Entry #11 ~ Project 'Love Letter'...

A Single Parent’s Perspective for Friday, October 31^st, 2014

                          

“There is a good reason they call these ceremonies 'commencement exercises'. Graduation is not the end, it's the beginning.”    Orrin Hatch

It came and went without much fanfare.

I knew that it was June and that she was studying for final exams, but all of a sudden, it was August and we were making arrangements for her ‘moving into the residence’ day and the beginning of her post-secondary career.

Post-secondary? Wha?

It’s difficult to frame a new phase of life in your mind when there really hasn’t been any kind of ‘official’ end to the one that has drawn to a close.

Her (old) high school holds its graduation ceremony in late fall, and so there were no ‘Happy Graduation’ or ‘Congratulations on your Graduation’ cards.

No grad party.

No ‘Wow, that went fast!’ celebration with her friends.

Summer seemed to start and then it was suddenly over.

I felt bad.

When her sister graduated from high school, there was the sense that everything followed a logical order through to completion; final exams, report card, graduation ceremony. There were gifts and cards, lots of hugs, a going-away party.

Not this time around. Not for her.

I felt bad.

She never said anything about the lack of fanfare when she left for university; there were far more immediate and important things on her mind.

As her mom, I knew it would only be a matter of time before she came to the realization that she was still teetering between both worlds.

Caught between a graduation and a new place.

‘Project Love Letter’ was my way of letting her know that she wasn’t as alone as I knew she was going to start feeling after the ‘university honeymoon’ was over and she was settled into her new life.

Born from feelings of sadness and guilt, Project Love Letter took on a life of its own.

The premise was simple: Create a care package of letters from people in her life that she wouldn’t expect to be hearing from, especially while away from university.

Everyone I asked was more than happy to participate. I even had a couple of ‘partners in crime’ (THANK YOU to Miss Lane at North Park Collegiate and Mr. Bannister from Banbury Heights) who accepted the blank note cards & envelopes that I dropped off at the reception desk, and passed them out to other teachers for me.

There were notes from grade school teachers and caretakers.

High school teachers and even a departing Vice-Principal took the time to put pen to paper and offer words of encouragement, congratulations, and wishes for a bright future.

Family and friends from as far as Nova Scotia and eastern Ontario sent cards through the mail.

Our next-door neighbours wrote short letters and their two children drew pictures and proclaimed that they missed her already.

Her employers and co-workers contributed.

Her hair stylist.

Our pastors.

My own friends from work – many who have known her from the day she was born – took part.

There were brightly-coloured envelopes from those who went and picked out their own cards.

There were small, handwritten notes on little pieces of paper.

There were notecards and even an elegant piece of homemade stationary.

All totaled, more than thirty messages love and support and encouragement were placed in a shallow gift box and tied with a bright ribbon.

And then, I waited.

And waited.

There were several times during September that I contemplated mailing out the package or giving it to her when she came home to visit.

But, I didn’t.

It’s not the right time, I remember thinking to myself.

The right time came soon enough.

We talked almost all the way back up to Waterloo that Sunday night at the beginning of October. She was feeling conflicted inside; a mixture of loneliness and uncertainty and unlabeled sadness. We unloaded the car and carted the bag of freshly-laundered clothes, the care package full of juice & water bottles & snacks, the school books and more into the residence, and I sat quietly on the bed in her dorm room while she unpacked and her friends popped in and out to say hello.

When it came time for me to leave, I took the now-wrapped box and set it on her bed near her pillow.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Oh…just something for you to open after I leave,” I answered with a smile.    

She looked at me.

“You’re weird,” she said with a straight face.

“I know,” I said right back. “So are you, so we’re even.”

I don’t think I had even made it to the highway entrance to go back home when the phone rang in my car. I knew it was her before I hit the answer button for my Bluetooth.

“You’re so mean!” she sputtered through her tears.

I laughed.

“How many have you read?” I asked.

“Just yours and one other one so far,” she answered. “It’s just what I needed. You have no idea, Mom….”  Her voice trailed off.

Oh yes I do, I thought to myself.

“I love you too,” I said quietly to her.

