Everyone at choir lights up when the children walk in with me; the ladies croon over the kids: they're so big! so cute! They've been tagging along on the odd occasion since I started 3..wait, 4? years ago. They sit in the departmental breakroom (we're on the 2nd floor of one of the hospital buildings) and do their homework and read and talk to each other, sometimes laughing loud enough to make me grimace a bit, but really they're so well-behaved it's a bit alarming. After we arrive, and remove outer layers, shedding scarves and gloves, Karin always points at the silver bowl piled with sugar cubes and looks beseechingly at me. I roll my eyes at her and frown. "Just one?" she begs me. I feel like I have to return SOMETHING for dragging them along, so, "ONE" I say sternly, "and extra teethbrushing later!" They both nod at me and turn to the backpack they've brought to start pulling out books.
It's late, I should be in bed. This week and last have been pulling me along like an out-of-control waterskier, in the wake of a maniac boat who is doing donuts and loops at full speed. (Can you do donuts in a boat? I've only done them in a station wagon in an empty snow and ice-covered parking lot) Even a massage on Tuesday did nothing, my neck feels crunched and gritty. Anders is gone for 3 days, which doesn't help, but what can you do? You put your head down and keep moving forward, through the days. You kiss your children goodnight and tell them you love them before they sleep. You think you remember what it felt like to have a free moment and you look over at the horizon of the week where Saturday waits; where, hopefully, you will be able to catch your breath before the next round of wakes hits your skis and tosses you under.