The lead-up to the school year is different now, of course. But I have a school-year again, teaching writing at Smith in the fall, so I'm ordering pants that couldn't possibly be confused for pajamas, ironing out a syllabus, marveling at the fact that I will be more than twice my students' age. Bracing for my first new irl job since 2015. A drive to memorize, an office to find, a route to my classroom to learn. A whole new school for the first time since, really, 2011. At least I'm old enough that whatever I wear I won't be confused for a student.
Miles has a school year, too, and has since he started daycare, since it's a "school" not a "daycare," so there's still things like "spring break" and "two weeks off between 'camp' and 'school' even though they're at the same place with most of the same people." So right now he is home, and we're very lucky to afford a babysitter for part of the workday, and very lucky—I still remember Brooklyn—to have a whole room that's an "office," but I seem to be especially prone to the anxiety that comes from listening to someone else try to take care of your child just on the other side of your "office" door. Thank god I already figured out the big pieces of my syllabus, mainly.
He's in a phase of play with meeeeee, which recently developed into play with me I don't want to play alonnnnnnne, and nothing could convince me to have a second child, but he and the dog don't get along super well, so there are no good solutions.
School (for him) starts a week from tomorrow. Who's counting? Me, I am absolutely counting.
Some other items, in list form:
a book: Easy Beauty, by Chloe Cooper-Jones, a beautiful and wonderful memoir about parenthood/disability/art/philosophy/performance/celebrity that made me miss living in Brooklyn SO MUCH. And then I discovered that when I was imagining a particularly lovely, lively scene among friends and colleagues at a bar as being at my favorite Brooklyn bar, IT WAS. So I am psychic and Chloe Cooper-Jones is a brilliant writer, the end.
an essay: An Essay About Watching Brad Pitt Eat That Is Really About My Own Shit, by Lucas Mann, a heartbreaking and healing essay about celebrity, body shame, parenting, and love. Lucas always reminds me to try to be the essayist I want to be.
a hawk: just for a second it was on the flagpole in our back yard
a flood: I dreamed there was a flash flood down our street, and then a pair of snowy owls were hanging out by my flood-bashed car, and one got onto my arm like a trained falcon, and I worried she was going to eat me, but we were fine.
a trick: on the weekend, the best hotel deals in nyc are in the financial district. I visited last weekend, alone, to see friends and feel something like a person, and my hotel room had the bathtub equivalent of a king bed, so wide I kept finding myself only using one side.
a tip: I recently heard someone surprised that you can see Jupiter in the night sky with just your eyes. It's true: Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mars, depending on the timing. I love the app SkyGuide for finding out what various stars and points of light are in the sky. But remember: if it doesn't twinkle, it's a planet. They're there, and you can see them.
More soon. I hope you're doing okay.
xxo
Jaime