Thursday was moving day, and I had $20 bills at the ready to lure big strapping students into helping with the navigation, but much like spring cleaning day at our place, Steve and I were on our own.
After about two hours of swearing and sweating, the car was loaded, I turned in my keys and left Centennial Hall not with a bang but a whimper. And a sigh of relief, as you might expect.
It's going to take awhile to process the meaning and lessons of my sabbatical. Returning to college was an incredible opportunity, and I couldn't have predicted the variety of experiences, relationships, and insights the summer afforded me.
I'll be packaging my thoughts and reflections into a cohesive format, and (in the interest of avoiding redundancy) I probably won't post too much in that vein on the blog until after my Hallmark presentations.
I will admit that re-entry has been a little bumpy. As happy as I am to be home again, it was really difficult to assimilate my tidy little dorm trappings into the quirky and slightly chaotic fullness of our house in Lenexa. I remember my mom quietly freaking out when we'd move home for the summer, wondering how all the bins, boxes, books, and other accumulated college items could fit into an already-packed space.
I have too much stuff, and there's going to be a big sale of eBay-acquired junk one of these days. Watch Craig's List for details.
Also watch the western horizon for the cartoon-like swirling clouds of dust arising from my tantrums.
While I could have chosen to be mature, gracious, and grateful to Steve and the boys for supporting my college adventure and holding down the fort while I was gone, I've been throwing some ugly fits, including an extreme over-reaction to the dried up geraniums in the hanging baskets out front. In my fury yesterday, I slammed the baskets onto the front sidewalk to water them and noticed a perfect little robin's nest with four blue eggs. Without thinking, I picked the nest up and saw that a newly-hatched baby robin was squirming and waiting, beak wide open, to be fed.
I quickly replaced the nest in the basket in hopes that my ill-advised human touch wouldn't keep the babies' mama away. (I've been spying on them from our front window but am too scared to take a closer look.)
The traumatic metaphor for my noisy return has slowed down my Elvira Gulch impression and brought me back to a place of love and gratitude. I'm treading gently now, trying to reinsert myself into the guys' summertime equilibrium, gradually rediscovering and appreciating my place in the home and family I missed so much all summer long.
2 comments:
Hey Mol - From no space, little noise and few people to a whole family full of energetic people is a big change. It's like the re-entry of the space shuttle into earth's atmosphere. Maybe your heat shields might be loose or the earth isn't quite ready.
I sure miss you up here in Minnesota, dontcha know. A big hug is coming your way.
I so appreciate your honesty, Molly. It's hard to accept that good things (like returning home after a long absence) can sometimes come hand-in-hand with hard things (like readjusting and reacquaintance). I read this post with some interest, seeing a glimpse possibly into my own future? Your honesty and eventual place of peace and patience have given me inspiration and hope. Thanks for all the postings and insights and inspiration and.....
Post a Comment