So I've been pretty clear with everyone I know well that I am not a "little kid person." I'm afraid that's another way to describe someone who lacks patience, and I know that deep down. I just don't know how to fix it.
In the last few months, I've fielded quite a few comments about how big Abby and Adam are now. Sometimes these comments are accompanied by a sympathetic tone of voice...
how fast time has gone, they insinuate. 100% of the time I have smiled back, unmoved, and replied brightly, "Yes, they are tall. I'm glad! Yes, they are old. I'm glad! Yes, just one drop-off at Jefferson School next year. It will be
so nice."
But tonight at preschool graduation the teachers had deviously printed a poem in the program. In the seven minutes I waited for the program to start, I sat in the bleachers and surprised myself by crying quite out of the blue, swiping at my messy eyes and looking helplessly at Eric.
Oh, here I go again, and this time without public decorum to restrain me. Eric just asked if the cat died.
Here's to trying to be more of a "little kid person" this summer, one day at a time.
