Degrees of Freedom

I can hear that clock ticking. Not the one in the crocodile that the Lost Boys are afraid of. As a child, I could not wait to grow up, could never understand why someone would want to remain in an infantile state forever.

Not the one to create babies. Lord knows, I have enough children. (I love you, every one.)

No, the clock I hear is the one to my freedom. My daughter is a senior in high school. One more year and she is out of the house. My middle son is a junior. Two more years and he has moved on. Youngest is in 8th grade. He has 5 more years of schooling here left. But I can hear that clock ticking.

And it manifests itself in two opposing ways: I want to squeeze the joy and intimacy of every single moment that I have, because I know it will not likely be like this again. And I relish my new freedom.

One less child in the house is less driving and co-ordination of schedules. It is one less person’s tastes I have to accommodate when planning the meals. It is less mail, less shopping, not as many trips to the instrument repair shop.

I am getting a tiny glimpse of it this week while the kids are in DC with their dad. No cooking. No trips across town to  a music lesson. It is very peaceful. Will it get boring? Hmmmm. I do not allow kids boredom, the world is filled with fascinating things to do/read/places to go. So, I think not.

Degree of freedom this week: 3/10.

In a year? I’ll let you know.

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