This week as I drove home from having a rock chip filled in my brand new windshield, I stopped at the four way stop by the park. I came to a complete stop, because it’s what I do. Yay, me.
I waited to turn left, watching as three boys took their sweet, unhurried time crossing the street. One of the boys stopped exactly halfway across and crouched down to tie his shoelace.
For like three minutes.
Kids are the best. They are self-absorbed in a charming sort of way that makes me laugh. Charlie especially, when he asks me things like, “What color are bones? Are they the color of fish guts? What color is your brain? Does your brain move around inside your body? What does SpongeBob’s brain look like? How many weeks is it until Christmas? How many weeks does it take to get to the North Pole? Why do bad guys say, ‘Well, well, well, what have we here?'”
Charlie’s brain is clearly firing much faster than mine. There is a lot of curiosity in that youngster. We cut his giant mullet into a handsome and tidy back-to-school haircut yesterday. We are not talking about school, however, because it sends him into theatrics (#transitionanxiety.) School is the elephant in the room, and we are totally ignoring it.
Also this week, I got a job. Not that I haven’t had a job lo these fourteen years raising children. I actually never stopped working when the guys were born. I just stopped getting paid for it.
But, beginning this very month, I am returning to teaching as an adjunct at a nearby university. It’s a part-time gig, just two very early mornings per week teaching composition to undergraduates.
It’s a feeling of lightness I’m experiencing, like a closed door in my life has opened, revealing an expansive wing that has been shut up for a long time.
I knew it was there, but I forgot how bright and airy is it.