Because I did that this morning, I took the day off work. I got to sleep in an hour or so longer than I usually sleep. Very nice. I got to take my daughter to school, also very nice. I went for a walk with my wife and son, and I got to go out to Red Lobster for lunch. It was a great day, pretty much.
My daughter is, at this moment, on a field trip to see the musical Beauty and the Beast in Appleton, Wisconsin. It's a four hour bus ride, one way. I have to pick her up at 2:30 a.m. tonight. I always have a hard time when my daughter spreads her wings a little bit. I know she has to grow up, but, being an incredibly over-protective father, I prefer she grow up under my close supervision. So, I'm having a little problem with that tonight.
The other thing I'm having a little problem with is my wife got a new job today. She got a call for an interview this morning, interviewed this afternoon, and was offered the job immediately. This news is good. She's been out of work for almost two years, but it does throw a crow bar, monkey wrench, and jack hammer into things like child care, piano lessons, choir rehearsals, etc. Not to mention the fact that I'm not even sure we're going to be making money, once the daycare and babysitting money is subtracted. However, there's not much I can do about it. I just have to roll with this one.
I know, I know. This post isn't very positive. I'm trying. I really am. But even the psalm for today is verging on nostalgic, if not downright melancholy. Forgive me.
Saint Marty has a lot on his mind tonight, and he has to be up at 2 a.m. to pick up his daughter. A looooooooooooong night ahead of him.
Psalm 24: Letting Go
My daughter left this afternoon,
Will be gone until tomorrow morning.
I packed her backpack for the trip.
Breadsticks and cheese, for protein, health.
Banana, apples, so I look responsible
To chaperons, teachers. Vanilla goldfish
Crackers for dessert, to remind her
She's still a child, not to be concerned
With weight, body, hair, boys.
I gave her one hundred dollars,
Lectured her about responsibility,
Budget for food, souvenirs, told her
Not to take money from her pocket
Until she had to pay for something,
In case strangers were near, strangers
Who take little girls from parents,
From school field trips to theaters,
From ten-year-old lives. They take
Little girls, I told her, make them
Disappear like Harry Houdini, send
Them to places of precious, lost things:
Her charm bracelet, mommy's pearl earring,
Grandma Cheryl with her big laugh.
I gave my daughter a pillow for sleeping,
There and back, with flannel pillowcase
That matches her bed sheets, a gift
From her godmother for her third birthday.
I packed a thermos of water and ice,
Because I know how she craves water
The way a lilac bush does in May
To grow green, bud, blossom into summer.
I did all these things for her, then
I let her go. I sit here now in silence,
Think of her far away, out of reach.
I think of Mary as she watched her son
Ascend into the sky, wonder if she
Packed Him a snack, honey, dark bread,
For His long journey away from her.
|Letting go is hard work|