Nine eleven

As people observe their moments of silence today, I can't help but think about how much my life has changed since that morning at Regina when one of my students came into my classroom to tell me what had happened. I remember that it was also a Tuesday, and the counselors were huddled around a little t.v. in their office trying (like everyone else) to figure out what had just happened. I couldn't look at the television without crying for weeks.

It makes me think of all of the other high-stress moments (some quite tragic) that happened during my short career at that school. For some reason a group of girls made everything just that much more dramatic. Likewise, the happy moments bordered on manic.

When I left to teach for a year at a co-ed public school, I sometimes missed the fluffy, cuddly breakdowns. And sometimes I didn't. I felt like I had entered the real world. But then all of that changed when I had Joseph. I can hardly remember that old life. I'm not sure if this is the real world now, or if that other life was.

This day has turned into some kind of a yearly reflection. Where was I six years ago? What was I doing last year when I was thinking about it? Has anything really happened since then? Probably next year on this day Joseph will be in his first couple of weeks of preschool. I may be thinking about working again. Maybe Renée will take naps. Or maybe it will be just the same. Maybe I'll make a morning out of going to the bookstore to let the kids play with the train and then to Old Navy to buy more turn-cuff socks that are on sale for a dollar each wondering where on earth the year has gone.