An era in our family shall come to an end soon. On Friday, September 22, John shall venture forth to The Big City on the commuter train. He shall then proceed, in "casual business" raiments and somber briefcase in hand, to the 22nd floor of a moderately-sized skyscraper. Whereupon he shall make his home, for 40 hours a week, in a cubicle.
After ten years, he won't be a telecommuter any more. He won't be working upstairs, asking the boys to stop yelling and stop showing him things and stop giving Mommy a hard time. He won't be here to say, "I guess the dishwasher could be run now" and "Where are you off to?" and "What did Jane want?" He won't be here to bail me out when I lock myself out of the car, won't be here to watch Will when I go with Jack to the bus stop, won't be here to chat at odd times during the day, won't be here to explain things to electricians, contractors, and plumbers.
I'm very happy for him, though, because this is a good job with a growing company, and because this company recognizes his worth. Also I want him to have new challenges and work with different people. I love Philadelphia dearly and spent 13 years living in Center City. I'm glad he will get to know it a little, too. And--frankly, I will also be glad to have the house to myself for most of the day. There is just something innately irritating about one's spouse being around all day, every day. We need to have goodbyes and reunions like most married couples, for once.
The boys are dying to ride the elevator in his new building and look out the windows. We've ordered the "business casual" clothes and await their arrival. We embrace the new era.