*******

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said that what lies behind us, and what lies before us, are small matters compared to what lies within us. Project Love Letter was about reminding my daughter that although she may not be at home, home is with her. From her grade eight teacher to the young man who cuts her hair, from her employers to her circle of friends, from her family and neighbors to people on the periphery of her day-to-day life, there is a whole group of people who believe in her, love and support her.

In the movie ‘The Help’, one of the characters is constantly lifting the spirit of her young charges by telling them: “You is kind You is smart. You is important.”

You is all those things, kidlet o’ mine. All of them and more.

I believe in you. I know you will do great things. You have the heart and the soul to be the change you want to see in the world.

Tomorrow is your ‘official’ graduation from high school, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re already flying.

English author, Neil Gaiman, wrote: “"Now go, and make interesting mistakes, make amazing mistakes, make glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here."

As your friend and mother, let me assure you that you have already done so for me…

Entry #10 ~ Eighteen...

“My little boy was no more and even though he'd come home for vacations, our relationship would never be quite the same. Just as he would have to learn to be an adult in the world, so would I have to learn to live without him.”  Sallyann Murphey

She’s 18 now.

She can vote.

Get a tattoo without my permission.

Fight for our country.

And yet, with the myriad of choices in front of her on her birthday last Saturday, the first thing she wanted to do with her new-found ‘freedom’? Buy a lottery ticket.

I had to laugh.

So much a young woman; so much still my baby, my little girl.

I blinked.

I blinked and she grew up, right in front of my eyes.

Empty-nesting for couples is different than it is for someone like me.

And now she’s gone. Not forever, but from my day to day.

I feel lost. Not a wandering-without-purpose kind of lost, but lost still the same.

When you’re one half of an ‘us’, you still have each other when your youngest leaves home. Whether you take advantage of all the empty spaces in your day to get to know each other all over again or you move ahead side by side but not together, you still have someone taking the journey with you; someone to share the exhilaration of having free time, of choosing your own schedule, of no more taxi service and plenty of hot water for showers. You can celebrate your solitude or tumble forward into partnered adventures. You’ve got each other’s back, each other’s heart. You’ve got each other.

For me, the honeymoon phase of my single parent empty nesting is over. Kaput. Gone.

For every smile at the now consistent state of my house’s cleanliness, there is a slight melancholy at the lack of random items scattered throughout the house.

No more bobby pins on the bathroom counter.

No pile of shoes at the back door.

No empty orange juice cartons in the fridge.

I actually find myself missing the white noise, the music coming up through the floorboards, the sound of the washing machine starting up at midnight.

Her first couple of visits home were rough. I think it was the combination of a lot of things, including my having to adjust to the disruption of my new status quo, and her learning how to assert herself in her new independence while having to adapt at the transition between living with a group of other young adults and returning to momma bear’s lair.

I looked forward to her walking through the door, and then I couldn’t wait for her to leave to go back to school.

She talked about missing me, and then was out the door and visiting friends as soon as she got home.

It took some time, but something seemed to ‘click’ last weekend, and we were back to being ‘mudder and dodder’. Best friends. Partners in crime.

By default or by design, she spent the bulk of her 18^th birthday with me. Oh sure, I didn’t have her all to myself, but I didn’t mind sharing her with some very dear friends and some of her father’s family.

We travelled for a couple of hours in the car, talking about school and how much she loves her music class and what ‘we’ would do with the money if her lottery ticket proved to be a winner.

We visited her father’s cousin’s family farm, and she had a great time -- from the haywagon ride to feeding the alpacas to picking pumpkins & potatoes to the birthday cake made from her Great-Grandma’s famous chocolate cake recipe.

She slept for most of the way home. I was misty-eyed for a good part of that drive, looking over at her and remembering the times when she was little and when she would tumble into dreamland, completely tuckered out by all of the fresh air and fun from one of our many outdoor adventures.

Do I wish she was little again? Sometimes.

But for every wish that she was a baby, a toddler, a little girl again, there are great leaps of joy and immeasurable smiles at the amazing young lady she has become and the woman she is yet to be.

I like her. I really like her.

Forget the fact that I am her mother and that I love her; that part’s a given.

I enjoy her company, her thoughtfulness, her intuitiveness.

