Leftovers

It's the last week of school at our house. We have moved from counting down weeks, to counting down days and now, almost hours. In honor of this week, here is an older essay about a last day of school from years gone past.

Leftovers 

There is a dissected sandwich on my kitchen chair, left over from lunch. The mayo side is firmly adhered to the seat, bologna and cheese spread like a fan with barely an indication of nibbles around the edges. The crust, of course, has been peeled off and left there as well. On top of the table is a plate of half-eaten, leftover manicotti next to a bowl of warmed up leftover macaroni and cheese, with hotdogs. Several cups are also present, all at a different phase of consumption; never been touched, half full, empty and full of baby backwash.

Scattered under and amongst the neglected lunch dishes is powdered sugar, still leftover from breakfast, who's dishes have now been moved to the sink. A couple of cold abelskeivers, one last swallow of orange julius and plates that have been licked clean of the afore-mentioned powdered sugar. Each dish is now piled so everything is touching something but nothing is in a stable stack. All a very delicate balance, left in the wake of kids rushing like a cresting wave out the front door for the last day of school.

As I look over my kitchen, in all its noon-time glory, I move the newspaper from the crowded counter to the messy table and sit down with my own leftover; half a hamburger from last night and some blue-ribbon quality, homemade potato salad. I fill my glass with chocolate milk—my all-time favorite, fiercely safe-guarded, beverage. I’ve stealthily hidden it in the fridge so nobody knows its there but me. And today, for lunch, I don't have to worry about sharing, because I am alone. Evidence of five children and a husband are all around me but for now, I have been deserted. And so I sit in my quiet house and reflect on my busy morning.

What is this spectacle called the “last day of school”? School started earlier today than any other day this year, ever, and we were home a short two hours later. I'll admit, tears welled up as I left the school with my children in tow and the principal locked the door behind me. These elementary school years are such a fun, formative time of life. We loved our teachers this year and the kids had a great time They are growing and developing and becoming and I’m so happy to be a part of that. I'm glad I had a day to say good-bye and honestly, I'm glad it didn't last longer than two hours.

Because two hours later, I’m back in the kitchen where I began. The kids came home, ate only half of what was offered and left. They just left. School is over and they are off to begin their summer adventures. Girlfriends, talking, giggling, scheming, guy-pals, xbox, wii, bikes, otter-pops, exploring, chasing, water guns, pools, swinging, lots of laughing, big loud boy noises, sunburns, sunscreen, BBQs and homemade ice cream.

And now the house is empty and I am alone. A left over of sorts.  But as long as the children return this evening, and every summer evening, with leftovers of their own adventures to share with me, I’m OK with that. 

I’m convinced that someday it will be the leftovers that I cherish. One day I will miss the smell of sweaty, little boys. One day, I will miss the slamming of the screen door, who’s spring was gone the week it was installed. One day, I will miss having to holler “DINNER” from my front porch for the whole neighborhood to hear. One day, I will miss the dirty, bare-foot, prints left on my freshly mopped floor. I will miss the popsicle sticks left all over the yard, and the chalk on the driveway, and the pile up of dishes in the sink on lazy summer afternoons. One day, I will miss all of these leftovers.  I will miss them and I will treasure them, for they are reminders and evidence that love and fun and happiness were to be found in our family. So yes, today, I’m OK with being a leftover.