It’s happened. It’s finally happened! I’ve been dreaming about it for the past 8.5 years.
(I am not, if you couldn’t tell, the kind of mom who gains vitality, energy and gusto from spending every waking moment with my children.)
My children. Both of my beloved angels. Are finally in school. Full-time.
Holy moly, will wonders never cease? How did I get here? A thousand screaming fits, slammed doors, unfinished breakfasts, yogurt drips, milk spills, poopy diapers, unslept nights, vomitous sheets, booger-crusted walls, marker streaked faces. (That’s the fun stuff.) And now—
Can you hear it? The whir of the air conditioner. The clacking of keyboard keys. The whoosh of passing lawn-care trucks. And no voices. Nobody asking me over and over, after I say no, after I explain why not, after I roll my eyes and plead to the ceiling, to use my iPhone, my laptop. No one mimicking their sister until that sister kicks and screeches. No one begging me to sit with them while they pee, get a spider out of the bathroom, add one more drizzle of honey to their morning yogurt or let me know a million times that they are bored. The relentless needs are at school, weighted down under bright new backpacks. Sneakers squeaking along freshly waxed terrazzo hallways. 560 echoing squeals contained a half mile down the street. And here, just the whir, the whoosh, the clack.
And the quiet, almost imperceptible panic.