I don’t think I will ever need to try bungee jumping or sky diving, because I’m pretty sure the past week was as close to that “Holy crap I am falling and there is nothing under my feet” feeling as I ever want to get.

We listed our house for sale last Thursday, after which George and I developed matching miserable colds right on cue. I could not breathe and I ached all over from cleaning every nook and cranny of the house, but hey, you could eat off my spotless floors! I almost cried when someone finally had to use the bathroom. Blame it on my congested head and pregnancy hormones but I JUST CLEANED THAT TOILET AND NOW NO ONE CAN LIVE HERE UNTIL WE SELL. Which was not the most practical strategy, as it turns out.

Less than 24 hours after the house went on the market, I received a call to set up two house showings for the weekend. I was really surprised–I credit the immediate interest to our well-kept, family-friendly neighborhood and very good (for Ohio) school district. The feedback we received from these first two showings was positive: they really liked the house and neighborhood, but #1 wanted a “true” (not shared) master bathroom, and #2 had just started looking at houses that very weekend and weren’t ready to commit. So it’s just a matter of waiting for the right people to come along. Hopefully soon.

Meanwhile, we went to visit my parents on Saturday. I gave my mom an ultrasound picture of the baby’s profile to keep with her; she held it silently for a long time and then placed it next to her on the bed. I cannot imagine what she feels but I hope it gives her some sense of connection to this grandson she will never get to hold. Then she expressed her continued concern over us moving while I’m pregnant, so I took her hand and said gently, “We’re ok, the baby is ok, and the house stuff will work itself out. Please don’t worry.” It is hard to say these things; it is hard because it is time for letting go, and she needs to hear it’s ok from me. But how does a mother ever let go of worrying about her children? I don’t know.

My mood was not improved by the fact that Oliver was behaving monstrously all day. I cried in the car, I cried at home, I was at my wits’ end until he started throwing up that night and hmm, that might explain things. He had never been sick like that before so he was really upset, and for once my non-snuggly boy let me baby him a little bit (which I did enjoy, aside from getting puked on at one point). It repeated every 45 minutes almost to the dot and I was up with him past 3am. I was already exhausted from getting the house ready all week, plus I now had a ton of new laundry to do before Sunday’s house showing, since I didn’t think the smell of pukey sheets/towels would have been very welcoming to prospective buyers. No rest for the weary!

I must have looked pretty pathetic after all this, because on Sunday night, George said he wanted to help me buy the new camera I wanted as an Anniversary Slash Thanks For Moving While Pregnant gift. (Yes, he IS awesome.) We had always planned a Big Fabulous Trip for our 10th wedding anniversary (coming up this May!) to somewhere like Hawaii or Paris, but obviously no traveling will be happening now since I’ll be 7½-8 months pregnant by then. So this is partly about the missed trip, and partly his way of saying thanks for agreeing to move so he could take the Pittsburgh job, because he is much happier now–which is all I wanted, honestly, but he insisted on doing this. After a lot of thought and research, I combined his gift with my own savings to purchase the camera I REALLY wanted as well as an external flash. (Plus I will eventually receive a small “severance” check from my old job, so I have my eye on a new lens, too. Yay!) Not the same as laying on a beach or standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, but hopefully I’ll take my new gear TO those places in the future, with my husband at my side.

And yet–buying things for myself seems almost out of place in my life these days. It seems too easy that I can want something I don’t need and just… order it. That I can let my husband reward me for simply carrying another child and going with him to another city. I should really be thanking him.

It has taken some getting used to, this free falling, especially for a planner and Both Feet On The Ground-er like me. I’m reading a really lovely book right now called The Beauty of Different by Karen Walrond, and today I read and re-read a particular quote by her friend Patrick. Speaking about his mother, he said, “…even though she faces challenges in her life, she faces towards them, and not away from them.” I want my sons to see that example in me, too. That is how I keep going, how I know I will get back on my feet someday.

But for now, I have more laundry to do. And keeping the toilet clean in a house full of boys is a challenge by itself.

