I lay in bed last night greedy in utter darkness. Since having Sun, we keep a nightlight on in her room and sleep with our bedroom doors open. It’s never dark enough for me at night anymore. Or quiet enough. Every time I stir in the middle of the night, I automatically look for that light and listen for the quiet to know Sun is soundly sleeping.

Sun spent the last two nights at my sister’s house, and I’ve had the luxury of darkness. And quiet. A quiet that is different from the quiet that comes from a soundly sleeping child. This quiet was of the knowledge that your child was soundly sleeping and that someone else with whom you have complete confidence is charged with the duty of listening for that break in sound sleeping. I didn’t have to keep my ears cued, my arms ready to welcome a Sun awoken by a bad dream (maybe of an evil witch in her fairy tales?), my eyes adjusted to having a light in them all night.

I lay in quiet thinking, “This used to be the quiet I heard every night.” And although at first blush it may sound the same as the quiet of a soundly sleeping child, any parent can tell you (while holding back a chuckle) that it is NOWHERE near the same.

I miss my Sun. And am delighted to be seeing her in a couple of hours. But, oh, how I miss my nights of darkness and quiet.

I drop Sun off at daycare once a week. Last week, there was an, er, incident. I thought I’d blog about it and then decided to let it pass. And it stayed with me and came up again today in conversation. Considering it is STILL bugging me, I thought I’d throw it out here.

After walking Sun to her classroom, I left the building to return to my car. The personnel at the front door let me out and locked the door behind me. Just as she does for every person coming or going into and out of the school.

As I am approaching the corner, I see a man standing on the grass between the sidewalk and the street. I need to pass him. He’s alone, and his neck is bent such that he cannot hold his head up fully erect. And he’s looking down the street back towards the school.

My Mommy Radar went up. But so did my You-Are-Making-Something-Out-of-Nothing Radar. I sized him up and kept walking. I got in my car and debated. Do I DO something? Why is he standing on the corner? Alone, with NO CHILD? Looking back at the school?

“Dammit,” I thought. I decided to at least call the school to let them know of him. They reassured me the doors stayed locked and they’d keep an eye out for him. I didn’t feel better having called. Actually, I felt worse. What was I assuming? Based on what facts?

As I turned my car around to leave and approached that corner, I gave the scene another hard look. May as well be able to describe this guy, eh? And then I noticed he was standing next to a pole. A pole with a sign on it. A pole with a bus stop sign on it.

This innocent man was waiting for a bus, watching the street in the direction the bus would come.

I was mortified.

I don’t need to be told I did the right thing and that it’s better to be safe than sorry. I get that on some basic level, I was being a Mama Bear.

But seriously, folks, what kind of world do we now live in where a mother ASSUMES the worst about a neatly dressed man, alone, waiting for a bus, who happens to have some minor physical ailment? Would I have been less judgmental if his head did not droop? If he’d have made eye contact with me and smiled?

Did I mention this is at 9am on a bright Wednesday morning, and the school was totally following its safety protocol?

I am not happy with myself, with my behavior, with my quick-to-negative judgment. What happened to being neighborly and taking the first step to give someone the benefit of the doubt? Why didn’t I smile and say “good morning” to him? Why didn’t I look for a legitimate reason for him to be standing on a corner?

I think a lot has to do with what American news is about these days. We are told that there are 800,000 missing children reported each year. Well, damn! No wonder I am on the hyper-alert, right?

But according to a Slate article, this number is misleading:

It’s true that 797,500 people under 18 were reported missing in a one-year period, according to a 2002 study. But of those cases, 203,900 were family abductions, 58,200 were nonfamily abductions, and only 115 were “stereotypical kidnappings,” defined in one study as “a nonfamily abduction perpetrated by a slight acquaintance or stranger in which a child is detained overnight, transported at least 50 miles, held for ransom or abducted with the intent to keep the child permanently, or killed.” Even these categories can be misleading: Overstaying a visit with a noncustodial parent, for example, could qualify as a family abduction. Some individuals get entered into the database multiple times after disappearing on different occasions, resulting in potentially misleading numbers.

So, 115 per year of the type of abduction that is a parent’s worst nightmare? That’s too many, to be sure. But is it reason enough to cast a judgmental eye on a guy at a bus stop?

For me, after having giving this MUCH thought, it is not. No more than it is to fear your home will be broken into because a lone black man is walking down your street on a random weekday afternoon.

