Day One

Jack will not be in the office today. He is not sick, nor is he playing golf. The Cubs are out of town and he's not much of a White Sox fan. The Bears don't play on Tuesday and who knows anything about hockey or basketball? He's agreed to start playing tennis with me but that's not it, no, he is taking the day to see his children off to kindergarten and to insure that they will be asked back for day two.

Jack is worried that I might not leave the building. It's possible, without his guiding arm, that I could slip back inside, just as all the other parents are waving goodbye and walking down the street. Maybe, just for one day, I could pass myself off as a classroom helper, or a lunch lady. How hard is it to find a hairnet? Thanks to the vomit horror factor I could not really blend in with the janitor crew, but what about the security guys, I can watch small black and white televisions all day, I think. There are closets, surely I could hide in the darkness for a few hours. Or maybe I would be brave, bring a few books and pull up a chair and sit all day outside their door, just in case. I could have lunch delivered, with cell phones I have found that most places will go just about anywhere, and really, is "the crazed looking mother outside Room 106" that strange a directive? No, of course not, who hasn't done that?

Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about. It's not as if I have any intention of being in their actual room, everyone has boundaries, please, I do understand that.