Yesterday’s agenda was packed from start to finish. As soon as I got home from work, we headed over to the kids’ school for the school dance. ‘Dance’ might be generous–it’s a high school kid playing his iPod through a large enough speaker. It’s dark, the kids wear glow necklaces and run around the gym for a couple hours while their parents revert to wallflower status. Kids 3rd grade and up do NOT dance because their parents are there, and seriously mom, how embarrassing!
I’d set this goal of writing here every day for a month. I’m not sure why a month is the target–30 days is as arbitrary a number as any other, but that was a goal of sorts. Until the third glass of red last night, meeting my goal was on my mind constantly throughout the day. (Well, except for when I was singing along with Meghan Trainor and Carly Rae Jepson at the dance. Hi, I’m 12.) We were invited to some friends’ house after the dance for food and beverage, and it was a delightful evening. Both my husband and I talked to our friends about our big kid, and it was the first time we did together. I’ve become so accustomed to hearing my version of our story, that hearing it from his perspective was welcome. Talking with friends together was a needed comfort I didn’t know I neded, and listening instead of writing was good. Very good.
Not writing yesterday felt like not running. As soon as I get one day past my internally-designated running schedule, I may as well never run again–it’s like it never happened, like I’ve never run in my life. This morning I felt like maybe if I never wrote again that’d be OK too. But then I sat down.