Friday

The weekend oasis of time finally arrives, finding me with a sore throat and an achy heart. “She’s so cute today. I keep singing her the Mozart tune and she keeps laughing,” hubby said after school to me on the phone. I picture it; the baby responding to singing like that and it’s brand new and wonderful to imagine and hurts at the same time. I have permission slips to record and file, homework to look over, a test to grade, emails to respond to, and copies to make. And it’s already almost 5 because of a parent conference. It was imagining being on the other side of the table for E one day that gave me the heart and energy to take the time and make sure the concerned dad felt listened and responded to. “Everything was fine in pre-school,” he says. “Maybe this is developmental and he’ll grow out of it.” I see the extinguishing hope in his eye, along with the recognition that it may not be, and the resignation to seek help from a specialist. He thanks me for my time before he leaves and wonder when things became so demanding for kids and whether it’s better for them to face the difficulties earlier or later in life.

Back home I watch E roll over and over until she bumps up against our bookshelf and can’t roll any more. She bumps her head against the glass door as she attempts to roll through it. “Roll the other way sweetie. Come back over here,” I call to her. She looks over but continues trying to roll over the bookshelf until she starts to get frustrated. I bring her back to her play mat and she smiles up at the swinging monkey brushing the top of her crazy Elvis hair. She starts to roll back towards the bookcase. “Enjoy this time of simplicity baby,” I think to her, to myself. It’s not easy growing up in the world today.