site had space, but we fell into a weird income hole and were too poor to get one subsidy and couldn't get another unless I went to a job-searching class 40 hours a week, which was senseless to me. I guess I got tired, and then it was April, and then it was Well, let's just wait.

And he was going to pre-K anyway, I thought. Then he had a growth spurt - emotionally, communication-wise - as I posted last time.

And truth be told, I started kindergarten when I was 4. I was "smart". I always took pride in that. And all the kids Finn was born with began kindergarten last week. I didn't want him left out. So we were off to kindergarten with high hopes.

Then he started wetting his pants, right after we visited his school for the open house. He's never done that. Ever. And it was constant. And then he went to school, and he started crying. Not for a little while - he cried for three days straight. He kept getting lost in the halls, his teacher said, because he didn't know how to stay in line with his class. He wouldn't let her leave his side at lunch.

She told me all this on the playground in the morning, when the kids were lining up to go in. She didn't email or call me. I didn't have much time to process the information. It's her first year teaching. She's very sweet. If he was ready, I wouldn't worry about experience on her part - but he's a guy who needs some special care, I think, some knowledge.

And truth be told, I don't think he's ready for the kindergarten that exists now. He told me, very clearly:

"I need a little kids school."

Maybe if we hadn't moved.

Maybe if he'd had one or two years of pre-school.

Maybe if dad and mom were different people (not sure how, just different somehow - the kind of people who don't move, maybe, and who make sure they own a house before they have a child, and who make sure that child goes to preschool...)

So now, the decision is what pre-K program?

The sweet, sweet, small one a mile away, with 4 staff members for 15 to 20 kids? The one where most kids with him will be 3 1/2 to 4 to start, then catch up to being 5 along with him? The one that meets Mondays through Thursdays from 1pm to 4pm?

How will I work at all if he goes to that one? Even my work, my freelance writing and coordinating and teaching work?

Or the school program that seems somehow less desirable - the site we're considering is further away, for one thing, but not tremendously. 9am to 3pm, 5 days a week - shorter days not an option. Where they nap from 12:30 to 2pm, no matter what. Finn hasn't napped in two years. He'd have to rest quietly on his mat during that time. He hated naptime when he had to endure it at his San Diego preschool. The school with an executive director who is reviled by folks I know, although the teachers at this site seem lovely.

A lot more freedom for me. A lot more hours for me. To work, write, whatever.

What do I do?



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A Break from Work...

Finn and I are headed to the Tulip Festival today, a Mom and Boy date.

I haven't posted in a long time, and that feels odd. I have wanted to, but have not been able to sit down and focus.

I've been working.

I got what I asked for in my last post. Life swung into gear.

Summer contracts over my desired amount. An interview on Monday for more grant-writing work. A voiceover audition. An acting audition coming up. And lots of good ideas flowing for my novel.

Now I have to do the work associated with those contracts. My old job, running the youth theatre. It feels good to stretch back into that.

And I have to keep showing up for my afterschool drama class, searching for ways to engage these kids without going crazy. I felt like such the mean, bad teacher yesterday. My classroom management skills, so good normally, are taxed and just not effective in this community classroom with 15, 16, 19 kids swooping in and out yelling and cartwheelling (literally) and mock-fighting and real-fighting. I need help. I need a plan, man. When we sit and do artwork - like making a collage, a puppet, a folder - we are okay. When we get up to do drama, all is LOST.

Any good ideas out there? Any cool puppet ideas? Other crafts?

And sometimes, I still get stuck in future worry. When and how will my husband get his new hip? What kind of work and income will I have after August? Will Finn be okay in kindergarten? What if he is not? What will we do?

And I can literally feel my shoulders rise towards my ears as my breaths get shorter and higher and I am panting with worry...

So - stop. Breathe deeply. Today, the road heads north. Tulips are waiting. It's easy. It's just today.




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44th Birthday, 44th President...

I haven't posted in so long - for good reasons, happily.

Good family times, with Finn and I hitting our stride and not too many breakdowns, and then Kenny home on October 30.

A good Halloween, Finn happy about his costume!! The most delightful little Witch ever, with neighborhood trick-or-treating and lots of loot.

And the best day of all, November 4 - with a new President Elect, bringing new hope and such joy. I wept and jumped up and down, watching the TV, and Finn fell asleep on the couch to Barack Obama's acceptance speech. He refused to go to bed, very out of character for him - he knew something BIG was happening, he could feel it in Kenny and me. And now, he gazes at the TV, saying, "I need see Barack Obama..."

