April was blogging this morning about the small things, the things we have to be happy about in order to stave off depression, and hey, this would be one for me. That 24 people I didn’t know before are reading my stuff. That 24 people in places all over the world have my blog in their reader. That maybe, just maybe, I might make a difference in 24 people’s live, no matter how small a difference that might be.
Another small thing is that school starts in 11 days; this makes me happy not because the kids will stop fighting 24/7 and instead only fight 16/7 because they will be away from each other the other 8 hours. Not because I will have my lunch hour all to myself again every day. Not because it is a whole brand new year with limitless possibilities. No, none of that-but because I get to buy school supplies. I love school supplies-the smell (and taste, but don’t ask) of paste and new pencils, the way the fresh loose-leaf paper looks in a brand new plastic-smelling binder, the way ball-point ink looks on said fresh paper. The pointy ends of new crayons, the smell of freshly-sharpened pencils…aah, ambrosia. Nothing screams “geek” quite so loudly or as lovely as pocket protectors and calculators…yeah, I love school supplies.
Small things indeed, but I got three letters this week, three LONG, wonderful, newsy letters as well as a card that simply says “I don’t tell you often enough how grateful I am that we are friends. I love you, and I believe in you.” So not only do I get to get up on Saturday morning and drink my coffee and re-read thoroughly these wonderful letters, but I also get to carve some time (I sincerely hope!) out in which to get out the good paper and pen and write back. There is little I would rather spend my time on than this; for me, writing letters to people I love is therapy, much like journaling and, now, blogging.
I get my boy Eli back on Saturday; he has been with his dad (he and Hannah no longer visit at the same time, due to the fighting I mentioned above) for two weeks, and I will be glad to have him back. Not because I have missed him, or feel better when all of the kids are around, or any of that sentimental shit, but because Owen has missed him so terribly that it is killing me. NOT because I am at all tenderhearted or really give a rip but because when he gets chastised, hurts himself, or doesn’t want to go to bed, he very pathetically cries, “Eli, Eli…” and tears roll down his fat little cheeks. Perhaps with Eli home, we will all rest easier AND I can cook dinner in relative peace.