Eighteen.

It doesn’t seem possible.

In his book, The Christmas Box Miracle: My Spiritual Journey of Destiny, Healing and Hope,    American author, Richard Paul Evans, writes: “Dance. Dance for the joy and breath of childhood. Dance for all children, including that child who is still somewhere entombed beneath the responsibility and skepticism of adulthood. Embrace the moment before it escapes from our grasp. For the only promise of childhood, of any childhood, is that it will someday end. And in the end, we must ask ourselves what we have given our children to take its place. And is it enough?”

From this single parent’s perspective, ‘enough’ is all a matter of perception.

There are a lot of things I couldn’t afford to give my girls, but we visited waterfalls and went for long walks and played dress-up and wrote each other letters and took plenty of pictures.

We talked about the world and our places in it.

We laughed and cried and fought and made up.

We told each other ‘I love you’.

Often.

We still do.

In his book, The Book of Lost Things, author John Connolly wrote that “in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.”

The kidlet and I are both at the same place right now, teetering between adult and child. I’m fully supportive of her wanting explore the possibility of a co-op term overseas, and she is willing to tolerate my tendency to dance in the rain.

It’s enough…

Entry #9 ~ Hello, Goodbye....

Spongebob: “What do you usually do when I’m gone?” 
Patrick: “Wait for you to come back...” 
from the cartoon, Spongebob Square Pants

You know that old saying? The one that talks about absence making the heart grow fonder? Well, sometimes it ends up being true and sometimes it doesn’t. Life is kind of funny that way, isn’t it?

We all have had instances in our lives when someone who is practically in front of us on a daily basis starts to fade away. They’re moving forward and entering a new phase in their life or you have just begun the process of transitioning into something new in yours.

Or they may remain stuck in what seems to be a never-ending circle of anger and frustration or blame at their circumstances while you have made peace with the past and started healing and letting go of Life’s little (or big) transgressions on your happily-ever-after.

It’s nobody’s fault; it’s just the way things are. Stuff happens. Life happens. You suddenly realize that your lives aren’t on the same path anymore, and you silently wish that things could go back to the way things were.

Go back to the way things were before Life got in the way.

Before things got complicated.

Before things got said.

Before things that should have been said remain left unsaid.

It’s called growing up.

Moving on.

Letting go.

It can happen with family, with friends, with your peers. It could be your child, your spouse, or your best friend.

Sometimes it happens by choice; I have had circumstances when I made the conscious decision to let someone go or to ‘uninvite’ them from my life. Sometimes, no matter how much you try to find a way to include a person as a part of your world, their presence is toxic to your physical or emotional health. There are times when I feel bad that I don’t feel all that bad about those people and their absence. There are some people that you are ‘supposed to’ love unconditionally, forgive and do whatever you can to mend fences and move forward. 

Here’s the thing: Sometimes, it’s not that simple. 

Sometimes, no matter how much you try, you can find a way to forgive but it gets really hard to remember to forget. 

Sometimes anger becomes your armor, and that armor the only thing that stands between you and more hurt, more questions, more pain. It isn’t an ideal solution, but sometimes it’s the only solution that makes sense.

There are times when circumstance makes the decision for you. It could be a divorce, someone taking their own life, or a simple misunderstanding that becomes something much bigger than it ever had to be. It’s times like those when you have to make the decision about whether it’s worth the emotional energy and possible heartache to fight whatever demons need to be vanquished in order to change ‘what is’ into something that ‘could be’.

I’ve lost several friends to suicide, to cancer, to accidents; people who I wanted to wait for to come back, even though I knew they never were. 

There have been people who left and people I asked to leave.

And then there are the people who disappear and you’re not really sure if they are gone or if they are somewhere in the shadows and will reappear again at a time of their own choosing.

It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are; there is always some form of grieving.

We mourn the loss; loss of presence, loss of friendship, loss of love, loss of something that was but isn’t anymore.

We go through those infamous five stages of grief that Elisabeth Kübler-Ross wrote about in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying”: Denial; Anger; Bargaining; Depression; Acceptance.

Some of us progress through the stages far more quickly than others. Some dwell in the anger stage for a very long time, while others move forward into depression and then acceptance rather quickly. No two people grieve exactly the same.

