Brian and the tines brought home a little pumpkin from the community garden along with bags and bags of cucumbers that I promptly declared that I would not pickle. I scrawled a few lines on the tiny pumpkin because somehow, I’m driven to write words, even with Sharpies on gourds.
You know how kids are so exhausted when they start school? I hear from my friends about their kindergartners coming home, worn clean out, collapsing to sleep still in their Dora backpacks straps. Anne has not had that transition, but instead, it is mine. We’re two weeks into homeschooling and I’m exhausted. I think teachers need raises, I mean, honestly, did you know that kids go to school, like, every day? So every night, I”m figuring out lesson plans and during the afternoons, she studiously calls me Teacher for some reason even though I’m trying to get her to stop it. I’m not a teacher, I say, I’m your Mum. And in my head, I’m all of it and none of it here, too, so we’re reading a lot and Joe squirms and squirms and squirms but I’ve figured out he’s listening while he’s moving so it doesn’t bother me – much – anymore and Evelynn observes us all, wisdom.
I wait all day long to write at night and then, when everyone is in bed and Brian is out working for yet another night, I collapse into my chair and think, oh, gracious, I’m just too tired to even think. I mutter and think and yearn for time to write, to create, all day and then when it comes, I’m all Let’s See What’s Going On With The Twitter.
