Yesterday at the park we ran into a classmate of Chicken Little’s and his mother. We got to talking about the preschool, how the kids like it, which days they attend. Hers—Monday through Thursday. Mine—Monday and Friday.
“How does that work?” she asked.
It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. I babbled about how some weeks it’s hard to get all of my work done with only two daycare days, but she just looked at me and then gestured at the chickens, capitulating, “Well, they seem perfectly well adjusted.”
What she’d actually been asking was if two day care days were enough to adequately socialize my chickens.
Ahh, the dangerous waters of early motherhood, where total strangers worry not whether their own 18-month-old is getting enough time with his mother but whether your children are turning into batty old hermits.
I don’t worry about that, by the way. If Chicken Little and Chicken Noodle turn into batty old hermits it will be family tradition more than conditioning and therefore, unavoidable.
I do worry that two daycare days a week will have serious impact on my dreams of publishing a book. Especially since I don’t even know what sort of book I want to write next and I realize how very much hard work and time it takes to get published. And, there is a deadline on even this two-day plan. Captain Daddy and I have a deal. In five years, he retires, and I get a job.
But none of that matters, really—because (the chickens’ socialization be damned) I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want those little demons home with me. So two days is what I have. The only choice is what I do with them.
“How does that work?” she asked.
It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. I babbled about how some weeks it’s hard to get all of my work done with only two daycare days, but she just looked at me and then gestured at the chickens, capitulating, “Well, they seem perfectly well adjusted.”
What she’d actually been asking was if two day care days were enough to adequately socialize my chickens.
Ahh, the dangerous waters of early motherhood, where total strangers worry not whether their own 18-month-old is getting enough time with his mother but whether your children are turning into batty old hermits.
I don’t worry about that, by the way. If Chicken Little and Chicken Noodle turn into batty old hermits it will be family tradition more than conditioning and therefore, unavoidable.
I do worry that two daycare days a week will have serious impact on my dreams of publishing a book. Especially since I don’t even know what sort of book I want to write next and I realize how very much hard work and time it takes to get published. And, there is a deadline on even this two-day plan. Captain Daddy and I have a deal. In five years, he retires, and I get a job.
But none of that matters, really—because (the chickens’ socialization be damned) I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want those little demons home with me. So two days is what I have. The only choice is what I do with them.
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