I got a job. Yes, it’s only temporary, but it is at a library I like, with colleagues I respect (and some of them I already know), and I am beyond ecstatic to finally contribute to our household bottom line once again with something more than just making a good meal or staying on top of the laundry.
I won’t lie, I am also looking forward to the commute. I have a huge pile of books I want to read. Maybe I’ll start listening to one of those newfangled podcasts all the kids are talking about.
The last time I was a commuter, I was pregnant with Young J, and then later I was anxious to get home to him at the end of the day. I won’t have anything close to the same anxiety now (it will probably be replaced by new anxiety).
Will I miss picking the kids up from school? Yes, especially seeing them hug each other almost desperately when they reunite at the end of the day, with such fervor that parents sometimes ask me if they always do that. J and I may have made a lot of mistakes in raising them, but they certainly do love each other. (Will I miss the constant clamoring for sweet treats? No.)
I’m so grateful to have a chance to re-engage my mind in something other than making lists of things to do around the house, many items of which I have yet to check off. I’m leaving a legacy of chaos here, sure, but it’s a loving sort of chaos. At least, that is the story I will tell myself.