Falling

This is the last week of summer vacation for my rooster, and the last week of my head in the sand. I share the collective ulcer with many of you dreading a new school year. The only acid relief I get comes when I write. I've been working on a letter to his teachers. How weird is that? I mean, he will be in the same room he was in last year, 2 of his 3 teachers have known him more than a year, and one of them has known me for about 14 years, and I'm writing them letters to explain us... but alas, it's all I have by way of medicine.

Today was the last time babysitter A could watch my boy this summer. She is one of our blessings, one of the super stars we've lucked into. When I got home, and told rooster to say goodbye to her, he didn't understand it was her last day. He told her, "Tomorrow, A, let's go on a date!" She laughed and told me they had watched Rachel Ray on TV talking about "date night" and he'd been asking her out ever since.

Tomorrow the Rooster will have a sitter we got by referral. She watches kids up and down the street. I interviewed her, my husband checked her references, and she has special needs experience. Sounds good. But all the rooster's other sitters knew me before they knew him. We felt connected. This time, I'm hiring someone. It's a job. And I feel anxious about it just being that. I adore my rooster -- I see all his sides, good and bad, and I love the package. But if I only knew him as someone I got an hourly rate to watch, I might have a lot harder time gathering the patience. I might find the diet an enormous pain, get annoyed with him, not feel like reading him a trillion books, feel frustrated with his outbursts. I might. I wonder if babysitter J will. I guess I need to take a leap of faith. So many of you are so much better at faith than I am, maybe you could lend me a cup?

And so the summer ends; I can't tell if I'm more anxious about one more week of the rooster at home, or a year ahead at school. But one thing is sure: it's beginning to look a lot like fall.