Monday, May 2, 2016
I wallowed in the simple pleasures of getting to sleep in my own bed, making my latte each morning. I lingered on my daily walk around the park, I tackled my projects with gusto on the days rain permitted. (The cabinet doors are done - ready to install!)
While I was gone, someone came by with a paintbrush and, with broad strokes, colored all the trees in shades of joyful spring green - full of the promise of new growth and renewal.
I was home for just a week and the week went too quickly and yesterday I was on a plane again, headed for Seattle (again).
While I left reluctantly, I knew, like a preschooler, I would be fine once I got here.
When my kids were small, they didn't always want to go to school. I'd bring them to the door, and some days, instead of running off to play, they'd cling to me, not wanting me to leave. It was SO hard to peel them off, cheerfully say I'd see them at the end of the day, and leave them screaming in the room.
The teachers always assured me they were fine within a few minutes of when I left. I know they were telling the truth because I'd hover outside the room, peering in the window like a cat burglar, watching the tantrums play out. Invariably, within just a minute or two of my leaving, the teacher had successfully distracted my little one, tears disappeared, and they went off happily to play.
Sometimes, the transition is the hardest part.