Happy
I think I'm happy.
I don't mean that to sound like I'm normally depressed, sullen, melancholy, or miserable. I just happened to notice today that I am none of those things. Quite the contrary, I think I'm finding my groove, although not in a Terry McMillan kind of way. No major life-shaking events to report, and no, I'm not pregnant again. I'm just feeling content and relaxed. Those are two states I have not experienced a great deal of since I became a mom (coincidentally, around the same time I had my sense of humor surgically removed).
My husband is happy. He is really enjoying being a student again. He diligently reads his cases and "briefs" them every night. He spins tales of good questions he asked in class, and clever answers he volunteered. I am not surprised that my brilliant husband gets it. That's always been his strength. He can cut through the extraneous details, slice off the irrelevancies, and trim the distractions. Much more than "just the facts", my husband gets to the heart of the matter, or to quote an old Israeli expression, "Po kavur hakelev". The dog is buried here.
Not me. It's taken me eight years to realize that I've got a pretty wonderful life.
My children are happy. My son loves his school. He steps off that school bus everyday with such a beautiful, beaming smile, I can't help but share in his infectious joy. He's making friends, and he's becoming the jock he's always dreamed of being. Now it's just a matter of the first snowfall, and his happiness will be complete. He actually smiles when I ask him about school. Everyday is great, homework is not only bearable, but almost, dare I say it, pleasurable! Even his teachers seem happy.
My daughter is over the moon. Today was her first ballet/tap dance class. I called the dance school on Monday, ran out to Walmart at the scary time of Walmart shopping and bought her a leotard and tights; pink, of course. Today I got the ballet slippers and tap shoes. I picked her up from nursery school, and took her straight to Miss Katie's class. It was right out of a little girl's fantasy: four adorable, sprightly little girls in matching dancewear spinning, leaping, and flitting about like little faeries or forest nymphs. I couldn't stop smiling, either from the sight of my little girl transformed into the Disney princess of her dreams, or from the thought of myself living the mommy fantasy I didn't realize I shared.
Even the baby is happy. She gets mommy's undivided attention all day. We cuddle, snuggle, play, and talk all morning long. I'm getting to see every baby step of her development and growth first hand. I don't have to hear from a day care teacher that my little peanut is now saying her big sister's name, or at least the last two syllables of it stretched out and modulated in a high-pitched sing-songy squeal.
Today I ran downstairs, as I always do, to meet the school bus bringing home my sweetness and light. I looked up at the window and saw my little girls peering down, anxiously awaiting the return of their big brother and best friend. My ballerina was in her birthday suit.
That's when it finally hit me: the dog is buried here.
Let's just hope it stays good and buried.
I don't mean that to sound like I'm normally depressed, sullen, melancholy, or miserable. I just happened to notice today that I am none of those things. Quite the contrary, I think I'm finding my groove, although not in a Terry McMillan kind of way. No major life-shaking events to report, and no, I'm not pregnant again. I'm just feeling content and relaxed. Those are two states I have not experienced a great deal of since I became a mom (coincidentally, around the same time I had my sense of humor surgically removed).
My husband is happy. He is really enjoying being a student again. He diligently reads his cases and "briefs" them every night. He spins tales of good questions he asked in class, and clever answers he volunteered. I am not surprised that my brilliant husband gets it. That's always been his strength. He can cut through the extraneous details, slice off the irrelevancies, and trim the distractions. Much more than "just the facts", my husband gets to the heart of the matter, or to quote an old Israeli expression, "Po kavur hakelev". The dog is buried here.
Not me. It's taken me eight years to realize that I've got a pretty wonderful life.
My children are happy. My son loves his school. He steps off that school bus everyday with such a beautiful, beaming smile, I can't help but share in his infectious joy. He's making friends, and he's becoming the jock he's always dreamed of being. Now it's just a matter of the first snowfall, and his happiness will be complete. He actually smiles when I ask him about school. Everyday is great, homework is not only bearable, but almost, dare I say it, pleasurable! Even his teachers seem happy.
My daughter is over the moon. Today was her first ballet/tap dance class. I called the dance school on Monday, ran out to Walmart at the scary time of Walmart shopping and bought her a leotard and tights; pink, of course. Today I got the ballet slippers and tap shoes. I picked her up from nursery school, and took her straight to Miss Katie's class. It was right out of a little girl's fantasy: four adorable, sprightly little girls in matching dancewear spinning, leaping, and flitting about like little faeries or forest nymphs. I couldn't stop smiling, either from the sight of my little girl transformed into the Disney princess of her dreams, or from the thought of myself living the mommy fantasy I didn't realize I shared.
Even the baby is happy. She gets mommy's undivided attention all day. We cuddle, snuggle, play, and talk all morning long. I'm getting to see every baby step of her development and growth first hand. I don't have to hear from a day care teacher that my little peanut is now saying her big sister's name, or at least the last two syllables of it stretched out and modulated in a high-pitched sing-songy squeal.
Today I ran downstairs, as I always do, to meet the school bus bringing home my sweetness and light. I looked up at the window and saw my little girls peering down, anxiously awaiting the return of their big brother and best friend. My ballerina was in her birthday suit.
That's when it finally hit me: the dog is buried here.
Let's just hope it stays good and buried.
posted by law school widow at 12:38 AM
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