a ~ Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

For months I’ve had a crack in my windshield. It was a polite crack, smiling shyly behind the rear view mirror where I’d only notice it if I was looking up at a particularly odd cloud, or to see if the rain had finally started (usually it had).

And then, yesterday. A hot day. A hot day that boys decided was meant for hose play. Cold hose water on a hot car windshield and whoosh, that smile took a long drop off a cliff. Now when I drive I have Before/After thoughts because my view is split into two. Before summer vacation starts, After summer vacation starts. Before my allergies kicked in, After my allergies kicked in. Before vegetables became a part of our lives again, After vegetables…. you get the idea. My world feels especially dichotomous today. 

I suppose a phone call will have to be made, arrangements will have to take place. 

Last time this happened I was lumberingly pregnant with T and I followed precise instructions from an insurance agent to a glass place a few towns away and ate a sandwich in a very sunny window while chatting with a photographer. I forget his name. I remember a photo, though. Two photos. One of a view that did not include an up-close tree branch, and one of the same view that did. “Which do you like better?” he asked. “That one,” I answered. “Me too,” he said. Then his wife phoned from the basement and told him it was time to get back to work. 

That was the Before. This is the After. I will not eat a sandwich in a sunny window and chat like I was an interesting person. I will be busy making sure a five year old does not destroy all the glass. I will be answering questions about how glass is made. I will be apologizing for forgetting to bring water bottles. I will be listing all the yummy things we’ll eat later, if we are good, if we can just please be quiet and polite for another 20 minutes. I will be remembering myself as a singular entity and shooting warnings back in time. I will be making a huge effort at a gratitude that, at that moment, will escape me.

But… I’m projecting. How about I make some dinner, pour some wine, ask for Highs and Lows from the smudgy boys sitting around the table? The crack will wait another night.