Go for a walk. Write something.
I parked my car in front of the post office. I went inside to get the mail, and saw that the gruffest of employees was working.
I like him. I want to be a thoughtful presence in a life full of mail related activities. So I say, “Can I ask you an ‘our town’ related question? I’d appreciate your expertise.”
He looked caught off guard. In a good way. I then asked if he had the down-low on when we were to start plugging the parking metres again. He lit up. He had the information. “The metre person is out there right now. They start again in about March, so now would be the time.”
I thanked him kindly for the information and found two dollars worth of quarters at the bottom of my purse which got me two hours in return.
And so I walked. From the post office to one of my favourite cafes in town. There are three that I frequent depending on my social needs. This one, the one I’m at, often has a person looking for a chat. And today was no different.
Or rather. It was very different.
Today was our first day of school.
I woke up early, prepared to spend most of my time scrubbing my purple hands clean before making crepes. (I dyed my eldest’s hair last night without access to gloves)
But I awoke to hands that were remarkably NOT PURPLE. Which I think is because last night I covered them in baking soda toothpaste. And I guess it worked.
I knew I’d be encountering two school -resistant children this morning. They told me as much last night before going to bed.
Their excitement at having their life interrupted by returning to school had dissipated. Now it was full on existential dread. And all I could do was make them this incredible crepe recipe.
(https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/222368/melt-in-your-mouth-crepes/)
…and listen.
At one point as my youngest was hiding under the covers he asked “WHY?! WHY ARE YOU MAKING US DO THIS?!”
My eyes started to tear up. I’d awoken early. I had brought all the sunshine to my demeanour that I could. I’d prepared the crepe batter. I’d found them the gentlest school possible, that prioritized the whole child, that celebrates music and art and science and nature and making. Where there is no homework. Thoughtful teachers. A beautiful setting. Friendly children. A classroom dog. I had gently had conversations with their Dad to enable this transition to a school he might not have considered previously.
All this work. Sunk cost. I couldn’t let my work, my 16 years of parenting colour this interaction.
Too late.
My mouth says “WHY. I don’t know why I do any of this. I really don’t.”
And I leave my child to go make crepes. And I weep. Because I’m obviously failing as a parent. People are getting their kids to school every single day. And me…I’ve helped my kids try…counts on fingers…1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8…this will be their 9th school between the both of them.
And for each first day…they’ve entered hopeful. And eventually they have left defeated, bullied, humiliated, disappointed by the places that they’d given their big hearts and their hope.
Reasonably they are tired. Their hope tempered. I am tired. But I am full of hope. Each time I imagine beautiful things. I float a balloon of joy in front of them.
Today I am out of joy. All I have left is fierce hope that there IS a place for us in this world. As a neurodivergent, big hearted self-proclaimed weirdo…I have had to carve spaces for myself and others like me with an iridescent spoon in the hard-packed dirt of society’s well worn path. I have given the whimsical misfits small caverns of creative community so that they would not be alone. So that *I* would not be alone.
I flip a crepe, and I have a revelation.
I run up the stairs where my child is getting dressed and nearly crying.
“I KNOW WHY I DO THIS.”
He looks at me with his last vestiges of hope.
“LOVE.” I say. “I love you, and I love your brother, and I love your Dad and I love your Data (my romantic partner), and I love our pup. And every day, I love myself too. And all of this. All of this is worth it. I have to go flip your crepe. I’ll see you down there.”
And I go downstairs to find my eldest grumpily eating his crepe and he sees my face and he asks if I’m ok.
I say no, but I will be. This is not the first hard thing I’ve done or the last hard thing I’ll ever do. And I believe in us. And I believe in you.
I’ve watched a lot of sports movies. And I have a lot of pep talks stowed away in the back chambers of my heart. I am a writer. A storyteller. A poet. And a comedian. I’m a teacher. I’m a parent. A partner. A community builder. A friend.
But I’m also…just a human. And I was a teenager once. And I haven’t forgotten how hard it is to just…BE.
So this morning I was human. I made mistakes. I said beautiful things.
And gratefully, yesterday, for the first time ever, I accidentally forgot my purse somewhere. I left it at the school.
So we HAD to go.
And we got in the car. And I found reasons to laugh. At the birds being silly on the side of the highway. At the person who chose a funny license plate. At the fact that I chose a funny license plate.
We talked about life, and our dreams.
I told them at the end of the day I would drive them to a magical fridge on the side of a rural community to get some of the best cake I’ve ever had.
And we arrived just on time.
The teachers were out in the yard to welcome them. The students were excited about their new classmates.
I walked my youngest to his classroom (a yurt) with his teacher and a dozen curious youth followed us, and as we reached the door my youngest looked at me and said “I’ve got this. You can go. See you at 3pm.”
Then I walked to my eldest’s classroom where I’d left my purse. And my eldest was standing outside with his teacher and the dog. I went into the class to see a group of thoughtful humans in the corner on the cushions. I asked them if they’d seen a sparkly purple purse.
They enthusiastically pointed me in the direction of the purse.
They complimented me on the small axolotl and my beaded hexapus (and octopus with six legs) that dangle from said purse. I thank them.
I take a chance. I say. My kid, he’s having a rough start to the morning, and has newly purple hair. I think he could use some gentle compliments, and a warm welcome in you have the space for it.
They all smiled, genuine open hearted smiles. One of them says “we’ve got him.”
I don’t cry. I feel this seed being planted. It’s a mix of hope, joy and…something else. I’m not sure there is a word for it.
And then I drive back to my town. I park my car. I walk to this cafe. And a parent/staff member from the school greets me as I walk into the cafe. And we chat. And I ask if she’d like to sit for 15 minutes.
And we sit. And we chat. And she says “I’m so glad you’re a part of this school community.”
And I can breathe. And I can write.
And I did it. I took a walk. I wrote something.
How has your Wednesday been?
Heart,
Wake
This gives me hope. Thank you dear wake. I hope they find joy and peace and are well nurtured in the new school. Hugs.
This is such a peaceful and calm picture for me today. Thank you.