Today, we measured.
We wrote our height upon the door.
We jammed out to the music in our heads - and followed the impeccable rhythm of the African in our midst.
We read a story and listened with rapture.
We traced letters and colored wild animals.
We exclaimed over the straight line drawn and the uppercase E traced.
We rode two-wheelers and screamed and laughed.
We spoke in hushed tones, not sure where to go from here.
We welcomed new families and got to know each other.
I lit a candle and opened the window.
I did Pilates on my mat in front of an open window, air full of moisture seeping in.
And this week will be a good week.
I will get enough sleep. We will figure these kids out. I will not get too stressed out. I will not think too often of the wish to fly to California.
I will breathe in the air, damp after a rain. I will smell the flowers and gently touch the budding trees.
Yes. This, the Holy Week, will be a good week.
Friday we will mourn the death of Jesus. We will sit in darkness and blow out candles.
Sunday we will celebrate and sing and laugh and baptize and eat pancakes. And maybe drink champagne. Easter is a celebration after all.
Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.