As of three days ago, we had settled on a new sitter for Ben. She's a friend of my mom's from Bible study. We didn't know her that well, and neither did Ben, but the hour that we spent with her, her experience, and my mom's commendation of her was sufficient for us to feel comfortable in leaving our sweet boy in her care three days a week until June. Honestly, she seemed pretty great, and I think it would have worked out fine, if not really well. But honestly it was settling. Not because of her--just because I think that really no matter what we chose would have been settling. With just a couple of weeks to find someone, I don't know that I would have felt great about handing Ben over to any stranger--mostly for his sake, and mostly because the transition would inevitably have fallen during or immediately after Matt's trip. Fortunately for me, God is a much bigger and better God than I really ever seem to remember. Every year we go through this. I hate that I have to leave him at all, I dread taking him to a big, giant center where he naps on the floor in a room full of other kids, and I cry and stress and bemoan my horrible life. Okay, that's a little hyperbolic. A little. And inevitably, God comes through with a situation that is the penultimate plan (but not the ultimate--because that would be Matt's salary doubling so that I could be a stay-at-home mom until my children go to kindergarten). This happens every freaking time. So why didn't I think it would happen this time?
Two days go, the day before Ben's old sitter was to start her new job, two days before Matt got on a plane, I got an email from Ben's old sitter from last year. She was sending out a flier to her teacher friends to pass on to other teacher friends that might be looking for daycare for next year. I replied to her that I myself was looking for daycare for next year. She replied that she wished I needed her right now. Ta da. Within twelve hours, we answered each other's prayers. Ben provided a last-minute replacement for her last-minute opening that she needed to fill until June. She gave me my sanity and faith back. There's no rough transition period--Ben is already happy and comfortable there; she loves him, he's already got two friends there, and he could start immediately, during Matt's trip, without any fear or stress. And the cherry on top? She's changed the policies that made it so that we couldn't keep Ben there in the first place (financial things, like paying during school holidays and summer).
So yesterday after I dropped Matt off, Ben and I came home, cuddled and watched TV, and I dropped him off at his old home-away-from-home, where he confidently walked in the door and headed straight for the toys and his pals without looking back.
The day was still rough. I was still tired from waking up early, still overwhelmed by work, still missing my man. But I could feel all of those things without also feeling anxiety over my sweet boy. And I could feel confident that I'm not unrealistic or too picky in what I want in a child care situation--that God knows what I want and need and will provide accordingly. So now we just need to pray that I can hang on to that promise and trust it for next year...we shall see. In the meantime, Ben enjoyed his first day back playing with his pals, making crafts, and having a green jello eating contest. A note about that last thing: I got to be there for it, and it was hysterical. Not because Ben was burying his face in green jello, but because he wasn't when everyone else around him was. The two other kids dove right in; Ben looked down at the jello, then looked up at me and said, "Mommy, can I have a spoon?" I encouraged him to try being silly like the other kids, but he just kept insisting on the spoon--you know, because he's far too civilized to eat jello like the other two barbarians. When we got him a spoon he scooped himself a tiny bite, ate it, made a face, then said, "Mommy, it's cold. Please cook it." And that was it for the jello-eating contest. Funny little boy.
Random tangent: Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. I'm pretty sure that the missionary priest that brought Jesus to Ireland, if he could rise from the dead, would prefer to die all over again if he knew that the anniversary of his death was celebrated with freely flowing booze.
There's still a lot on my plate. I still have too much to even think about much less do over the next two weeks. But I think I'm on my way to handling it. I'm exhausted and overwhelmed. But my mom has always told me that the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. So that's what I'm gonna do--take it one little item at a time. A few weeks ago in a message about anxiety and faith my pastor told a story about his son having these crazy nightmares and freaking out about tigers coming into his room and eating him, to which my pastor responded, "son, tigers aren't indigenous to North America." So that's how I'm not gonna freak out and be afraid of things I can't control and all of the things that might fall apart or happen. I'm going to remind myself to calm down and stop being afraid, because tigers are not indigenous to North America. And VegiTales says that God is bigger than the Boogeyman.
One day down, sixteen to go. Sigh. I can do this.
1 comment:
Yay!! What a relief. I'm with you in total anxiety over my upcoming move and doing it all without Aaron and my still frail health. God keeps reminding me that He ALWAYS comes through...but I keep forgetting.
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