My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

So Long, Farewell!


Today is a day of endings: part relief and much sadness.

Today is Redís last day with the crazy sitter. Her last day exposed to all-day-long television and scary, noisy toys. One more reason Iím glad itís her last day there: when I dropped her off this morning, the other toddler was snoozing in her car seat. The car seat was on the sofa. Iím not going to go into why people feel the need to cart their children around in car seats rather than carry them or wear them but it does strike me as slightly unsafe to place the car seat on the sofa. When the child is in it. Maybe itís just me. I think Iím the only parent there who arrives with just my child. The car seat never leaves the car. Thatís where it belongs. Thatís why itís called a CAR seat.

Today is also Dustyís last day at her beloved preschool. I just canít believe itís all over. Itís like a death and Iím still mourning the loss. At the farewell gathering last night, I spoke to a number of parents who felt the same way, others who couldnít even speak about it, it hurt so much. Glad Iím not alone.

My husband, dog bless him, actually approached the bitch-on-wheels junior warden of the church and the bastard reverend Ė the ones who devised this whole closing and had the gall to show up Ė and said, ďSo, were you born with ice water in your veins, or did you have it surgically inserted later?Ē The reverend huffed that he didnít think heíd dignify that with an answer, which he just had. Dumbass. The ice-bitch just stared back. Sheís good at that. So, score one for the team! My husband also sent a letter to said reverend which perhaps Iíll post at another time. Heís since sent letters to the paper in response to the article about the closing, and to a weekly publication which first broke the news. Heís composed email messages to the Virginia diocese and the national Episcopal HQ. Someone suggested he sent a message to the Archbishop of Canterbury to let him know how the Americans are dragging the CoE in the mud down here. He hasnít been able to find a direct email address yet.

Observing Redís sudden desire, during the party, to let loose of me and wander amongst children, teens and grownups alike as if they were nothing but moving trees in a knee forest, I know sheíll do just fine at her new center, as corporate as it is. At least it follows a ďdevelopmentally appropriate practiceĒ in the ways in which teachers interact with children and in its curriculum. Red will have outdoor time and books and art time (when sheís able to purposely wield a crayon) and will have her back rubbed at naptime.

Next week, itís Dusty and Mom week. Weíre going to shop for school supplies, go to the park, see that penguin movie, visit the library, visit her new preschool, and just plain hang out. I donít get much Dusty time these days so Iím looking forward to it. If Iím lucky, Iíll also be able to get our nasty mint green bathroom painted an apricot color. Trust me, itíll be an improvement. Now, if only I could replace the carpet (yes, carpet) surrounding the stupid jetted tub with something approaching tasteÖ..anybody know a good tiler?


11:48 a.m. ::
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