Ghost in the Graveyard

The girls come home from school, cockeyed pony tails and dirty shirts, and barely say hello. They dump the back packs on the ground, tell me about some kindergarten kid who swallowed a penny, announce there's no homework ALL WEEK and scramble out the door.

Hi. Bye.

It's good. I'm not complaining. It's not even sunny today and they are long gone. I can hear their voices if I leave the door open, but otherwise it's quiet. The Giant Four Year old is in hot pursuit from the minute they bust through the doors and it amazes me how quickly he can find and put on his shoes when he really wants to. (I knew it!) Sometimes they trick him into coming back home ("mom's calling you! she has candy!") and he still falls for it, but most of the time, they let him tag along which is why he is now an excellent chalk drawer, fort builder, show maker, story teller, snack stealer.

He's done with school already -- which is a cruel joke really, pre-school ending almost two weeks before regular school -- but B and R have three more days. Soccer's done. Jump rope "class" is done. The ocean is still freezing and the boat isn't in the water yet. That one week of camp doesn't start until late July so summer, you know, looms.

It was so much more daunting a few years ago, when it was me vs. them 24 hours a day. I've almost forgotten what it's like to drag three kids around town, changing diapers on the back seat, nursing a baby outside a dressing room while trying to keep two others from unwrapping packs of socks or Dora underpants. I used to tie a net across the deck so they wouldn't wander off. Now, I wonder if the back yard and the woods and the freedom of it and tag and ghost in the graveyard will stop amusing them long enough to come home.

Then I remember that I have all the food and the band aids so I figure I'll see 'em soon enough.