Sweet Disarray

As the adrenaline and excitement of starting classes is starting to give way to a new routine, I find myself a little taken aback at how much my day-to-day life has changed in such a short time. Every moment that I'm not actively caring for the kids or sleeping or cooking or cleaning or driving, I'm reading or writing, highlighter in hand, or otherwise in class. My days have a fullness to them, a happy productivity that feels sadly unfamiliar. I have immediate, attainable goals. I feel motivated or accomplished according to the checks on my syllabus. And that focus has (so far) extended into my time with the children - I feel grateful and present in a way that has lately been difficult for me. It's cliche, but it's true: I feel like I have more to give.

But still, I miss them. As hard as it is sometimes, I am used to being with them nearly all the time. I'm used to arranging my existence around them, to picking up their toys as Yubo reads them their bedtime stories, to kissing them goodnight and comforting them against the coming assult of sleep, to setting their dinner on the table and badgering K to take a bite of his chicken or C to stop whining about the prospect of dessert. Aside from the time that C is in preschool, I am used to being there, with them, all the time.

Yesterday afternoon after Yubo got home, roast chicken in hand, I virtually flew out of the house. The traffic has proved to be worse than I had planned for; I have to leave earlier to get to class on time and yesterday I also had to stop at the bookstore to pick up another book for class. I gave the boys quick kisses while sweeping the legos C has been playing with during nap out of K's curious reach and dumping my laptop and books in my bag. I grabbed my phone and yelled "I love you!" and "Listen to Daddy!" as I ran out the door. I was rushed and relieved to have gotten out in time.

Then somewhere on the 101, idling in traffic, my whole body suddenly ached, just ached, for my boys. It hurt, but in the way that makes you remember how wonderful it is to be alive. It was a good reminder of what I'm giving up to do this, and how much more important that makes it. I absolutely love grad school so far and I am confident that we are all ready for the change. But nevertheless, I miss them, my children. Even in the midst of discussing Kant, my mind drifts back to them, to the curls in their hair, the sweet and silly things they say, how my body physically longs to hold them. Later that night, I come home, walk by their closed door and fight the urge to lay down beside them.