Elizabeth Smillie

A school day, continued.
I think I left off at the point where I get to the college.
At about 9:00 am.
I have classes all day, with a few breaks here and there, none exceeding 2 hours.
Somehow five classes doesn’t seem like too much of a course load, but in between them and homework and meal breaks my day is full, and the last class is over in between 8:45 and 9:00 pm.
A full day and a long day.
Some of my classes seem as if all you have to do is show up and appear to be intelligent, and then there are others wherein your capacity to memorize, I mean, understand (!), is actually quantified. Can you guess which ones might be harder?
Daniel is taking night classes this semester, and he offers to drive me home after school.
His class has been let out 45 minutes to an hour before mine was, and he is graciously waiting in the parking lot when I finally make my way out of the labyrinth of learning.
We make our way home together.
We pull into the driveway.
The car slides to a halt.
I groan as I lift my backpack for the last time of the day (it weighs close to 30 pounds when all my books are in it. Uff da.).
Daniel and I walk through the front door and are met by someone who actually cares about us, someone who is concerned that we are fed, that we are comfortable, what our day has been like, and desires to brew a cup – or two – of tea so we can “tell her about your day”.
Mom.
If nothing else, going to college has made me grateful for the home God has placed me in.
I can agree with Kathleen Norris when she said,
“Peace, that was the other name for home.”
I hear about what has happened at home while I was away.
I unwind and tell the things that happened to me today, and things that I saw happen.
Funny things, weird things, sad things.
Most of it gets talked about.
Bed time comes, probably later than it should.
I wash the from the filth of the day, pull out my bed (mine happens to be a trundle), and read a bit.
Find a flashlight so Anna can meet her dreams while I continue to read (Julia’s breathing has long since proved that the light wasn’t bothering her).
Pull out a journal and document my thoughts on what I read. Or what just happened to be in my heart.
Sometimes the computer is still on, so I come out and type up some of those thoughts.
Stick them in my blog.
Head back to bed, and drift away …