I remember birthdays. I can’t remember significant historical dates to save my life, but if I’ve ever found out your birthday, chances are that I’ll never forget it. I also like to make a Big Deal out of birthdays. Not by spending a lot of money on presents or planning big parties or doing anything fancy; just by doing little things to make people feel special.

I think Oliver, who takes after me in every other way, has this in his genes too.

My mother’s birthday is October 12, which just so happened to be Grandparents Day at Oliver’s preschool. He was so excited about GRANDMA AND GRANDPA COMING TO HIS SCHOOL!!!!1!! that he could barely eat breakfast that morning. My parents had a total blast watching the class talk about the sun and moon, work with different learning tools (Oliver picked the thousands abacus that day), and sing songs during music class (apparently my Former Painfully Shy Kid really belts it out!). One of the teachers took pictures of each child with their grandparents, and all the kids and grandparents decorated picture frames together to later use for the pictures. (MY DAD USED A GLUE STICK. I don’t think my dad ever used a glue stick before! heh) When I picked him up later that day, Oliver said, “Mommy, I want ALL the days to be Grandparents Day!” So all in all, it was awesome, and my mom said it was a Perfect Birthday. I am grateful that my parents are healthy and able to do things like this, and it means the world to me, seeing how much my son loves being with them and vice versa.

But to top it off, there was today.

George and I were attending a memorial service for the wife of a friend (a former college professor), and my mom was watching Oliver and Andrew at her house when my sister and her husband stopped over. My mom wanted to cut the birthday cake I had baked for her and send a couple pieces home with my sister before she left, but Oliver stopped her: “Wait, Grandma, before you take a bite…!” Then he stunned everyone by CLIMBING UP ON A CHAIR and SINGING HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HER. All by himself.

Yeah. She cried.

He helped me make the cake on Friday, and when he asked to have a piece afterward, I told him we had to save it for Saturday and sing Happy Birthday to Grandma first. But I would have never expected him to THINK of singing to her on his own, let alone actually SING by himself, and I am incredibly proud of him. HE’S MY SON, this thoughtful four year old boy. And he gave my mom The Absolute Best Birthday Gift Ever.

He’s already talking about singing Happy Birthday to Andrew in a couple weeks. I don’t know if my heart can take it.

Watching our sons together, we just shake our heads.

They are total opposites in every way.

“I hope they’ll be best friends someday,” said George.

“They probably will be,” I said. “Oliver’s like me and Andrew’s like you, and we’re best friends.”

George smiled. “True.”

Someday. I hope.

Oliver, on Sunday: “Mommy, are there two days until I go to school?”

Me: “Yes.”

Oliver: “But I don’t want there to be only two days, I want there to be ONE HUNDRED days.”

He didn’t want to go. I sort of didn’t want him to go, either. He’s my first baby! Sure, it’s just preschool for now, but the next thing you know it will be college! Although I think he’ll need a new bookbag before moving into a frat house Harvard dorm.

Oliver’s first day of preschool was five minutes of torture followed by three hours of success. We had talked about it for weeks, so he knew I would be leaving, but the reality didn’t set in until I kissed him goodbye in his classroom this morning and started walking away.

Suddenly I was the mother being chased down the hall by a sobbing, curly-haired giant of a 4-year old. His eyes always look nearly green when he’s afraid, and right then they were the closest to green I’ve ever seen them. I held back my own tears, said I love you, and told him to go wave to me from the window. “Look for my orange goldfish shirt,” I smiled. His teacher was already comforting a younger boy, so the teacher’s assistant suggested, “Here, Oliver, I’ll take you over to the window!” He stopped crying, said, “Okay!” and let her lead him back to the classroom.

Out in the parking lot, I saw his glasses and curls in one of the windows. I waved, he waved. He turned to say something to the teacher’s assistant, and then he disappeared. She waved and gave me a thumbs up. George had Andrew with him while he turned in Oliver’s medical forms, so I had a few minutes alone in the car, just enough time to let a few tears slide and wipe them away before he got back.