Our fellow man deserves better than that.  I owe more than I gave.  And it’s time I admitted it and began to do better to judge less.  Being a mother is NOT an excuse to such behavior.

Are you with me?

Summer’s over.  How do I know?  I am returning to my “normal” work schedule.  Since returning from maternity leave 2+ years ago, I’ve worked in the office Monday, Wednesday and Friday of each week.  For the summer, we started Sun in official daycare twice a week–Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days I usually watched her.  So I worked in the office Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays all summer.  Starting next week (Sun’s “school” is closed this week), I return to my MWF in the office/TTh home with Sun routine.

I never got used to my summer schedule, nor did the folks in my office.  So I think we are all glad to return to normal.

Sun LOVES her daycare, and so do we.  Aside from the first-six-months-expect-her-and-us-to-be-sick, we are all very pleased with daycare entering our lives.  So much so, in fact, that I’ve begun to consider returning to a five-day-a-week-in-the-office schedule come January.

Except every time I get serious about it, I get a stomachache.

I LOVE my time spent with Sun on T-Th.  I love that my work life is able to handle this flexibility.  And I want to believe that even if I return to five days a week, I’ll leave early each day so that Sun’s not in school from 9 til 6. That way, I’d be giving more to my office-time than I am now, but still not 40 hours a week.

I hate that money is a part of this equation.  But it is.  A part. Not the entire decision.  Yes, I’ll earn more, but it will also cost more to have her in daycare every day.  But my increased earnings should more than make up for that.  We need work done around the house: we’ve put off several big necessary projects because of money.  And when our water heater broke this week, it mattered how we’d pay for it.

As it is, I see no vacations for the next 16+ months, or at least none that will require airfare and a hotel.  Because I’d rather get things done around the house than travel. And that’s whether I return full time to the office or not.

Money aside, I feel it’s my duty to “hit the pavement” more to bolster my practice.  To transition into a senior partner, one that provides herself and at least one associate attorney with enough work for each to earn well and be consistently busy.  Somewhere in me, this IS my professional goal.  I am not completely content where I am, capable of not being in the office more than I am now.

I stand here today ostensibly having it all–the perfect balance of a work life and a personal life with very healthy relationships in each.  And yet there is a quiet rumbling within.  A rumbling that is rising to the surface, getting a wee bit louder each month.

Maybe that stomachache is fear.  Is that weird?

Sun’s first day at daycare was yesterday.  During the summer, it’s called Camp.  I did my best to hide my nerves from her.  I knew she’d be fine, that in fact she’d like it.  But I couldn’t help but feel this was the first true test of a parent’s job: prepare your child to fly away from you.

I felt a lot of guilt about putting her in daycare at such a young age.  And I know many, many parents must put their babies in when they are but weeks old.  And I know I had an amazing setup for Sun’s first two years (eternally thankful to SoMo).  But this is me and my feelings of inadequacy.

The drop off went smoothly, overall, as did her first day.  I picked her up at 4:15 instead of 6pm just to make the transition easier for us all.  She did not run to me when I walked in the room.  And she was verrry quiet on the drive home.  I think she was thinking about the fun day she had.  And she yawned a lot.

My little bird! They told me she was a “delight,” that she was quiet, ate well, and took a good nap.  Not news to me.  But meaningful to hear it from a stranger that spent the day with her without us.

There will be many more nest-pushing-outs to come in Sun’s future.  And I suspect they may actually get harder.

But yesterday evening, Sun and I hugged each other a bit closer, we were happy just to be together maybe a bit more than we were Monday.

And now today, Wednesday, is one of my two days a work-week with Sun.  She’ll be at Camp only twice a week for the summer.  There’s still so much time she and I have to frolic and live and love together.

The tomato plants have flowers.

The satsuma tree, new blooms.

The St. Joseph’s Altars have been dismantled.

And Sun now has the feet of a child and no longer a baby.

Spring has sprung in New Orleans.

And we are all another year older.

Sun is napping.  CS and Pete are at lunch with Katie and Daisy.  The TV is off; the dishwasher just shut down.  Hear that?  Nothing sounds sooo good.

So why am I enjoying the quiet?  Allow me to recap.

Thursday night: Krewe of Babylon and Knights of Chaos.  Left before Muses.  Loved Babylon and Chaos.  Great representation of the traditional and satirical parade, respectively.

