A couple of posts ago I talked about how The Deistette‘s Little Man had the crud and I was the one who stayed home with him.
Well since The Deistette found a job just a few weeks ago, I’ve been (not completely) but for the most part, in charge of getting him out of bed and getting him ready to go to pre-school.
For you parents who have done this you know the drill… trying to get the child up out of bed. Going back and telling them again to get up. Taking the blankets off of said child. Yelling up the stairs to get up. Going back and again removing the blanket, this time, to outside the room. Five minutes later going back to take the blanket off and bringing it downstairs.
Getting breakfast. Trying to explain why the child can’t wear his bathing suit trunks, cowboy boots and a wife beater undershirt. Giving medicine for the cold contracted from being at the pre-school. Cleaning the child off because he spilled medicine down his chin and neck. Giving medicine again.
I’m sure you get the idea. Every little movement… every little instance in trying to get ready is an extremely complex evolution that requires tremendous forethought and logistics.
So the reason for the forethought and logistics is because he has to be somewhere while The Deistette and I are at work.
So Emmie found a great little school for him to go to but the problem is it’s so far away. We figure, “hey it’s pretty cheap. We can do this.” Turns out to be a fantastic school and really helps The Little Man catch up on where he should be with writing his name and letters and other pre-schooley things.
Well, we couldn’t do it. Turns out it wasn’t as cheap as we thought. The drive was killing both me and the boy and ultimately we had to change him to another place closer to our house.
It sucks. To put him in one we can afford means putting him in a sub-par facility. Don’t get me wrong we didn’t put him in a dungeon. It just isn’t the same as when he had a teacher that really worked with him.
I hate it. I feel responsible. If I could have just woken up earlier. Woken him up earlier. Discovered clever ways to make him have a “good” morning vice the screaming, crying, “i-don’t-want-to-go-to-school” mornings. Found a way to afford it. It just sucks.
The Little Man looks up to me. He really likes me and he often says, “hold my hand Julian” when we go to the store or when I’m walking him to his little pre-school, which is a pretty friggin’ cool feeling. But taking his hand comes with a tremendous amount of responsibility that I’m not sure I’m up to.
I’ve never thought as myself as a very good dad. Pretty sure I wasn’t the best dad to Little Fawn I could have been. The Little Man’s daddy lives up in the panhandle right now and because I’ve chosen to be with his mommy, I’ve got to step up and fill those shoes.
Hope I don’t let him or his mommy down.
The Little Man and The Deist