I walked down the hallway; searching for the nearest exit; blinking furiously. Every cell was tingling and I was trembling slightly. My chest felt curiously like it would both collapse inward and explode at the same time. As the cool outside air filled my lungs I thought, "I'm not far enough into my life to have a kid in school". By that, I meant, my memories of my childhood friends' parents were that they were adults. They had it all figured out. They didn't have the insecurities, doubt, and emotional turmoil we kids had. It's possible I was mislead by their taller stature and that some of them had life no more figured out than I did then. Than I do now.
I drove home in a fog. Mixed-emotion tears and a wry, proud smirk on my face. I had grand plans of an hour and some of yoga in a quiet house this morning. But a bladder infection, which assailed me last night and a mind full of words itching to get on paper put those plans on hold. Maybe tomorrow.
When I picked Eva up, two hours later, she seemed neither stricken by my absence nor reluctant to leave school. She chatted at me all the way home, about swings, trains, and backpacks. She was tired early this evening though has been fighting the sleepies. Her little brain a firestorm of synapses. Thus began our long journey through public school.
"Go ahead, mama. I'm ready for school".