Friday night: Krewes of Hermes and D’Etat. Left during Morpheus.  No Sun.  Got to see two old friends riding in Hermes.  Even texted each other during the parade so we’d not miss each other.  What a world!  Again, excellent presentations of the traditional and the satirical parade.  Fave of the night, hands down, Krewe D’Etat’s Dancing Darlings, the Papal Police poking fun at the mishandling and injustice of the closing of local Catholic Churches.

Saturday: Krewe of Endymion at a private party.  Ahhhh.  Fave of the night?  Grilled oysters of the half shell.  The parade was just a backdrop to a very nice party.

Sunday: Krewe of Bacchus at my favorite family spot.  Sun and CS stayed home.  For about a decade now, I have been watching the parades that start at Tipitina’s pretty much right at the start.  I won’t say too much how awesome the spot is because one of the things that make it awesome is that it’s a much thinner crowd.  And we like it that way.  So if you are drunk and college-aged, stay on St. Charles.  Or better yet, in the Quarter.  Don’t mess with the family area on Napoleon Avenue.  My distant family has a home on the route and I have a house just off the route.  So this spot to catch parades is just home for me.  And it will be for Sun, too, in the years that come.

My neighbor rides in Orpheus tonight.  He’s in his 70s.  His wife is manning the 2 ten-top tables they have at the Orpheuscapade.  She says her daughter is the ringleader to such a big showing at the Ball.  Her daughter tells her that she blames her, my neighbor, her mother, for her love of Carnival because, my neighbor told me, “I dragged her to parades since before she was Sun’s age!”  I told my neighbor there were worse habits to have than a love of Mardi Gras.  She readily agreed with me.  I also mentioned this was Sun’s second Mardi Gras, and I could only hope that as an adult she loves it as much as her daughter does.

And tonight, Krewes of Proteus and Orpheus.  With Sun.  And her newly-painted ladder.  At our beloved family spot.  With Katie and Slappy and Pete and Daisy and CS too.  Oh, my.

Sun is a year and a half.  I have been going to open houses for her grammar school.  I KNOW I am way early.  But I am a worrier and a planner. So there you have it.

Before I selected the schools to view, I talked to friends in the know and got their recommendations.  Ultimately, I will visit six schools.  Three because they are in the neighborhood and I feel I owe them a fair shake.  The other three came highly recommended.

The first I attended was one on the Highly Recommended list.  I liked it.  It didn’t WOW me.  But it didn’t deter me either.

Then I went to the second school.  And then the third.  Both being close to my house and Catholic.

Not to go off on a tangent, but in New Orleans, there is a VERY SMALL number of good public schools.  We do not live in those districts, and to get in those schools when you don’t live in the district is hard and not predictable.  So, private school is much more the option.  And privately, you can go religious or not.  Generally speaking, the Catholic schools are more prevalent, more affordable, and offer solid educations.  My husband and I both went through Catholic grammar and high schools as children; it is what we know and are familiar with, so such schools lead the pack for us.

The two schools I visited after that first school were nice enough.  They just fell short for me in one way or another.  One was too suburban and non-diverse, racially, and the other was way too small.  Both had what appeared to be mediocre pre-K classes as compared to the classes offered at what will be Sun’s daycare.

So three down, three to go.  The top two recommended are likely to be where I will make a decision from.

My point?

Through this process, my husband commented that we are doing FAR MORE than most parents do in this search.  That neither of our parents did these open houses, they plopped us in the closest school to our houses and voila.  And we turned out just fine.  He says I need to relax, that our focus on education will be her guiding light as she grows.

Bah, I say.  I could not disagree with him more.  Sure, I did well from an educational standpoint.  And two of my siblings also have advanced degrees.  But two do not have a college degree and it has a direct impact on their lives today.  And sure, our focus on education will HELP Sun know its importance.  But let’s face it, as she gets to be deciding about high school and college, it will NOT be our opinion that matters as much as her friends.  Sure, we could DEMAND she go to the high school we choose.  But she could just as easily rebel by doing poorly at that school.  Just ask my cousin about how to do that.

And who her friends will be are those kids she’s in school with, at the grammar school that IS completely in my power to select.  So if I KNOW the grammar school is a feeder school for a rock-solid high school, then doesn’t it make sense to put her in that grammar school?  If the suburban school is going to feed to a mediocre high school (one that is ok but not one of the best), then why even tempt those fates?

We all want what’s best for our children.  And I cannot guarantee Sun will go to college or love to read.  CS did not finish college.  I GET that a college degree is not a piece to the puzzle of happiness.  But such a degree is another arrow in her quiver.

