Dancing without a Partner

Celebrating rites of passage are important. We have many such rites that we have woven into our family culture. My second daughter is about to turn thirteen in a few weeks. She will finally be allowed to wear make-up outside of the house. She will also be responsible for preparing one dinner each week. These rites mark a time of change. They help us celebrate the significant events that mark the seasons of our lives.

Yesterday was my baby's first day of kindergarten. All day kindergarten. Let me reiterate. She is in school all day, all week long. From 8:30 am until 3 pm.

After 15 years of having children at home, of being a stay at home mom, I have no children at home during the day. None. Zippo. Nappa. You get my point.

To be very honest, I have been looking forward to this day for a long time. Looking forward with a sense of anticipation and just a touch of glee. For 15 years I have managed our busy household while caring for small children. It was what I do. My work. My joy. It was hard and at times mind numbingly dull but it was my calling and I did it well. There was a rhythm to our days. It was a dance. The same dance, day in and day out, with all of the partners knowing their steps.

When I walked into my house this morning after running car pool and a few errands the first thing that struck me was the quiet. I walked from room to room. Looked at the load of dirty dishes in the sink, the piles of laundry to be washed, the piles of paperwork to be gone through, the clutter and the dirt. I walked and looked at all that needed to be done and found that I was overwhelmed with sadness. What is the saying? It is more fun with two. I missed my side kick, my darling, oft times difficult youngest daughter. I missed my dancing partner.

My friend quoted a Bob Dylan lyric to me the other day that seems to fit this situation.

And don't go mistaking Paradise for that home across the road.