Walking the Waldorf Path. Step Two.

Tomorrow I’m going to the local LifeWays Early Childhood Center and offering myself up as an indentured servant.

I have to get the kids’ day care secured and I think I’d rather have a root canal. This, coming from a person with serious dentist-phobia. The complexities of certifications, ratings, subsidies and availability, not to mention costs, are abhorrent. Also, I don’t wanna. I don’t like typical day care set ups. I don’t trust it. It smells fishy. I don’t want my kid to get one hour of recess or exercise a day. I want the opposite! I want a Velveteen Rabbit life for these kids! Run! Play at brigands! (Whatever the hell that means.) Cross imaginary swords! Comfort pretend babies. Cook fake eggs. Scale imaginary castle walls! Dig holes in the sand! Be fae and gnome! Whatever! Just don’t trace letters and memorize numbers. You are too awesome for that.

I admit. I’m a Waldorf Freak. And “all the freaky people make the beauty of the world,” dammit. Even if they have the savings account of a sixteen year old with a new paper route. I have a negative net worth and these wholesome schools, with their low turnover rates and sound research, cost twice as much as the ones with bottles of hand sanitizer and fluorescent lighting.

I am being realistic at the core of this. I am. And I have formulated a modestly wacky plan. I will offer myself to the mercy of these school administrators over at the LifeWays school. I will give them my (sob) story and my mighty ambitious plans. I will tell them of my financial constraints and of my willingness to scoop guinea pig poo, if that is what it takes, to get my kids into that school for care. I will work for free for as much as they want, turn over my paychecks immediately, if they will just let my kids come be there and play in their gardens and sing in their song circles.

When the Waldorf Way calls you, as magnetizing as it does me, you must put on your apron, sing along and be fucking rosy cheeked for the rest of your life. I’m happy about it. And I’m not telling my mom of this plan until after it’s been carried out. Nay-sayers unwelcome!

 

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