Non-trad

Last night I was a student for the first time since Liam has been born. I wasn't nervous.  I wasn't dreading it.  I actually pretty excited.

For some reason night class is a lot easier to go to when you are getting out of bath time rather than missing out on valuable socializing in your college apartment. 

Basically I'm taking an advanced ceramics course at the local college.  I'm a non-trad student in a room full of 19-20-somethings.  It's daunting.  And weird.  And I totally feel like an old lady for the first time in my adult life.

Back in college non-traditional students had the reputation of asking too many questions and knowing too many answers.  In other words, they actually appeared to be trying, which already set them a world apart from the rest of us.  

This was not going to be me. 

So last night I slipped on my leggings and Converse (because isn't that what all the kids are wearing these days?) determined not to stand out or be labeled. 

It lasted approximately 3.5 minutes.  The rest of the time I spent asking too many questions, knowing too many answers, and getting in everyone's way.

Random.

Today is the type of day where I just feel like sitting down and letting words fall out of me. 

This is officially the first "snow day" of the year.  And boy did I need it.  I mean, I didn't really need it, but I did really need it, you know?  Going back to work has been both wonderful and sad at the same time.  I don't want to go back to staying home, but I also find myself bitter of the 50 minutes I spend in my car everyday. Perhaps that is the control freak in me.  Who knows.

I am finally reading the book, The Lowland by my favorite author, Jhumpa Lahiri.  It was a book one of my friends gave me as a gift when they found out Unaccostumed Earth was my favorite book in the history of ever.  It's taken me two years to pick it up.  Part of me was afraid I wouldn't love it with all my heart.  I do love it.  I love her words.  I wish I could create just one thing as beautiful as her writing. 

When I first came back from Northern Ireland my dream job was to work in a bakery.  Not to own a bakery, but to knead dough and throw together pastries - homemade croissants and pop tarts with preserves from my garden.  I wanted to be the worker that unlocked the doors at 3 am and clocked out at 10.  It was a dream I quickly forgot as the year got away from me and it seemed impossible to live on a part-time hourly salary while still allowing my other half to do what he loves and also paying for the education I insisted on getting. All of the sudden I want that again and it fills the thoughts in my days.  An obsession.

Sometimes I love my kids so much that it hurts my heart.  These are times when I'm not consumed with a clean house or with fixing dinner.  Times when everyone has frozen in a moment that surrounds me.  Bedtime is the biggest contributor.  Saying their prayers and kissing me goodnight.  The tightening in my chest feels like it could suffocate me as I shoo away feelings of dread and despair. I can't stand to live in fear of losing a single one of them.  I don't understand how people move on after a tragedy.  I pray I never understand.