I guess I don't need to worry so much

Today I had brunch with a group of older women to celebrate our friend Julie's 70th birthday. Julie is a doula, the oldest one in Oregon (she proudly says) and she has been a godsend to me before and after Rachel's birth and when I was fired earlier this year. She's eccentric but has the best heart of anyone I know. And she loves being my friend.

One of the ladies at the lunch was named Dena. She's 68, is a psychiatrist, grew up in Passaic, New Jersey, and raised her kids in Portland. She divorced her husband when her kids were 7 and 8. It was a pretty awful divorce.

Anyway, we got into a long discussion about public schools and she told me the nightmare story of her son, Simi, whom teachers at one of the city's best public elementary schools were convinced could not read -- and it turns out he was tuning out because he was so bored. Dena sent her kids to Jewish pre-school and Montessori, and by the time Simi got to high school, he was taking math classes at Reed. He eventually graduated with three years of college math behind him.

You really have to do enrichment, she said, because the schools won't.
We can't afford Montessori or private middle or high schools, I answered. (Her kids, by the way, graduated from Wilson High, one of the best in the city, and ended up going to Columbia and Williams College).

The conversation got me thinking about enrichment, and how I worry sometimes that Rachel isn't stimulated enough at her daycare or at home, where her toys feel like they're too babyish and I haven't enrolled her in any special weekend classes. I told Dena that Drew wants to teach Rachel Latin at home during the summers if the schools don't offer it. Come to think of it, Rachel and I will BOTH learn Latin from Drew because I want to learn it, too.

So tonight, as soon as she got up from her nap Rachel said she wanted to go into the living room and play -- and the first thing she did when I sat down was hand me two books and demand that I read them to her.

She ate a good dinner (stir-fry chicken, half a banana and jarred sweet potatoes) -- and then it was time for Mommy Books. I read the one about Corduroy finding a pocket while she held the original Corduroy book in her lap.

And then...she said she wanted to keep the book with her in her crib. So my daughter -- the one I will do everything in my power to make sure she's educated to the best of my ability and the one I worry about because I'm concerned that Portland Public Schools may not be challening enough for her -- my daughter is asleep under a thick blanket with bunny in one hand, her binky in another and her chest on the Corduroy book.

Perhaps she has learned to sneak a flashlight into bed with her so she can read after I've tucked her in?

Maybe I don't need to worry about her future so much?