Never The Same as Right Now

Tomorrow marks one month that I have been home.

One month of top bunk sleeping, little sisters in their big bed below, sprawled on pink comforters in the increasing summer heat.

One month of pouring cereal in the morning, sitting two seats down at the dining table because there are high chairs princess chairs are scattered around the wooden table.

One month of walking along Sheridan road to work in the evenings, threading through Northwestern’s campus, eyes behind sunglasses watching students and employees stepping briskly through their own to-do lists.

One month of church on Sunday morning, front row balcony in the same random lineup every week: sister, brother, sister, sister, on down the line.

One month of summer.

In three weeks, really even less, there will be last minute packing (really though, all of our packing is last minute), loading suitcases into the church trailer, settling in for the six-hour ride to WOW Camp.

A mere five days after that return, I’ll pack donations, slide passport into my backpack, hold my breath in excitement as the plane takes off for a week in Guatemala.

After that adventure, I’ve time to take a breath, wash laundry, oversee the sisters packing, before rolling down the jet bridge once again; this time with the family, this time for a week with the cousins, the grands, the aunts and uncles amongst the trees, mountains, glorious blue sky of Lake Tahoe.

Vacation Bible School follows, Sunday night prepping my classroom, hanging name tags on the wall, rehearsing lessons and underlining notes for a week of 2nd Grade teaching.

Classroom cleaned, children hugged, prayed over, we’re in the car, eight hours through Wisconsin this time, to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Eight days of boating, hiking, reading, playing, laughing, eating now with the other cousins, a yearly highlight we’ve been counting down to since last year’s trip ended.

Then, like that, I’ll be back at school, moving the contents of my bins back into those old desk drawers, hanging my wardrobe once again in that deep, scuffed up closet.

And summer will be over.

I’ve overwhelmed myself, telling you all that. Not because it’s so much, but because I know it will all go so very fast.

I think that’s why I wanted to tell you, too; that’s why I wanted to write it all down, talk it out, make it real. Because trips will come in the blink of an eye, and they’ll end that fast, too, and I want to remember to cherish what I’m doing now.

I want to be wherever I am, happily.

I want to do whatever it is that I am called upon to do, contentedly.

Every day, no matter how commonplace.

Every task, no matter how much I’d prefer to move forward, look forward, be forward.

Because after these tasks come more, and after these days come others,

and it’ll never be quite the same as it is right now.

~Natalia

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Grandma S.
    Jun 17, 2014 @ 09:59:00

    Ahem. The grandparents, aunt and uncle will be in the U.P. too.

    Reply

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