On Thursday evening, Husband and I went to the Christmas party for his department at ISU. The food was yummy, and the folks all clustered according to the same way they work together. Husband, who gets Tech calls from all over the building, seemed much in the know with everybody, and my name tag brought praises galore for all the fine work he does. It appears to be okay that I live as spouse to him, especially how many compliments that came because I had sent zucchini nut bread to some party in the summer, and for our anniversary picture in the newspaper last month.
I ended up talking childcare with a lady who has a PhD and two little children. She says that some mornings, she is glad to drop the kids off at the home care provider, and that makes her feel guilty for not being a good mom. It still amuses (that might not be just the proper word) me that someone who has the fortitude to stay in school and get an advanced education is practically in tears over the tantrums of a toddler, even just chitchat for a Christmas party. When I worked at the daycare center, so many of the moms had a similar attitude.
I told her that we all have our gifts for different ages. Myself, I have a very difficult time with 20 year old females, you know, the same girls who sit next to me in most of my Elementary Ed classes at the community college. The very age of the college students she stands in front of and gives lectures and grade reports, her own career choice.
Some teachers are able to have 3rd grade and do cursive writing lessons for 34 years before retirement. The nice thing about being a mom is that we build up a database of love and family support. Children do move on eventually, and then we wonder where did the time go and the house feels so big because there’s no one around who wants to share the bathroom.
She seemed to take a bit of comfort in my perspective. I’m moving into that age where the old lady can be a bit daft or have profound wisdom, depending on the mood of the listener.
Then in another corner, with someone closer to baby-boomer status, but whose children are still in high school, we were talking crafts and where to find supplies. She’s the wife of a professor, and felt almost as out of place as I did.
Eventually, Husband found me, and we made our way to the door and said farewells to the Dean and other honchos.
On the way home, he said that in some conversation, one of the guys said this was an anniversary of sorts, for it has been 10 years since his first day on the job in this department.
And then they talked a bit about where each guy was 10 years ago, and what might come in the next 10 years. One fellow said that in 10 years, his son would be a pre-teen (the boy is still in diapers, and in his pictures, he is adorable). My husband said that in 10 years, our youngest son will be age 30.
At this statement there was quite a lull in their conversation.
He says he was feeling sorta geezerly.
As difficult as such events can be, they do reach their aim for social mingling and seeing others away from the workplace.
And a party is also good for us two old married folks to realize that we are a bit more comfortable with each other than we might want to admit.
~~love and Huggs, Diane