So, is it wrong to stack Sun’s educational deck to the advantage I want it to have?

Life is a succession of moments.  To live each one is to succeed.  ~ Corita Kent

I read that quote yesterday in a shop.  I do estate planning and probate work.  In Louisiana, that probate work is called Successions.  So when I see that word, “succession,” I think about death not life.  And the juxtaposition of that one word struck a cord with me.

I daresay none of us live each moment of our lives to the fullest extent.  How could we?  But there is something to being in the moment, experiencing just the moment.

For example.

Yesterday morning, I was putting on my shoes with Sun watching me.  I couldn’t find my other shoe and asked Sun if she saw it.  She walked behind me, bent over, picked up the matching shoe and brought it to me.  I thanked her.  It was a quiet moment of little consequence.  But it stopped me in my tracks.  Here we were, my daughter and I, having a conversation in which we both contributed and we both understood the other.  It was stunning in its simplicity.

Last night, for the second time in 30 minutes, I asked Sun if she was ready to go to her room to read.  She nodded, took my hand and we walked to her room.  I grabbed her favorite books and read them to her, returning again and again to her favorite parts.  Then I inhaled her scent and was captured under a spell.  I stopped reading and just looked at the picture of us sitting on the chair in the warm glow of her lamp.  And I leaned down, kissed the top of her head and thanked her. I thanked her for bringing me such joy.  I didn’t know my heart was capable of the love it has for Sun.

This won’t be every day.  But it was yesterday.  And by my measure, it was a success.

My weeks have been moving quickly.  We’ve been busy with Open Houses and tours of day cares and grammar schools.  Our friend that watches Sun on Wednesdays, SoMo, is pregnant with her third child and though throwing another one on the heap seems easy enough, I know those early post-pregnancy months are going to be rough for SoMo, and tending to Sun even once a week will be too much.  So our little boo will be going to “school” three days a week starting in June (her other two week days will still be spent with me).

And in a way, I am relieved.  When I was pregnant, I swore I never wanted Sun to end up in day care.  And I still feel strongly for a young baby.  I understand that many NEED it, but we didn’t.  And I wanted to be the one feeding her, changing her, bonding with her, sculpting her young mind.

But even now, and even more so in 6 months, Sun is HUNGRY for more than I can give her at home.  She blossoms when around other children and you can see her little hamster wheel humming along more strongly when in an environment that is catered to her size, interests, and skill levels.  She’ll love the art classes, the play time, the reading, the outside play yard.  She’ll make friends that will likely follow her to grammar school and maybe through her whole life.

The teacher at her school said something that I connect strongly with but never found the words so succinctly:  Parents spend so much time focusing on college for their children.  But it’s the start, the foundation, that is most important.  If you don’t build a solid foundation, they play catch up most of the time.  Instead, teach your child to LIKE school; to find learning stimulating and inviting; build that solid foundation.

And like the rash of knitting I have been accomplishing lately, things here are all neatly tied.

CS and I take lots of pictures of Sun.  In the age of digital film, we are all amateur photographers with no costs of development to worry about.  At year end, we pick our favorite pictures and print them for a photo album we have for Sun.  In looking at that photo album tonight, I am humbled by how fast she is becoming a child and leaving babyhood and toddlerhood behind.

The thing about photographs is that you take the pictures of the smiles and the first good things: petting a goat, seeing snow, flying in a plane, eating Bud’s Broiler, holidays, and relatives.  You tend not to get the meltdowns, the disappointments: cranky, nappus interruptus Sun, fights over toys, spilled milk, busted chins, and laser treatments.

And so in looking back over the past year, one would think it has been all smiles and that it should have been all enjoyment.  And it just wasn’t.  Mainly, it was exhausting.  I am just tired all of the time.  I am not complaining.  It isn’t Sun that makes me tired.  But it is Sun that makes me realize that my tiredness is a deficit.  I feel regret in not doing more, not being more full of life and not basking in her seemingly endless smiles more.

But overall I just feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  It’s been over a year now that I have felt I finally got all I ever wanted and I still want for nothing more than the maintenance of the status quo.

(P.S. My grandfather is doing quite well–the clots have been cleared and he’s moving out of ICU tonight.  Once his blood thinner medication is where they want it in his system, he will be sent home.  Thank you all for your kind words of support and concern.  They were very much appreciated. –Nola)