Cramming some work in before school lunch making, ridding self of children, showering and heading off to a business networking event.
How exciting! Spending time with likeminded women and being sensible and serious.
Had to take Chippie with me, which reminded me, yet again, although it wasn’t necessary as I think about it almost constantly, of the lack of support and additional care we have for him. Particularly in times of need.
The phone rings and it’s the local council. Regarding my spot on the waiting list for family day care. I restrain myself from yelling “Yes, I still want the spot. Keep me on the bloody waiting list and find me a bloody spot!” and slamming the phone down in her ear.
Which would have been intersting in itself, give it’s a cordless phone and can only be hung up by pressing the “talk” button. Easy to do firmly, but the effect is lost as it can’t be heard or felt from the other end.
Anyway, thankfully I didn’t, as she informs me there has a day become available, on a day I need, in the next suburb in the opposite direction from school.
I’ll Take It!
But first, I have to meet with her, bringing along a looooong list of things like medicare number, immunisations, allergies, religious beliefs and resume of my parenting skills and abilities for the last 25 years.
I feel like I’m going for a very serious interview. If I don’t pass, will they take my child? If I dress too well, will they refuse to take him, thinking I’m capable of caring for him myself? If I wear my jarmies, will they accept him, or ring DHS and call the men in white coats to take me away?
Actually, that last option is looking good.
I’m not getting my hopes up; the interview process is looking scary and I’m concerned I won’t pass.
Still, I wept with joy! I’m this much closer to getting him into care! And having someone responsible and sensible looking after him one day a week. One who, no doubt, will let him play with play-doh and paint.
At which point I then had