Victories and Battles, Superwoman battles the Pink Robots


My first full week and I made it through. I balanced finishing up my paperwork, meaning I was running downtown, uptown, Brooklyn and beyond to get everything done. Working with kids, they make sure they put you through the ringer, rightfully so. I realized I don't think my body can fit back in a cubicle. I can't do it. As I lay on the school floor gluing and glittering like a fairy pixie gone mad, I couldn't stop smiling. Preparing my, bulletin boards, I wondered how on earth I was going to go back to reality if this job was just a dream. I'll never forget this Oprah show where she kept saying "Do what you love." And I spent hours, days, months thinking that's all fine and good for some people, but many of us don't have the option to do that. Plus, what do you love and is it even possible to make it a viable career? I think over the years I've had lots of ups and downs in trying to figure out what it is I want to do. I've enjoyed everything I've done, but after a while, it became just another job. Usually after I see my creativity or honesty or even plain old skill go out the window instead replaced with "what our readers expect" "what we need right now" "what we think is efficient" I realized that I can never be somewhere where ideas are expected to be made at a desk, in quiet, where people talking to each other more than a few minutes a day, especially joyfully, is considered excessive.

So far, ALL my supplies requested have been approved. Unbelievable. Seriously, I'm in shock. So far, the kids are staying in arts and crafts, even when they have to move on to the next thing or go home. I've got their attention and excitement. So far, my ideas have been met with wows, cools, great jobs, I'm so excited instead of: can you try something else? How about giving me more? How about toning it down?
So in sticking with the original plan to be a writer, blogging is good enough for me. And plans change. Who knew there would be a way to practice my art? I've decided no matter how busy I am, the blog is not coming down. It is the only way for me to keep in the practice of writing. The best thing journalism taught me was how to write well and write fast, with practice. I loved the practice of writing every day. It makes my classwork so much easier because I know I can pop out a paper in less time thanks to all the practice and schooling I had in the beginning. But maintaining that out of the newsroom has been through journaling and blogging.
It started as just a diary of motherhood, but there's more to me than being just Amelia's mom. Yes, that's the most important and rewarding thing. But there's so much more.

In my journey I've taken many paths, few, if any, I've considered wrong ones. But I feel like I had to take those paths to find my path. I feel I made the right decision at the fork in the road and I've started a beautiful journey. But there are other dark forests that lie ahead because that is life and I'm too much of a realist to think that I'm now frolicking in green pastures for the rest of my days. I aint dead yet. Mountains are out there to be climbed. Plus, on my dream job I did get nailed with a baseball, witnessed 3 fights and broke up 1. I've got many more weeks of my own schoolwork ahead and we've now officially begun preschool prep.

This wasn't even an issue until this week. I assumed I'd turn in the application and fee, months and months ahead of time and be given a slot for my little one at my neighborhood Catholic school. umm, no. "Ma'am, we can't take your application or your money until she passes evaluation." Excuse me? I was so confused she had to explain it to me three times. She will be tested on her letters, shapes and numbers (thank you GOD early intervention)along with her ability to be in a classroom setting and follow directions from a teacher. When is this test? They'll call me. Oh my word, this was not what I expected. Then Shane tells me he knew about the evaluation and that he didn't stress it because she was not ready for the February evaluation. I'm glad he didn't because I would've ended up stressing us all out trying to prepare. The woman also told me that we'd get an acceptance or rejection letter. PRESCHOOL???
My first rejection letter came from Mount Holyoke College when I was 18 years old.
She then asked me if I'd planned on applying to other schools in the area. I said no and she promptly went to the copier and made me a copy of all the local parochial schools in the vicinity. Basically telling me, don't get your hopes up and don't be unprepared if it doesn't work out. Unbelievable.

I walked out of the school, my church, walking distance to our house, in mixed feelings of panic, being impressed, being annoyed, and wanting to give the House of the Lord the bird. I didn't see such stringent entry policies leading to my idea of yes, learn your numbers and letters, but play, create, imagine. But as I was walking out of the school, they had the 4th graders art on display and they all created remarkable Romare Bearden inspired collages. So much for that theory. They do it all. This is definitely where I want her to be. But if not, I'm a teacher. She's my daughter. She'll be home with me and we'll just keep the routine we have now. It's a tight shift change, but we're totally managing. I go to work when he gets home and I do my homework (and now lesson plans) when she goes to nap or bed and in snippets during the day.

On a totally unrelated note. I think Flaming Lips are my generation's Beatles. Thank you Mr. Profit for introducing us many, many years ago.

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