serendipity

I have been flirting back and forth with this rebirth/evading depression/malaise and truthfully, have my good days and my bad. It all does truly feel that something greater than myself is at work, and that a life change is around the corner.

So, I've been circumspect about Miss M and The Dream School. I'm trying to keep it all in until papers are signed, but suffice to say that Miss M went on her two-day immersion and observation and emerged after day one, simply stating, "I don't want to leave here. Ever."

Why would she? What with the sugarless gum during Math to stimulate her nervous system, the fidgets and sensory-smart trampolines and the Drama, Music, and Gross Motor classes daily. The teachers who hug and cheer and who know the new visitor by name, even when they are not in their class. How about the after-school guy who gets everyone involved in a rousing but controlled game of tetherball? Miss M asked to bring toys for the classroom "store", where children get to select toys after accruing points for homework and behavior. I explained that she was only there for two days. She wouldn't be able to go shopping. "I don't care. I just want to contribute," she said.

The last day, she asked me to bake and bring Snickerdoodles.

We got a call the next day. "We adored her, " the headmistress gushed, "so smart and so sweet!"

No school person has ever said that about my daughter.

I tell you, folks, it is much different in the hands of professionals. People who know our people.

So we are working out the details (read the financial aid and money issues) and are keeping everything crossed that we pass muster.

It is an exhilarating as well as a nerve-wracking time. Bottom line is that I know Miss M belongs there. No question.

The city is abuzz with parents fretting over their assigned schools, of placement and acceptance letters and rejections. I remember when M started Kindergarten so many years ago, and I opened three rejection letters (not even a waiting list) until I got our public school assignment. We didn't have a choice.

I understand the anxiety. I just don't get the NT parents FREAKING OUT over this public school versus that school. Is it really that big a deal if your kid can use scissors and sit still and can write letters and draw faces? I mean, snack time is snack time. I often wonder how they'd fare if they had to go to an assessment or IEP. Then I reason that they'd probably react the same way I do - utter nausea. Parenting is parenting. It's all vomit-inducing fretting and anxiety when it comes to things like Education, Friends, and Sex. Everyone wants to do right by their children.

So I'm in Musical season, and the better part of my time is spent pacing in the theatre, hands stuffed in my hoodie, doing a jig to keep myself fresh whilst I yell into my God Mic to keep quiet backstage or stop looking at your feet.

I was sent tickets to a local grammar school production; often the teachers want me to recruit, or put in a good word for promising performers.

After an 8 hour rehearsal, I'd rather stick pins in my eyes.

So I went. I was immediately barraged by a mother whose child was a lead in the play. She greeted me with "I had them send you tickets so that you could see my daughter Binkie. She 's the star. " Needless to say, that doesn't score points with me.

Binkie came onstage. She was fine. She doesn't need my help. Who really caught my eye was the chubby boy with the speech impediment who was one beat behind everyone else. He was hilarious and had a huge, giving aura. I took to him immediately, especially when I saw him sweating in his costume.

So the show ended, and I was swamped by anxious parents whose children were rejected by my school. They begged me to put in a word. One grandmother tried to give me a $20 bill. Then I saw him. My Chubster. He came over, led by the Drama Director, who was basically my doppelganger, clad in black, red lipstick and wearing Coco Mademoiselle cologne. She was bubbly and hugging everyone - I had to laugh. We're all the same; effusive and dramatic. No difference between us, except her hair is red. I immediately hugged Chubster and told him that I LOVED his performance. The Drama Director pulled me aside and told me that he had received a rejection letter from my school hours before. He has multiple learning issues, and his family is poor.

He had me at Hello.

So the Drama Director and I have been emailing all day, plotting our strategy to get Chubster in my program. Like I said, we Drama Directors are all the same. We are convinced that our programs are the way in for kids like Chubster and Miss M.

We're right, of course.

Then the simple twist of fate.

Miss Darling, Miss M's third grade teacher from Dream School, approached me at the show. She was there, watching the sibling of one her students. (Yes. She came to watch a sibling. That scores extra points!) She smiled at me as she watched me taking numbers and names of desperate parents, hugging young actors.

She touched my arm. "Well. Did you get a call?" she asked, her eyes gleaming. I told her I had.
She told me that she insisted that M be admitted at once. "You've no worries, " she hugged me, then Miss M, as I openly started bawling like a baby.

We walked out into the night air. Miss M sighed. "I sure liked seeing Miss Darling. I can't wait to start Dream School." She skipped ahead, tap dancing in the street. No worries. No cares.

I know the desperation, the worry, the needing to know that you are doing right by your child. It has been at the source of my pain and anxiety for years now.

That I went to this silly elementary school show and helped other children - and came face to face with my own savior?

There are no accidents.