On A Wednesday: Part One

This is a picture of the girls on Harper’s first day of school. In January, she started a program at the school Hadley goes to that runs once a week. This means that for about four hours I am free to do what I want.

On this first morning I got up early to go to the gym. A new routine for me, I usually go mid-morning but decided to go when the streetlights were flashing yellow or red – signaling to us drivers that their day hasn’t begun yet – we were to start our day with caution as we followed a new set of rules.

I said hello to the instructor as we chose weights for our bar bells.

“I have to take a break from your trek and spin class,” I told her, smiling, though I started to choke up. I love her trek and spin class, and she is my favorite instructor.  I credit her for getting me to run – and run fast.

“Did your schedule change?” she asked.

“Both my girls are in school right now.” I told her.

“Did you go back to work?”

“No, I’m trying to write.” I had to turn away because I couldn’t believe I said that out loud and also because I’m crying a little bit.  I learned to do something in her class that I never thought I could do, and I got good at it. Her class made me feel confident and strong, and while I ran my girls were happy playing in the daycare at the gym with teachers who knew them by name, knew their favorite toys, and seemed generally happy to see Hadley and Harper. I was leaving that to try something else I wasn’t sure I could do. I was deciding to drive down a dark road only depending on blinking lights where hard and fast rules used to be.

 

I got home from the gym and helped the girls get ready for school.  Harper’s top button was undone, so I pulled her closer and fiddled with the teeny hole and button. I took my time.

“You have fun today,” I told her softly. She was so excited, and jumped up and down when she said, “Okay, Mommy!”

When the mother I share a carpool with pulled up, Hadley and Harper were jumping up and down on the sidewalk. The doors slid open and four little girls greeted each other with squeals and about twenty-five conversations started at once.

“Harper,” S asked, “Are you wearing underpants? I’m wearing underpants.”

“S, I’m wearing my jaguar shoes because they are my favorite.”

“M, did you bring your chapstick? What color is yours? Mine is pink.”

“Mine is purple. Hadley, are you ready to try and sing the alphabet backwards?”

It isn’t until the car door began to slide shut and I stood on the sidewalk waving goodbye that I saw it: understanding in Harper’s eyes. Mom’s not coming with me. Harper didn’t frown, her lip never quivered, she didn’t object to what she had come to know. Her eyes were steady on me, and I gave her a little nod. I will stay here and you will go, I thought as we kept our eyes on each other. Harper and I took in the seriousness of the moment until she whipped her arm in the air – a last second thought, “Bye, Mommy!”

For the second time today I turned around for fear my face would give me away.   I thought of the day Hadley was born, and I, sopping in adrenaline after having delivered her, told the rather large nurse waiting to help me get into a wheelchair, that I was “just fine” and could “totally walk by myself.” She allowed me to put one foot on the tile before her strong arms swooped under my armpits so I wouldn’t collapse to the floor.

“I was sure I could do it,” I told her as she wheeled me to my room, and for the next several days I had to learn, among so many other things, how to walk again.

The sidewalk that leads back up to our condo allows for time to make observations such as which cement blocks are uneven, where anthills are or, whether there is enough snow to make a snowball.  When I’m with the girls, we talk about caterpillars, how fast we can run, which leaves have fallen from the trees.   On Harper’s first day of school, I didn’t have to notice the birds overhead, the cats that like to hang out on our blacktop, or numerous dogs out for walks.  I didn’t have to notice these things as I walked back into our condo, but I did, and I kept them in mind as I sat down to write.