Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Dinner Conversation

"Are you real?"

"Yes. What do you think that means."

"I'm real."

"What does that mean?"


Suck on that, philosophy.

Monday, August 8, 2011

I'm on a Bus

I'm on a bus

Right next to the bathroom, and I can hear someone talking. Are they on the phone because, really? What could be that important?  Then I saw a small boy and his dad come down the aisle, and thought, even if Finn were here, I would not need to ever set foot in that terrifying little room because he is not potty trained.

We're on our own, and we are on a bus to Logan Airport. Finn is behind us at the beach house for more than a week of holiday fun with his grandparents and auntie.

Pulling away, I did not have a feeling of relief. Nothing to strike any chord of parental guilt. He sat on his auntie's hip waving, and I watched his blond curls and stripy shirt grow smaller through the tinted, rainy window until he was finally obscured by the trees. I simply felt sad to be away from him, knowing I would not see him for ten days. Those days are filled with work and plans, and they will fly by, and all will be well. We will sleep and eat and save time, and we will not have to worry about who is doing what as we go about what promises to be a very week and more.

And after I get past arriving home to a quiet house and his empty room, and waking up to the same, I will probably be ok.

For now, I'm on a bus