I’ve learned some valuable lessons about grief and sadness and anger and acceptance during the past twelve years. Through separation and divorce, anger and vulnerability, letting go of fear and the rediscovering of love, I started as one person and find myself a completely different one at the end of all of it. And I’m still changing. It’s a never-ending process.

Author James M. Barrie once said that life is a long lesson in humility; I believe that to be true. I’ve learned that praise that comes from a place of love and affection doesn’t make you vain, it makes you humble. If you open your heart and mind to what life has to impart to you, you can learn humility and rediscover hope.

From this single parent and empty-nester's perspective, Life is full of hellos and goodbyes. Sometimes, they are one and the same. Sometimes, we don’t get the chance to say goodbye. Other times, we don’t recognize a hello and all of a sudden, you happily realize that there is someone in your life that makes you feel as if they’ve always been there. 

I’m not really certain what I’m trying to say here; maybe I’m just thinking out loud. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately – sitting alone with my thoughts or thinking out loud. 

I find myself in a couple of situations that require me to make a decision that I’m really not all that sure I’m ready to make. Or want to. I don’t have my head in the sand as much as my feet are stuck in the mud and I feel like I’m sinking.

When my girls were younger and they were struggling with an answer to a riddle that was complicating their lives, I often told them that the decision not to make a decision was also a decision. You don’t have to go from point ‘a’ to point ‘b’ in a straight line; sometimes, you can decide to rest halfway and catch your breath.

Taking the time to get over one hurdle or jump through one hoop and then taking a moment to get your bearings can often be the best strategy to employ. 

I’ve done that with a particularly difficult situation I’m facing, and as soon as I get through the challenge I’ve accepted, I’ll tackle the next part of the equation. I was never really all that great with numbers, but I’ve learned enough about myself to understand that breaking down a problem in front of you can make the difference between remaining whole and ending up broken yourself.

Divide and conquer, or else the problem can get away from you rather quickly and multiply. It will all add up someday. And guess what? Sometimes, there is no answer as to ‘y’….

Such is my 'dilemma' as a new 'empty-nester...  

Ying and yang.

Happy and sad.

Brave and scared.

But, black and white?

Not.

A.

Chance.

One foot in front of the other... 

The rest will sort itself out....

'Colour outside the lines...'

Entry #8 ~Testing....testing....

(September 19th)

“Life is a test.  It was designed to be so.”  Richelle E. Goodrich

She’s the one who left for university.

She’s the one who had to pack up her room, move into the residence, and learn a new city.

She’s the one who is writing essays, researching authors, and taking classes.

So why does it feel like I’m the one who is being tested?

 It’s been three weeks since she left; she’s been back to visit (ok…well, do laundry) one weekend out of the past two.

She’ll be back again for a quick visit this weekend; we have a Tiger Cats football game to go to in Hamilton tomorrow night.

I’m sure there’ll be (a small amount of) laundry to do.

I’m sure we’ll go apple-picking out in St. George and take in the Apple Harvest Festival.

I’m sure we’ll both get along fine.

Until we don’t.

We’ve both gone through some interesting changes since she spread her wings and left the nest. I was surprised at how much had changed in the two short weeks she’d been gone during her first visit back home.

Even though the music had changed, we still fell into step doing the same old dance, the same old routine, the same old mother-and-daughter list of grievances and non-solutions.

It all worked out in the end, but it was an eye-opener and learning experience for both of us.

Brazilian lyricist and novelist, Paulo Coelho, wrote: “When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back.”

I am perfectly ok with all of that, but I didn’t think the process would be so quick, so abrupt, once it started.

In fewer than three weeks, I have grown to enjoy my evening solitude, my clean house status, and my ability to come and go as I please without having to consider someone else’s schedule or needs.

In fewer than three weeks, she has started texting me less and less throughout the day, hasn’t asked to borrow the car, and is becoming already more independent.

Three weeks.

And the ‘looking back’ part? Not really.

Not unless thumbing through her baby book and grade school projects count.

If so, then yes.

But not really.

