The kids are on summer vacation, and it turns out that I am too. They're gone more often than not any more. After breakfast, phone calls are made and they disappear out the door. Gone to play, swim, build forts, ride bikes, climb trees.
I stay at home, cleaning, writing, knitting, cooking, reading, cleaning. It's kind of nice, being at home alone. A girl could get used to this. Paul Simon keeps me company. He brings back such sweet memories: Being a young girl, listening to the Graceland album with my Grandpa. Being a teenage girl, sitting on a stainless steel counter in the bakery at Albertson's, watching the boy I hopelessly loved make doughnuts, listening to Bridge Over Troubled Water (and troubled water it was). Being the mother of a three year old girl who sang Cecelia on the karaoke machine on display at Costco. Good times, all of them.
I stay at home, finding ways to fill my time, waiting for the kids to come back home. It's new and strange and wonderful, this sense of freedom we're all experiencing. It feels a little bit like a foreshadowing. I'm glad we have years to get used to it.