You guys, it was so awesome not to go to school Monday, to not drop my son off at a place that makes my insides churn until I can taste bile in my mouth.
Okay, maybe I’m being a little melodramatic.
But only a little. There’s been some churning. And a little bile.
We still had to get up before dawn. I hustled the kids out of the house at 6:45 in the morning, so we could drop Ryan off at pre-school and then go to the suburbs for Kai’s occupational therapy. The drive took an hour and twenty minutes, but I passed the time listening to non-stop coverage of the strike, honking at the picketing teachers. They seemed to like that a lot.
Kai had his OT session, and then saw our friend Sue the social worker. He made this kick-ass birdhouse in her office:
They also read a story.
“What was the story about?” I asked him.
He pointed to his head. “Guy has gum in his hair,” he said, which, according to Sue, was the absolutely true.
I admired the birdhouse.
“I can’t believe you just had all of that in your office,” I said.
“Sure,” she said, handing me the paper kite that Kai had tied to the birdhouse with a rainbow string. “We had a good time. He’s a lot of fun.”
Don’t I know it?
Later, he went to the childcare at the gym instead of to kindergarten. As we were leaving, Bridget texted me to say that Jovan wanted to show Kai some dirt, and could he come over?
Did Kai want to see dirt at Jovan’s house? Um, does Garfield like lasagna?
Later, when I picked him up, I was informed that he’d had a snack of Fruity Pebbles, something he asks me for every time we go to the store.
“I’m not sure what’s on his face,” Bridget said. “Uh, I think it might be Skittles. He had a few Skittles.”
We both laughed. High-fructose corn syrup and red dye #5? You guys, that’s what stri-cation’s for.
Kai held my hand, and actually skipped to the car.
:::
The talk among parents is all about how long the strike will last. Some want to know if there's enough time to go to Michigan for a few days. Some call it a tragedy.
I hope it lasts for a while. Or at least long enough to have a few more days like this one.
I know that I'm being selfish. I am a stay-at-home mother who doesn't have to scramble for childcare, and if my kids don't go to school, they still get breakfast and lunch, and dinner to boot.
I also know that Kai has to go back to school, and we both have to learn to trust the administration again.
But not today.
My neighbor sent me a message on Sunday night, wanting to know what I thought about the teachers’ strike.
I told him that I was overjoyed, that Kai and I could hang out for a couple of days, and start fresh when this thing is over.
“Had to be at least a little silver lining somewhere,” he wrote back. “And it’s next door!”
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