Suddenly it’s November 16th and my son and I have been attending preschool as his Mama transitions him into a new adventure three mornings a week. If all goes well and he enjoys preschool, my writing life will receive a drastic change/boost in about a week. I will be pleased to have blocks of time to complete some very immediate goals, however—the eventual reality of leaving MY BABY at preschool is excruciating. My son? He seems to be rolling with kids, activities and his teacher, so far. I sit in the back of the sweet little classroom, watching his every move, biting my nails to keep from blurting instructions to him, letting his teacher ask him to help clean up the toys, sit for the story circle, sing. I’m glad the children ignore me—I probably look like a live-though-atrophied version of Munch’s The Scream. Bottom line, if my son likes preschool and doesn’t cry for 3 hours when I do leave him there in that place of caring and teaching—really? really?—I will suddenly have a writing life again—one not grabbed between toddler activities, but planned for, weekly, red X’s marking the appropriate days on my calendar. Life is full. As. Is. Braaaaain……..