|Ship in a bottle LINK FROM HERE.|
Dad had one of these down on his workbench in Dumont.
I wonder where it went.
It's 7:57 a.m. I set my iPhone alarm for 6:30 so Punch could proofread her essay on 12 Angry Men. The kids write it online in Google Classroom and then submit it to the teacher by clicking TURN IN. [I'm not sure what happens if kids don't have access to internet.]
Punch sent it last night when I hadn't proofread it with her; grade also based on punctuation, capitalization etc. Then she told me she couldn't go back in and fix it.
That was a fib.
After I got back from event at 9ish, she told me the truth, and we decided to set the alarm so she could get up early and edit.
She would not wake up. I dragged myself out of bed--Dan had done the last two mornings while I was on the Cape--and now Punch stayed under the covers. I went down to make coffee, with my beans from the Hot Chocolate Sparrow. I ate a small pink foil-wrapped chocolate heart, the last two Triscuits, some chocolate chips. Ranging around for quick jolts of energy, no time to make hot cereal. I microwaved two small blueberry muffins for P. I took Sugar out.
I walked up and down the stairs four times. Still no luck. Turned on the bright light in Punchy's bedroom. Pulled her top cover off.
Near my wit's end, I stood outside and repeatedly rang our doorbell, which chimes upstairs, right outside Punchy's door.
This annoyed her but ultimately got her up, yet not until she threw a sneaker my way, cursed and subsequently lost social interactions tonight. [She loves seeing friends for sleepovers, etc.]
On the Cape, I said to Anne, I want to be able to tap into this feeling at home.
So much for the pure air in my lungs, the clean, unspoiled nature, the breeze in the sea grasses. The centering. The peace.
I was back all right, mired in stress. No more screened window open to brisk air, old trees and bird calls.
But I'm happy and relieved to tell you that I pulled myself together and did not lose it.
I reflected and prayed for grace while on the Cape, so as not to lose my temper at home. Grace delivered.
That is the gift of traveling far from daily life--the gift of perspective. The time and space to contemplate.
I did say several times this morning, Ok, you won't get to fix it, and your grade will be bad, but I guess I was ready to let Punch own that. She is a good student; she cares about her grades and is proud of her successes.
I was downstairs on my laptop on the couch. She sidled up to me at about 8:05, saying, Do you want to fix it?
I had her polish it. Check spelling [change there to their, etc.]. I'm proud of her, and really like what she wrote about 12 Angry Men. [She had started it Wednesday night, with Dan, but it was due today.]
Then I sent her off to the bus stop around the corner. Now that middle school looms in September, we let her walk on her own to the bus sometimes.
Oh, she also used the land line to call Figgy--who slept over at her pal's last night--to ask about wearing Fig's striped shirt to school. Fig said an emphatic no. Punch wore it anyway, though I urged her to take it off.
Enjoy your day.