We've decided! Mitch accepted the offer from the University of Rochester this morning. Whew! We'll be moving in the summer sometime, don't know when. In the end, he got offers from Univ of Georgia and Virginia Tech too, but we're going to Rochester. I found I didn't want to go to Athens or Blacksburg... I wanted to experience something new, someplace different than I'm used to. Which is funny, because I spent so much time beating myself up about being intimidated by Holland. I thought I was afraid of adventure in general, but I realize now that this is just not the right time for that adventure. This other adventure I welcome.
We get to start looking at houses.
Went to storytime at the library this morning and it was a bust, though I suppose Frances had a good enough time. They were celebrating Sesame Street's birthday, so this woman who seemed able to only communicate in baby talk read a story staring Grover and then we watched an episode of Sesame Street. We can do that at home. We left halfway through. But Frances got a look at the other kiddos and saw something other than the inside of our house, which is always good.
Last night (Halloween!) Frances was so cute as a sheep, though she wouldn't even once say "baa" while in her costume. There was a street blocked off in the neighborhood and folks flocked down there. There were folks on stilts and tap dancers and all sorts of ghouls and then there was a fire dancer. She was seriously awesome. She had a bongo player with her who kept a tribal kind of beat, and she danced with poles lit with fire on either end, spinning them over her head and around her in the dark night. Then she danced with a ring lit in several places around. She hoola hooped with it. Swung it around her bare middle, then down her legs to her knees, then back up to her chest. She turned with it over and over, and leaned over backwards while spinning it (aflame the whole time), and spun it above her head, and jumped in and out of it. It was beautiful and so graceful and truly amazing. Frances watched for awhile, but the miracles of this world are still commonplace to her. I think all she saw was someone dancing. She danced along for a bit, bobbing up and down the way she does, then she wanted to look at the other babies and play with the dog. Her sitter C was there and Frances spent most of her time with C, wanting her more than she wants either her dad or me.
C is wonderful, and I don't know what on earth I'd do without her. She's older, retired, lives down the street, and loves babies. Frances is going to miss her terribly when we go, but that's not for awhile in her world. It doesn't bother me that Frances wants her more. I understand it. C has more energy and patience than I do, gives her more constant attention, partially because she's not trying to get the dishes done and sweep the floor while also watching Frances, but also partially because this is her way. The only way our set up with her could be better is if she were Frances' grandmother. But she's not, and Frances has wonderful grandmothers, and we will leave her one day. Those kinds of endings make me sad, and now they make me sad for Frances too. This is what they talk about when they say having kids makes your heart heavier—just more to carry.