Thursday, June 10, 2010

a whole hand's worth of weeks. (5)

This is the end of week five (FIVE? already?!). Well, nearly. I generally write these posts on Fridays, but tomorrow is shaping up to be a monster of a day, so I can't be relied upon to get it in. But anyway, five. This means that on the fifth Thursday night back, I was sitting in my dormitory. I remember this night like it was yesterday, five weeks ago or not. That night was mine and Jane's for the longest while, and it seemed almost strikingly appropriate; we hadn't planned that, but when it shaped up to be so, I couldn't imagine it being any other way. Nearly everyone else had left, and if they hadn't they were studying or packing. I had neither to do, so I remember sitting on my couch with her while she went over her essay answers, feeling surreal and normal all at the same time; it seemed so odd that everything was packed, that nearly everyone was gone, that it was our very last night in that room ever, but we'd done this so many times, sat on that couch so many nights, that I had difficulties setting it apart. After she went to sleep, I got a coke Icee and a dark chocolate bar with my good friend Charlie and we sat and talked like we weren't about to say goodbye the next day. I went to sleep well into the wee hours and the next morning I woke up, loaded up, and left. Five whole weeks since that night!

But back to this week. This week has been, in a word, exhausting, but at the same time, it's been revealing and fun, too. I've learned how much worth is really involved with the everydayness of children, and how very tiring it is to make sure other humans (ones that talk back and often disagree with you, no less) remain fed, mostly clean, safe, healthy, and happy for long amounts of time. Carson said today, "Basically, you don't want us to die." Yeah, basically. But that's a big task! And honestly, I only have them during the day- imagine the all day, every day, no-off-time-ever of all those parents! Let's all call our mothers and say thank you and order a ten-year supply of birth control, in that order.

Other than that, though, our week has been pretty stellar. We've fallen into a happy routine, and my creature of habit heart is really thankful. I've also learned, though, that no matter how late planning the next day keeps you up (quite late, in my case!), things are still apt to change. Today, for all my planning, went off course, but the new path fit us quite well in the end. Kids are better than adults at rolling with the punches, I do believe. What? We're not going to the pool? We're watching The Fox and the Hound? Oh. Okay. Can I have a cookie? 

I'm afraid the kids have probably gotten a little sick of me, because they are not exactly used to their mother working full time, but next week will be the opposite of this one- they'll be at VBS for a good portion of each day. I think I will miss them.

Speaking of my missing, it got staunched last weekend. Since I left Tuscaloosa and the friends that morphed into my family, there's been a constant, throbbing missing. A few days I could deal with, sure. A week, perhaps. But when you start flying through months without seeing their faces, it gets difficult, as you're well aware if you partake in any of my whining blogging. But anyway, there was a reunion, a sweet, sweet night where we giggled like we were six years old and rehashed the past weeks to each other and mentioned opinions and got the lowdown on the details. There was sushi, too, which improves just about anything. Here's what it looked like:                                                            

It was incredibly wonderful. It wasn't rushed or hurried and I think we said everything that was on our hearts, and we said goodbye with the next future togetherness in mind, and it won't be too long. And of course, there's the superb idea we had to live together and that is shaping up to be one of the best things we've ever thought up, at least in my opinion.

This week, I learned what it's like to guide a child to a right decision and to punish for a wrong one; also, how it feels to see tears you caused run down a child's face. I learned that being apart makes being together better, but not enough to make up for being apart, and that I can do things I didn't think I could, like run and sweat and bake a cake. I learned to be content in my own company.

These were all things I've been taught before, but just as I remind the boys not to smack at every single meal or Carson to "get out of that drawer!" almost every morning, I have to be taught again and again until finally, I understand.

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