The Unfinished Work Of Elizabeth D - Plot & Excerpts
A morning program for three-year-olds, three days a week. I dressed him in a little white collared shirt and tamed his curls with a spray bottle of water, and he marched in the door clutching his Winnie the Pooh lunchbox like a little man with his briefcase, big meetings await. Brought tears to my eyes. When I picked him up he didn’t want to come to me (which I guess is a good thing) as I stood in the doorway with Anna on my hip, grinning my big proud “So how was it??” dorky smile. Maybe he didn’t want to come to me because I looked like such an idiot. It all passes so fast. I know it’s just preschool, but here we are in the realm of school already. All those days when I felt suffocated by being so needed, but at that moment he didn’t want to come home, it’s true, I wanted to be needed like that again. It really feels like just yesterday he was a newborn in the crib and I was scraping mercury off his nursery floor with the hazmat guys. November 18, 1999 Can’t believe I pulled an all-nighter for a preschool auction catalog.
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