Thursday afternoon, I’m anxious. Then, he’s home. He gets off the plane taller, more philosophical, more fluent in Spanish…
and psyched to go to kung fu.
Friday afternoon, I’m frazzled. I’m going to multiple stores for a slew of necessary shopping and a medical emergency. Then, it’s time to go to work. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting on since mid-April: the return to teaching.
Friday night, I’m dejected. There’s only one sign-up for the Friday class and the 7-year-old is a no show. I tell Aaron about the class that wasn’t when he gets home from work and ask absentmindedly while climbing the stairs, “You think the universe is trying to tell me something?”
“I think the universe is just speaking,” answers the president of the philosophy club. “It just talks and we construe things however we want.”
“Well said. I’m going to have to steal that.”
Long day, disappointing night, and one thought remains: I’m so glad he’s home.
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