Friday, August 13, 2010

Just Another Manic Mom-Day

I've been known to get a little manic about certain things, my kids in particular.  And today we picked up the information to enroll Sweet Girl in pre-school.  I could cry.  I nearly did.  I'm sure I will.  So many emotions, so many images running through my head, so many school supplies to buy (a toothbrush!); the mania has set in.  How are we going to do this, Sweet Girl?

This is big.  Sweet Girl has never gone to day care, she's received all her therapies in our home with either me or Sean right next to her.  Now she'll be in a classroom all day-five days a week! Little Man and I will have 27.5 hours of quality time together each week while Sweet Girl starts her formal education. I could cry.  It's not that I don't look forward to spending time with Little Man, or shopping with just one kid instead of two, or even (gasp!) having a couple of hours at home that resemble quiet. I do.  But I'm not sure I'll know how to function without Sweet Girl running around here like a zephyr hopped up on chocolate coated sugar cubes. (Incidentally, if she were ever to be adopted by a Native American tribe, I'm pretty sure her new name would be Runs Like Wind With Much Sugar. Or maybe even Dances With Much Hair Tossing....but I digress.)  All of this adds to my mania, but it's not what has me verklempt.

It's the thought of handing Sweet Girl over to someone else who hasn't spent the last three years getting to know her.  Sweet Girl lives in a hybrid of her own world and the world where the rest of us live.  She isn't your typical three year old, and it's taken a whole lot of work on her part to start communicating.  So how is this teacher (in whom I actually have every confidence, but rational thoughts aren't prevalent in my mind right now) going to know what to do with my Sweet Girl?  Will she know what she likes to do and what scares her? Will she know that "I got it. I got it." followed by grunting sounds is Sweet Girl's way of getting someone to hand her something she can't reach? Will she know that Sweet Girl works twice as hard as other kids to say half as much?  Will she know what to do when Sweet Girl goes looking for Pooh's lost rumbly (he shouldn't have had all those honey pies Kanga baked him in one sitting!)? Will she love my Sweet Girl like I do?  The answer to all these questions is no.  I could cry.  Actually, I am.

But "no" is the point.  If Sweet Girl isn't pushed to communicate with other people, people who haven't watched a thousand episodes of My Friends Tigger and Pooh with her, then she may never do it.  She has to learn how to ask for something out of her reach in a way others can understand, not to mention in a manner that won't make people think she has to go to the bathroom.  Sweet Girl needs to start venturing outside her world a little more.  I need to let her.  So, "no" is actually what the answer should be. 

And no one could love her the way I do; crazy fierce and soft and fuzzy, but I know her teacher will love Sweet Girl in her own way.  I just need to temper my mania and see this for what it is, a giant step in the right direction.  So it's not as windy around here during the week?  Little Man and I can live with that, and Sweet Girl will be back before we can get all those sugar cubes covered with chocolate.

6 comments:

  1. What happened to Sugary Wind??

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  2. At least you get to leave her with a trained professional in an environment built especially for her. I left her nephew with Ms. Cherry who refused to call him by his real name and stuck him right into music class next to a kid shaking a tambourine. And she wondered why he kicked her? This is big, but good big. Deep breaths and lots of retail therapy.

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  3. ever thought about writing a column for the weekly wipe?

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  4. Sorry, Kelly. I thought Ms Perpetual Motion needed a verb in there somewhere. :)

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  5. So now you have some "resemblence" of how we felt when you had to leave Grandma Sue and were inconsolable. Children have the best ability to make us cry but be so proud at the same time.

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