My little boy, my first baby, is officially in school. It’s only three mornings a week, but still. SCHOOL. How did we get here so fast?

I played with Andrew for a while when we got home (George had left straight for work), then put him down for his nap. The house was too quiet. Usually that means Oliver is getting into something he shouldn’t, but now it meant He Wasn’t Here. It was nice for about 15 minutes. Peaceful. And then… it just didn’t feel right. I distracted myself with folding laundry and tidying up. I almost anticipated the phone ringing at any minute, begging me to come and pick up my hysterical child who had locked himself in the bathroom and screamed for an hour, but the phone never rang.

He had just gone to the bathroom when I arrived to pick him up at 11:00. When he came out into the hallway and saw me, he burst into laughter and ran over to me. “Hi, Mommy, I love you!” he said, and I once again fought tears.

“Did you have fun?” I asked.

“Yes,” he smiled shyly. “But… can we go back to our house now?”

His teacher and teacher’s assistant came over to tell me what he did and praise his behavior. On the way home, he didn’t stop talking: “I sat on my mat for circle time and I got to wear my NEW SLIPPERS! and we made bubbles and had PRETZELS! and I sat by the boy in the green shirt and the teacher has brown hair and a brown shirt and we played train like this ‘CHUG-A-CHUG-A-CHUG-A’…”

And for bonus points, HE TOOK A NAP THIS AFTERNOON for the first time in weeks.

Overall: SUCCESS. It will take time to get used to, but I think both of us are going to like preschool.

…..

We chose a Montessori preschool because we felt it was the most appropriate for Oliver’s needs. Each child has the freedom to explore and learn at their own pace, which means he won’t be stuck doing the same things as other kids if he can do more. This was a major problem for me throughout my school years, and I don’t want him to start off bored this early and end up not caring/underachieving like I did. Oliver can already spell and read beyond his age level, he can do some simple addition and subtraction with the numbers 1-20, he can recognize a bunch of world flags (thanks to building them with Legos with Daddy), so he NEEDS the opportunity to do more.

Montessori programs focus on learning by doing (multi-sensorial), and because they are mixed ages (2 1/2 through Kindergarten), the child can take their knowledge to the next level by then helping the younger kids to learn. Oliver already got a head start on this today! His teacher was very impressed that he helped a few other kids work with numbers (“They had them in the wrong order, Mommy,”), as well as helping them clean up after snack time (which, WHAT? That never happens at HOME! lol). But I was most proud when she told me that after his own brief meltdown, he tried to comfort a younger boy who was crying. “It’s ok,” he told him (how many times has he heard me say this to Andrew? heh), and then he told his teacher, “Maybe you can give him a hug, I think that would make him feel better.”

Hugs do help, even for Mommies.

George and I feel strongly about raising our children with examples of tolerance, respect, and kindness to others, so the Montessori method fits right in. We are glad to know that they promote social skills (honesty, courtesy, sense of community, etc) and practical skills (tying shoes, preparing food, folding clothes, etc) in addition to all the regular curriculum (reading, math, art, science, geography, etc). They also get basic lessons in Spanish (Mondays), music (Tuesdays), and sign language (Thursdays). It’s just a really cool system. There are many great preschools out there, and children obviously don’t need a Montessori environment (or formal preschool at all) to thrive or excel. But George and I feel 100% certain this was the right choice for Oliver, especially this particular Montessori preschool, and we are grateful we researched–and reworked our budget–to give him this opportunity.

I really can’t say enough about the amazing teachers at his school. Not only did his own teacher and teacher’s assistant pay special attention to him (since it was his first time being somewhere without a family member), but the other two teachers and administrators know him by name and they each stopped us at some point as we were leaving to ask him how his day went. They are all such sincerely caring people and it has made the entire transition easier on both Oliver and ourselves. I feel like he is truly in the “next best place” when he’s not at home with me.

So let it rip, Oliver. The sky is the limit!