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It’s a rainy, gray Saturday morning, and I’m dropping my daughter off at the theater academy in a hip neighborhood. This is our new routine. Even the rain, which seems to have decided that January weekends are the cool place to be.
When we moved here from Kansas City last year, this girl child decided she didn’t want to do ballet anymore. Which is FINE I’M TOTALLY FINE, even though she is built for it like I never was, she started very young at a legit academy (as I never had opportunity to do in small town Kentucky) and even if quitting dance felt like quitting a whole season of both our lives and I was not quite ready to store those leotards away with the onesies and board books and other things we will never use again. It’s whatever, I’m fine.
Case - Nod - Part - Life/self - Tween
In any case, in a small nod to that part of my life/self, the tween in my life wanted to do theater instead of dance, so that is at least something. So here we are, every Saturday morning for the foreseeable future. I drop her off at the curb, and watch her half-grown, artsy-weird, bohemian self bounce in there ready to be whoever she’s going to be today.
And then I find myself with TWO HOURS of time before I need to pick her up again.
Moms - Hours - Ourselves - Thing - Saturday
Do you know what full-time working moms do when we have two hours to ourselves? We don’t either because that is not a thing that happens for us. It just isn’t. And yet, here I am, another Saturday morning. Two hours of freedom expanding in front of me, a wandering trail to somewhere good.
Let me tell you what happened the first Saturday this trail opened up to me. I went through the usual internal litany that...
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