Yesterday I freaked out a bit about the whole daycare/living by myself/raising Zac thing, which I think just proves that I'm normal. It would be more upsetting if I was completely confident in the decision. Confidence usually proves that I'm heading toward a huge mistake.
After I got off work I toured a franchise daycare facility in north Houston that is 8 miles from my apartment. Unfortunately, 8 miles in Houston equals a 30 minute commute time. There is a franchise right next to my place, but they only accept kids that are walking. Zac still has a long way to go before he gets to that stage. Don't get me wrong, he scoot with the best of them. Walking, though, not so much. Basically, if I register him at this location, his registration fee is covered at all of the franchise locations. When he starts walking, I get to stop driving 30 minutes in traffic (which is why I moved in the first place).
Houston, like most other highly segregated cities, has areas that are predominantly black/Hispanic or white. Friendswood was almost all white, with a little bit of racial diversity just for kicks. My new neighborhood is almost all black, with a little bit of white thrown in around the fringes. I actually had to ask about racial tolerance at the daycare facility. I hate to be the obnoxious white person asking a room full of women of color about race. I'm liberal enough to know, though, that racial intolerance exists and it won't go away if I squeeze my eyes tight enough and pretend that it doesn't exist. I think that people need to engage in dialogue about race, rather than letting fear of appearing politically incorrect stymie the discussion.
Anyways, they said that the daycare didn't have any other white kids and for those of you that haven't seen a recent picture of my son, he's not just white, he's blonde hair, blue eyes, there-is-no-mistaking, white-white. Embarassingly shiny and cute next to me with my dark, bedraggled hair and puffy, sleep-deprived eyes. The daycare providers all thought that he was the most unique thing that had walked through their door in quite a while. They all got down on the floor to play with him and told me how cute he is (I already know, but it's nice to hear anyways).
Needless to say, the place has a very professional staff with a safe, loving environment. Zac would be fortunate enough to go there next week, even if I may have to start referring to him as, "the white boy scooting across the floor, drooling" when I go and pick him up.