Archive | August 2009


I am homesick.

For my little bitty apartment, on Sesame Street. The one with not enough plugs in the kitchen, or counter space. The one where the windows didn’t always work quite right, and the screen door was falling off it’s hinges.

You know the one. The one where my son grew up. Where he ran around a big looping figure 8 around the chair, did his Yo-Gabba dance (a galloping, thigh slapping dance) the first time. The place where Brian, Ray and I were invincible. A family.

Safe. Together.

I called over there today, asked what a 2 bedroom would cost. I know that a 1 bedroom would be just a little bit too small for the 3 of us now.

But I want to go home. I don’t know how I’ll do it. I don’t know how… because almost all my money is going to daycare and gas. But I’ll find a way.

I told Brian tonight, on the phone, that I want to go back. That I need to go back home to sesame street. There’s no back yard for Ray to play in, but the rent’s do-able if Brian starts working fairly quickly, and it’s central to bus lines and stores and parks and all sorts of stuff.

I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I want to go home.

Yellow School Bus

God bless the Yellow School Bus.

Well, the first day, 1 week ago, I was cursing it to three forms of hell. They didn’t stop for Ray, and he ended up running after it to no avail (with daycare diva). It near broke his heart. Then the bus people didn’t answer their phones… V. V. aggrivating!

But! Ray is now going to school. It has been 1 week, and he is doing great. He loves the Yellow School Bus, loves it so much that I use it to bribe him to get dressed in the morning. “Do you want to go on the bus today?” 

 “YAY! Bus!”

“Then you need to get dressed!” Arms fly into the shirt, head pops out, legs into pants… He really wants to go on that bus.

Another good thing about the bus, and school, is that he no longer takes a nap. Which means he is out by 8pm. Which sounds horrible, since we don’t get home until 6pm… But he was staying up until 10:30 at night and later. Now, Mommy gets some time to read, to write… To blog.

I’ve noticed that he’s talking a lot more now, too. His “Mommy, Mommy,” as he tries to show me what’s important to him has lost the baby in it. It is now almost all boy.

My boy. Going to school.


Growing up is hard to do. But letting go is just a wee bit harder, me thinks.