I’ve thought a lot about angels this year. Specifically, I’ve wondered who my angels are. So, while reading Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within, the first physical book I’ve picked up to read (children’s books excluded) in almost a year I was quite enthralled when Goldberg asks “Who are your angels?”
My little guy has been excited to put up our Christmas tree for at least two weeks now. I couldn’t commit though, not until I’d put away all my shoes. If it weren’t for him they’d probably still be there. His excitement is tangible and it looks like he has lights twinkling in his eyes despite the tree still being in its box. It’s those simple moments of joy, through my little guys eyes that got me through the roller coaster of emotions that has been 2020.
On this 28th last day of 2020 I give thanks for my gramps on the day of his birth. I haven’t seen him in almost a year; he’s in a long-term care home and Covid-19 has gotten in the way of visits.
On this 30th last day of 2020 not only am I grateful for being at home with myself, I’m grateful for becoming a homeowner. Something I’d just about given up on ever happening.
’m going to continue to put forth every effort in ensuring my kids learn and love learning. But my work ends when I leave that school building. Teaching consumes me. It’s hard for me to separate it from other areas of my life. It’s draining mentally, physically and emotionally and in so many ways, it’s impossible. But I love it. And I love my kids. But when I get home, every part of me needs to be for my little guy. And after he goes to sleep, every part of me needs to be for me.