Feeling better
1.19.09
I guess I’m feeling better. I’m crying again as I write this, but that’s how it goes. I’ll be better soon. Things have to keep moving on and getting done, and I’ll move on and do them. The show must go on.
The other night Sean said that he hoped I wouldn’t have the same hard time seeing him leave this time as I did when he left initially in August. I told him that it seemed to be a mini version of that, which I guess is to be expected.
Classes are not in session today in observance of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. They begin tomorrow, and then Sean will be off to all sorts of new adventures in music. I told him to take his long underwear and snow pants in case he wanted to have adventures of other kinds — like, what if his friend Maggie said, “Hey, Sean! Let’s be wild and crazy and go sledding!” His answer was, “Then I’d have the perfect excuse not to.” I had seen in the lobby at Chadbourne that today the hall is sponsoring an ice-skating outing, and I mentioned that to him, too. “I’ll see how much work I have,” he said — but classes haven’t even started! The child is 18, going on 80, I swear.
He did get his heart rate up on Saturday, though, over the ballroom dance course that he had wanted to take this semester, but which was much more than full at the time he registered. He’d even talked to the prof about making an exception and letting him in. (That’s what we used to do in my day, and sometimes it worked.) But, no go this time. The prof said that if he made an exception for Sean, he’d have to let everyone in, which is understandable. But, Sean kept checking back online to see if any spots had opened up, and — the wonders of the Internet! — he could see that a spot had opened up, so he grabbed it.
I’ve rarely heard him that excited. I was in the basement, and he was calling to me from upstairs. “Mom!” he called. “What?” replied I from the basement workshop. “Mom!” he called again. “What?!” replied I again, becoming both a little worried and a little annoyed. “MOM!” he shouted again! “WHAT?!” I called back, now worried to the point where I ran upstairs — I was sure that he’d hurt himself or something. “I got into the ballroom dance class!”
The other night Sean said that he hoped I wouldn’t have the same hard time seeing him leave this time as I did when he left initially in August. I told him that it seemed to be a mini version of that, which I guess is to be expected.
Classes are not in session today in observance of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. They begin tomorrow, and then Sean will be off to all sorts of new adventures in music. I told him to take his long underwear and snow pants in case he wanted to have adventures of other kinds — like, what if his friend Maggie said, “Hey, Sean! Let’s be wild and crazy and go sledding!” His answer was, “Then I’d have the perfect excuse not to.” I had seen in the lobby at Chadbourne that today the hall is sponsoring an ice-skating outing, and I mentioned that to him, too. “I’ll see how much work I have,” he said — but classes haven’t even started! The child is 18, going on 80, I swear.
He did get his heart rate up on Saturday, though, over the ballroom dance course that he had wanted to take this semester, but which was much more than full at the time he registered. He’d even talked to the prof about making an exception and letting him in. (That’s what we used to do in my day, and sometimes it worked.) But, no go this time. The prof said that if he made an exception for Sean, he’d have to let everyone in, which is understandable. But, Sean kept checking back online to see if any spots had opened up, and — the wonders of the Internet! — he could see that a spot had opened up, so he grabbed it.
I’ve rarely heard him that excited. I was in the basement, and he was calling to me from upstairs. “Mom!” he called. “What?” replied I from the basement workshop. “Mom!” he called again. “What?!” replied I again, becoming both a little worried and a little annoyed. “MOM!” he shouted again! “WHAT?!” I called back, now worried to the point where I ran upstairs — I was sure that he’d hurt himself or something. “I got into the ballroom dance class!”
