I went to my local post office in Roslyn Village today to mail a magazine to my son while he is at sleep-away camp. He's been gone for over five weeks so far. Maybe I've mailed him three or four magazines, several letters, postcards and I've even sent some emails. We've been in touch.
So the man behind the counter recognized me today. I sort of sighed when I handed him the envelope to affix the correct postage. He glanced at the address on the package and then responded to that sigh by saying, "How many more weeks? I guess you're tired of writing."
I was so surprised by that comment. I said, "Two more weeks, and no, actually I'm tired of him being away. Seven weeks is a long time for a child to be away."
He said, "Yeah, you're right. It is."
I know that the minute he is back, I will be back to whipping up snack (meals) at odd hours, driving him all over the place, doing his hockey laundry and coordinating his schedule. I am enjoying the quiet days, the fewer responsibilities and the peaceful, slower pace.
But I miss him. No one talks about that. Not even the guy at the post office.
So the man behind the counter recognized me today. I sort of sighed when I handed him the envelope to affix the correct postage. He glanced at the address on the package and then responded to that sigh by saying, "How many more weeks? I guess you're tired of writing."
I was so surprised by that comment. I said, "Two more weeks, and no, actually I'm tired of him being away. Seven weeks is a long time for a child to be away."
He said, "Yeah, you're right. It is."
I know that the minute he is back, I will be back to whipping up snack (meals) at odd hours, driving him all over the place, doing his hockey laundry and coordinating his schedule. I am enjoying the quiet days, the fewer responsibilities and the peaceful, slower pace.
But I miss him. No one talks about that. Not even the guy at the post office.
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