Graduation means...Officially Unemployed?

Every student looks forward to the last day of school, but as it nears, the temperatures rise and end-of-year events, birthday parties, and FINALS overwhelm! But, when it's all said and done, there's a good reason to celebrate. I wish my graduation ceremony had as much entertainment as my kids preschool graduation. They sang cartoon-inspired songs, featuring such catchy favorites for the boys as "I Like to Move It" and "Shake Your Groove Thing" (which Tristan insisted was actually "Shake Your Groofy", hm, can't imagine where he gets his stubbornness). The girls danced in tutu's and the one on the end pulled hers up around her head, covering her face for the entire performance, although impressively still dancing along in sync with the others even with the head-dress blinding her.

I could have saved some money if I had just made my own square paper cap and yarn tassel like theirs. Especially when I realized I had mine on backwards nearly half the time, the top-heavy thing just kept sliding off my head. Of course it probably didn't help that I only brought one bobby pin so I only had it pinned behind one ear. But it's not even about the costume of it all, because, yes, I get it, we all wear costumes every day. We will have to dress for the jobs we want, not the one we have (don't have?). But it's a day of achievement, and celebration, and yet all I can think is: What's next? And that's something I had not even had time to figure out, as I struggled to get chapters read, essays written, and creative nonsense structured into something tangible. Something I had not come to terms with until it was inevitably time for me to come up for air.

So, Happy Graduation? Yes and No. Yay for my kiddos, they are so smart :) But, boo, for having a three month run of not seeing their friends, and the temps getting too hot to do the outdoor stuff they love all the time. And boo for me trying to keep up the momentum of the final quarter of my undergraduate studies! And everybody's favorite question to answer: so, now what are you going to do?

Well, anyone with even one child knows that there's never a dull or boring moment, or a moment when you find yourself sitting in a big cozy chair twiddling your thumbs and falling into a leisurely nap. But, the job hunting starts, and instead of considering myself unemployed, I think it's fair to say that I still have several jobs, of which being a mom can get a little more attention now, and not getting out of pj's until lunch an added perk of summer time. Not to mention the three days worth of laundry I did immediately following my last final exam.

And for me, the college grad? Preparing for the GRE, researching graduate schools with MFA programs in Creative Writing (and great financial aid), and finally revising the work I've been letting marinate for a while, buried in various notebooks, files, and shoeboxes. I guess a scavenger hunt might be in order too!

Park Bombers

Ahhhh, school's out for the kids and the June Gloom fog burned off to reveal a blue sky screaming "Park Day!" It's been a while, I must embarrassingly admit, since I've taken them to the park. This has been a tough quarter, at school four days a week, sometimes more. But I felt ready to go let them run around and perhaps sneak in a few chapters of my first summer leisure read :) yay!

But, of course, Ashlyn wanted to swing, which requires me to get off the bench and push. Maybe I would try to read while pushing, but on better thought I told myself "This is their time, I can read later." And then, sure enough, the girl who stole Ashlyn's first choice swing began engaging in typical child banter. Quickly I learned she was NOT a little girl, but a four year old. Along with so many other useful tidbits of information I feigned much excitement over, while I thought deeply about what lay ahead in the next page of that book. I was only in six chapters, a tease.

"See how I pump my legs. Yea, I don't even need a push, because look how fast they go, because I push them out early, you see. Look at me, look how fast I'm going," said the annoyingly sweet little girl with too-short bangs and a proud smile.

"Wow, that's really cool," I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could bare to muster up for someone who I was NOT related to.

"I've already been to kindergarten," she says.

"Great. Good for you," I said, not realizing until now that the math doesn't add up if she's only four, but I never really cared for math all that much.

Ashlyn began to slip off the seat, so I grabbed it to slow down and she went flying off, plopping in the sand. Oops. I'm a little out of practice.

Yes, I get to read my book now. So I sat down on my bench, and the woman on the bench next to me tells me how cute the kids are.

"Thanks," I said, sighing, preparing for another unwanted conversation.

"Yes, so cute! I'm here with my grand-daughter. See her, over there. She's so gifted. I saw your daughter, how old is she? Three? Well, you have to take her to the dance studio down the street. You just have to. They have all these great classes that she can take, and they only enroll twice a year, that way she can be in the big recital in June," she said, as if she were going to get commission from this referral.

"Thanks, maybe when she turns four," I said, and then stared at my lap, to the book eagerly awaiting my attention.

"I forgot my book," she said, forcing more conversation. "My grand-daughter takes piano on Fridays, and then Tennis on Wednesdays, so she doesn't have time to do dance anymore. But it's a great studio. You should take her in, just to look around, if anything. She'd really love it. I know she would."

And so I continued with her as much as I could tolerate, sneaking in a paragraph here and there, in between telling the children not to play in the mud or dip their wet shoes in the sand. After her fourth or fifth endorsement for the local dance company, I decided it was best to give a five minute warning call to the kids, and get out of there. Oh yea, it was dinner time anyways, I guess.

And that, my friends, is what I call getting park-bombed. Even with oversized sunglasses and book in hand, there is no avoiding it. So maybe someday, when I tell you about the little boy I made cry at the other park, you won't judge me.