paper boy

Wow. It's been a while. I feel like I'm intruding on someone else's phone conversation or awkwardly sidestepping my way into a cluster of visitors in the church lobby. But then, if I don't blog for a while I feel snotty. Conundrum.

I would like to give a few updates, the first being that the kids are going to school next year. Cool school. Calgary Arts Academy, to be exact. It's arts immersion with no desks, so I was sold. Yes, we're wierd, but wierd people need wierd schools, or they homeschool, and that was great while we did it. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sad about having to miss out on homeschooling next year. Really, I could cry. But Maddie was ready and Alexa will love it and it will be good for Ethan who is surrounded by girls all the time (even our street is full of little girls, not a boy to be seen). But, I'll miss it, and when my friends Hope and Claudia go on their picnics and field trips and zoo days I'll try not to leave jealous, mean spirited messages on their machines.

We went to CAA for a school tour, thinking we would be put on a three year waiting list and for some reason (I'm guessing it had to do with our knock out personalities) the principle gave us the last spots in each of our kids grades. Aside from turning to give John an ecstatic thumbs up but accidentally giving it to the principle instead, and the crying on the way home because I was instantly thrown into jilted mother without a job mode, we're thrilled. I'm not going to mention how John tried to comfort me by suggesting I get a job at Tim Horton's or drive bus. I'm also not going to mention how I responded with all the ways that I supported him while he followed his dreams, including living in Yuppieville, going into debt for his educaton and singing Days of Elijah at church while clapping. That stuff is private, so don't even ask about it. I'm just saying, it's his turn. Nine years, I'm not kidding.

What will I do? No idea. Just guess how scary that is. Possibly some kind of education with debt and maybe several workdays at Starbucks with the laptop and a half sweet white chocolate whipped mocha. What kind of workdays? Don't know. For now, I've got a paper route. No, it's not exactly a step up from wearing the Tim Horton's visor or lurching around the city in a giant yellow bus. But it means I can bring in an actual income and still be at home with Lex every afternoon, and when ever else the kids are off. Plus, the education. The debt. The workdays. We need time for these things.

So, here I am. Thirty, almost thirty-one, pulling my little red wagon down the street every morning at four o'clock, limping because I have a blister, sweating because it's a serious workout or I'm seriously out of shape, soaking wet (it poured for my first two days), tripping (sometimes), wiping out (once when I couldn't see over the stack of papers I was carrying), getting yelled at, stared at, honked at and hitting some green truck's side mirror with my side mirror but there was no damage so who needs to know.

It's a new phase for me, I just hope it doesn't end at papers. I just hope I can find something I love to do and I'm good at. Maybe that's what's so scary. The thought that I won't find that thing, so I'll do papers until I retire at 65 with a little silver plated wagon to put on my mantle. Nothing against silver plated wagons.

And just a little reminder- be nice to your paper person. It's probably an eight year old boy, but even so.

Ang