“Life is a test.  It was designed to be so,” said author Richelle Goodrich. “It is where we taste the bitter and the sweet; where we feel pain and pleasure; where we learn right from wrong; where we pass through both darkness and light.  It is a time to make choices.  And through this process we form our characters - some grand and glorious, some barely decent, and others just plain monstrous. ”

I like the sound of that; ‘forming our character’.

It doesn’t sound as challenging as ‘being tested’.

It doesn’t leave me feeling as panicked or stressed as the word ‘test’ does.

‘Character-building’ sounds far more progressive and positive in nature.

But make no mistake, my friends, there is a test.

Life is a series of lessons, and living your life is the test.

I like the way American author, John Green, put it: “The test will measure whether you are an informed, engaged, and productive citizen of the world, and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your Twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you’ll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you’ll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life, and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that, when taken together, will make your life yours. And everything, everything, will be on it.”

Parenthood (a wonderful Steve Martin classic) has always had the ability to make me laugh, make me cry, make me wonder, and make me think. Maybe it’s about time for me to dust off the old VHS tape hiding in the cupboard, grab a blanket and some popcorn, and curl up some lonely Saturday night to watch it again.

After three of the longest short weeks I’ve ever experienced, I’ve come to the conclusion that it really doesn’t matter if I have studied and am well prepared, or if I decide that I’m just going to wing it. The most important lessons we learn tend to happen when life throws us a curve ball and we are faced with one of those surprise quizzes (also known as Baptism by Fire).

When it comes to the tests we face in life, there are two things to remember: All questions are multiple choice, and, when all else fails, the correct answer is ‘all of the above’. Somewhere, somebody understands what you’re going though, and they’ve come through it and out the other side.

I miss both of my girls.

I really do.

But I’m also smart enough to know and having fun discovering that you can’t miss something or someone if they’re in front of you all the time. You don’t have to leave the nest in order to fly the coop every now and then….

Here’s to all of us empty-nesters who know deep down that the nest isn’t really empty as much as it is ‘selectively occupied on an on-going basis’…

Entry #7 ~ Feathering My Empty Nest...

“Language... has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone.”       Paul Tillich

Four days.

Well, four-and-just-a-little-bit-more days to be slightly less than 100% precise.

It really hasn’t sunk in yet; perhaps it will take a little more time to feel the very real sense that something is missing. They say you can’t miss something (or someone) if they remain in your day-to-day and are in front of you more often than not. She’s been away on trips with her father for longer than this; this week, although feeling melancholy from a more intellectual than emotional perspective, has been rather ‘smooth sailing’.

I’ve been keeping myself occupied with work and domestic goddess duties.

I’ve been spending time riding out on the open road.

I’ve been enjoying not having to build my schedule around anyone else but me.

Yes, I know it’s not going to last forever, but I’m determined not to find myself ugly-face crying in the bathroom mirror at two in the morning and bemoaning the fact that I am ‘all alone’.

It’s not true, you know. That whole ‘empty nest’ pervasive sadness that is often rumoured to linger in the air for days and weeks after the youngest child leaves the nest? I was dreading that particular special brand of parental despair I’d heard so much about over the past several months.

Maybe I’m not doing this whole Empty Nester thing right…

Is it wrong to feel a sense of absolute giddiness and pleasure at the fact that I bought a box of Fruit Loops and am relishing the sheer joy at the thought that I have it all to myself? Fruit Loops! It’s like I can’t wait to go to bed at night because hitting the sheets means I am that much closer to breakfast.

Am I acting just a tad selfish at recognizing that I don’t have to share my car with anyone else and that I can come and go as I please…and that I love it?

I suppose I could be considered just a little odd for liking the fact that I can now walk from the bathroom after my morning shower wrapped in nothing but a goofy smile and not worrying about anyone coming up the stairs and catching me do it.

Sometimes, it’s the little things that can bring on the biggest smiles, but make no mistake, my friends; there’s a lot of little things that are starting to add up and make it painfully obvious to this mother’s heart of mine that a new phase of life has begun…

There’s not 8 pairs of shoes (only two of which would be mine) at the back door anymore.

The house at night is exactly as it was when I left for work in the morning.

My first grocery order for one didn’t include someone else’s favourite cookies or a selection of interesting and odd-looking fruit. 

