This has been a perfect morning so far.
I got up earlier than usual, so had a bit of a headstart with the morning routine.
J has gone back to daycare, after being given the go-ahead by a very reluctant and suspicious GP, who wasn't pleased that she'd recovered from conjunctivitis within 2 days instead of the usual 4 to 5.
Had a lovely time reading with Prep H.
I've completed the minimum 20 hours of voluntary service and am now working towards 30. Every hour = $10 off school fees, so you can be sure I'm very motivated about helping out at school.
Some of the kids are so adorable.
One little girl whispered excitedly as she sat down: "Four more sleeps to my birthday!" (That's how they count down the days here, by the number of "sleeps".)
Then she started telling me about the time she saw a snail in her garden.
Another was carried away by pictures of snakes and scorpions in his reader.
Now I'm back home, with a couple of hours gloriously ahead of me.
Time to think. To read. To write.
What luxury.
As I walked to the nearly empty carpark after reading, I was - as I often have been in the past 2 years - struck by the beauty of my situation and surroundings.
The simplicity of this neighbourhood, with its ordinary looking houses.
The sense of space, which I can never get back home.
And the utter sense of freedom to be myself.
I don't have to justify to anyone why I'm doing what I'm doing.
Or explain why I'm not doing what they think I should be doing (going back to the law so as not to "waste" my degree, for instance).
How precious is that.
No comments:
Post a Comment