The Perfect Job

A friend just sent a link to the perfect job. Teaching classes on urban education at a pretty good school in New York City. I could earn money, have a title other than “Jonah’s and Ian’s mom,” and have entire days that didn’t involve wiping up cat vomit or pee that just fell short of the potty.

Until things get a little simpler around here, I can’t work full time. I passed on the perfect job.

Today I carted Ian around New Jersey as I looked around for comforters that fit on bunkbeds and other important chores. On the way to Pearl Paint, he fell asleep in the car. I dumped him in a shopping cart. He snored in the cart like a homeless man as I picked up some bargain picture frames. He transitioned back into the car without a pause in the snoring. At home, I let him sleep in the driveway. I guarded him from my perch on the porch. With a book in my lap and a cup of tea resting by my feet. The lilac tree was in full bloom.

For that hour of silence and calm, I was sure that I had the best job.