And another good day, November 8 - Lights Up! at Playwrights Project; a job well done by all, a joyful, successful special event. Deborah was happy, people were moved and thrilled - and ladies who impress me, ladies who are not easily impressed themselves, were extremely pleased. One said it was a Magnificent night. And one looked at me and said, "You are a producer, aren't you?" with just a tiny bit of awe.

And I'd like to take all the credit, but I don't deserve it all. I deserve some, and that feels good. A job well done - a profoundly satifisfying feeling.

And today, my 44th birthday. Finn serenades me right now with Old MacDonald, sung by a toy long forgotten, who was recently resurrected and reassigned favored status. A lunch at work, with balloons and my favorite meatball sub and chocolate mousse pie, all provided by my co-workers. I was planning to take the day off, but a debriefing meeting was in order and happily combined with a birthday lunch.

And a walk on the beach; a quick walk, but good enough.

And dinner picked up by Kenny, grilled chicken and rice and beans and salad. And birthday wishes a'plenty from friends and family and Facebook pals.

I am grateful. I feel hopeful.

And Old MacDonald has a tractor, and on his tractor he has a duck, and on his tractor he has a cow, and on his tractor he has a pig. Ee Ei Ee Ei Oh.

Life is good.







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Whew...

Week one of solo parenting:

3 different babysitters for Finn, for 3 different nights/weekend days of work;
I-don't-know-how-many dvds conned out of said babysitters;
1 night of working with Finn, at auditions;
3 extra days of Extended Day Care for Finn at school;
at least 3 crying, angry, sad times while there;
at least 3 okay times;
maybe 1 or 2 actual happy times;
3 school lunches (all of them eaten, joyfully);
1 sobbing fit of my own in the car, in the middle of a particularly tough day;
2 after-school visits to the blissfully quiet, empty, serene Mission Trails Park;
a couple of work crises;
1 bad haircut (Finn's, not mine);
too many calls with Kenny to count.

How do people do this?

I guess things become a routine. I guess things get easier, or one gets used to the difficulty. At the end of the day yesterday, I had never been so exhausted.

Then last night I actually slept, well, and stayed in bed dozing and sleeping from Finn's 7:15am wake-up through his early morning playing and 1 dvd until 9:00 Praise-the-Lord am.

And today I didn't officially have to work, and I was rested, and Finn was rested, and we went at his pace, and we went nowhere near school, and we went to dance class together, and then he spent 90+ minutes playing in a park while I got to talk to my sister on the phone, and we came home and ate lunch, and we read some books, and he watched his favorite movie Ratatouille while I managed to do a load of laundry AND check work email AND write part of a grant.

Today was a very good day.

Kenny comes home October 30. I can't really think that far ahead, or I might die. Life at the moment is a strange balance of:

"Think ahead. Make a list. Write down everything. Check off one thing. Move on. Check off another...."

and

"Stop. Breathe. Be. Here. Now."

Tomorrow there is no schedule. Thank you, God. There are tasks - Salvation Army and the 99cent store to shop for 2 chairs and the last few props for the set for the tour, get the house in order for the week, maybe even surprise myself and make a meal or lunch or something AHEAD OF TIME.

Who am I?

Work is just plain hard work right now. It's probably two of the worst weeks of my work-year for Kenny to be gone. But it is what it is, and he is well. Working hard, earning money, in his beloved gray, calm, green Seattle. He stays in an aerie of a room, with windows that look on a gray lake and green trees and nothing (not a single car alarm, not a boombox, not a tire screech, not a circling helicopter) can be heard. He is blissful. Lonely, missing us, but happy to be where he is.

And my work is work. Everyone gets grumpy when a show gets toward tech, and we have a touring show heading towards tech, and a set with fabric that shrank while painting, and a van to rent, and blah blah blah. And there are still shows to be booked, and income is down, and grants are due, and there's another show to program and cast, OH, and we had auditions for FOUR different plays this week, and I'm late on writing contracts for the entire artistic staff, and there's a special event to worry about, and school residencies to program, and school residencies to sell, and I don't have to do all of the work but I have do a lot of it, and everyone else does too, and so everyone is cranky, and tired, and and and.

And I'm doing my part in 2 to 3 hour bursts in between drives to and from Finn's school and in between breakfast, lunch, and dinner prep, and trying to not be the yelling, mad, "no-one-wants-to-be-her" mother.

And Kenny will be home in 12 days. Which I prefer to think of as a week, and a little bit. Because that's what it is, really. He left early in the morning last Sunday, and we made it to here, Saturday night. So now all we have to do is that same week one more time! And then we have to do a few more days. Which will be easy!

I pray.






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