Friday marked my final appearance as snack mom at any nursery school, anywhere, ever again. I got very sentimental, even though I had spent the entire year attempting to avoid the job the way a medieval peasant might well have tried to avoid catching the plague. I read Rockabye Crocodile to the assembled masses and sniffed a lot. When school starts in the fall, it will be the first time in nine years I won’t have a baby at home or a child attending a limited hour’s nursery school.
I came home and signed on to The New York Times to discover that both the both the price of oil and the unemployment rate had surged. Another story announced massive job cuts (and probable newspaper destroying cuts) by a former employer. I sniffed more, suspecting that many of the things I’ve considered great problems over the past several years will, in retrospect, feel like very frivolous and luxurious things to have spent any time worrying about at all.
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