I’m doing another one of those linky things with Casey Wiegand. You’re supposed to write about what’s on your heart, and the timing just happens to coincide with the day after my husband and I went to tour a preschool for our daughter.
Anybody that’s read a post in the last seven seconds knows that this keeps me up at night; that I’m nearly frozen with what to do about this. She’s 3 ½ and an angel. We’re not considering sending her because we have no place to go with her, but because we want her to be ready for school, whether we start her at 5 or 6.
And I really do promise to stop talking about this soon.
About halfway through our tour, as we stood on the edge of the playground, I could feel the tears coming. It was just the three of us: me, my husband, and the director – a woman my husband’s family has known for a lifetime. She’s wonderful and sweet and very experienced. But there I was, soaking in some rare sunshine on an empty playground: crying. I gave Husband a look, to let him know that he was going to have to handle the talking for a while, because I was about to lose it.
I just kept picturing my girl out on that playground…without me.
Truth: she’ll probably be fine. She’s precocious and mannered and very social, despite being at home most days with just her grandma and maybe her daddy.
Bigger Truth: It’s all me. It causes me physical pain to think of her being hurt or sad or lonely.
As we made our way back to the suburban after our meeting – this would be when I full out started the ugly cry – my husband reminded me that it’s how we handle adversity that makes us. I’m not sure if he was talking more about me handling this or her handling anything that might come her way in school.
Good advice, either way.
He’s a keeper, that one.
Where? When? We just don’t know yet, but I feel the clock ticking. Lord help me; I’m a wreck.
To inject a little cheer into this one-woman boo-hoo fest: I love listening to my girl talk.
This morning, after Grandma made Katie an egg sandwich for breakfast, there was a little bit of egg left in the skillet that Grandma ate. She asked Katie if she wanted a bite, to which she replied: “No thanks. I’m all egged-out.”
And last night, Brady wanted to keep working on Baby Brother’s new room construction, so I put Katie to bed. He usually always puts her to bed when he’s home from the station, so she tells him:
“Looks like we’re having a little change up tonight, huh?”
Him: “Yah…is that okay? I’m gonna keep working on Brother’s room.”
Her: “Well, I really like when Mama does it, as a matter of fact.”
Of course she does. Because Mama is the sucker that makes a pallet next to her and holds her hand while she falls asleep after telling an epic amount of When I Was Little stories…. I’ll just keep hauling my pregnant self down on that pallet until I can’t anymore.
Or until I have to start calling for Brady to come help me up off the floor. Whichever comes first.