To be honest, things don’t really feel any different at this end yet. I’m used to having a lot of time to myself, mostly the result of a combination of factors including her work schedule, my time out on the road, and a healthy respect for each other’s privacy.

Things have changed far more for the kidlet (at this point) than they have for me. Her list of adventures and series of ‘firsts’ is far longer than mine. At this stage of the game, my little moments of pleasure are coming from simple things like counting down to the season premiere of Sons of Anarchy and the start of the hockey season. I’m making ‘unplanned plans’ for Thanksgiving weekend and preparing for my first ever Fall Colours Road Trip on my motorcycle.

Motivational speaker and author, Barbara de Angelis, wrote that women need real moments of solitude and self-reflection to balance out how much of ourselves we give away. I suppose she’s right, but much of the joy in my life has been the result of the pouring of my love and affection out into the world and into my two girls. From heading into Hamilton to attend football games to exploring waterfalls to baking up a storm in the kitchen, my girls and I developed into great friends and partners-in-crime. I really don’t see that changing much except for the ‘whats’ and ‘whens’ and ‘hows’ of the situation, and that’s perfectly fine with me. Adventure is created in how you approach life, and twenty-three years of being a parent has taught me that you can pretty much find adventure in anything as long as you retain your sense of humour.

I wish I had something more profound to tell you.

I wish that the changes this week seemed more earth-shattering, more life-altering, more how-am-I-going-to-get-through-this kinds of feelings.

The truth of the matter is that it either hasn’t sunk in yet or things really aren’t all that different.

Maybe it’s because she was really ready to take this leap into the next phase of her life.

Maybe it’s because I was.

She seems to be thriving up there in the wilds of Waterloo.

She seems to be finding a healthy balance between insecurity and independence.

She seems to be missing me and the cat just enough and not too much.

It’s the same at this end.

I guess that means I did my job right.

I guess it also means that she raised me just as much as I raised her.

We’re doing fine, the kidlet n’ me.

We’re finding our way.

We’re looking forward to a ‘mother and child reunion’ in a couple of weeks.

Until then, I’m going to enjoy and celebrate my clean house, my evenings to myself, and my undisturbed, early-morning cup of coffee.

After that? Bring on the chaos and the clutter and a weekend full of laughter and laundry and love.  

This empty nest thing isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a bowl of Fruit Loops calling my name…

Entry #6 ~ The Wheels on the Bus...

Darned school bus!

I have been managing to hold it together pretty well over the past couple of weeks.

I thought I was actually going to make it to Monday without any sniffling, whimpering, or all-out, full-face, ugly crying.

And then I saw a school bus this morning on my way to work.

It suddenly hit me that there was going to be no more yelling downstairs for her to hurry up and get ready or she was going to miss the bus.

It suddenly hit me that there wasn’t going to be any more standing in the front window and watching her walk down to the bus stop at the corner…

No more grinning as she turned around to make sure I was still standing there…

No more waving at her or picking up the cat and letting her see him waving back too…

No more.

I’m going to miss making her lunch and setting out her lunch bag on the counter every morning; And yes, I do realize that I am kind of a nerd for doing that but it truly was one of my favourite things to do.

I’m going to miss the odd occasion I found myself driving her to school and taking her to the Timmy’s drive-thru to pick up a cup of tea to help warm her up during her first class.

I already miss our breakfasts at the kitchen table together.

I’m not going to miss the two of us battling for space in front of the bathroom mirror as we brushed our teeth and beautified ourselves in preparation for the day, or the trail of books and clothes and school supplies all over the house on various days and for various reasons.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to miss all of that stuff; some of it far sooner than later.

If seeing that random school bus affected me so strongly today, how am I going to get through watching her pull out of my driveway in her father’s truck on Monday morning? How will I be able to walk back into the house on Monday night after being in Hamilton all day at the football game (fingers crossed) knowing that she’s not going to be there to hug when I get home?

My goal is to get through Monday.

After that? I have to get through Tuesday.

And then Wednesday.

One foot in front of the other.

One day after the next.

Step by step.

Day by day.

And every morning, the wheels on the bus will go round and round…