A Woman In Her Fifties Gives Thanks....

Tonight I'm thankful to have had those years of active, hands on, raising the kids parenting. Even the years of active, hands on, raising the kids parenting of dozens of other people's kids. And more thankful to be beyond them.
More thankful yet for October's hysterectomy. Just in case God was thinking of exhibiting that sometimes odd humor and sending some late life baby our way. (I think our priest is still traumatized from our marriage prep when he happily announced there "is still time for the two of you to have babies" and I yelped out a very unladylike, un-Catholic response.)
After a day with the second grade, and grandson, on a field trip, I am all for the certainty that comes with a hysterectomy. Tired doesn't even begin to cover what we felt by the time we had tromped around the state museum, eaten with 100 kids at The Old Sphaghetti Factory (what daredevil thought THAT was a good idea??) and driven 2 1/2 hours home.
The relief at telling the class goodbye, kissing Josh on the forehead and getting into our quiet car was immense. Quiet. No little boys showing me how loud they can make phony fart noises, no little girls flirting with taunting little boys, no teachers holding up three fingers and wondering why 100 voices didn't cease. Or at least diminish.
I had seen those three fingers so much by the end of the day--and nothing happening as a result--that I wanted to bend two of them down and yell, "You're holding up the wrong friggin' finger, lady!"
With a couple of night's rest the reflection of the day sums up to a pretty good time. The museum is interesting, not too big, not too small. The kids tried every single thing in the place and surely learned something worthy along the way. Maybe even learned some not so worthy things but I'm confident I've bought silence with a few well placed Hershey bars.
The kids considered the day a success because they got out of school, rode a flat faced bus, visited Santa and forever traumatized unsuspecting restaurant patrons who were simply looking for a quiet meal.
Kevin considered the day a success because he got to spend it with Josh and shape some young minds a la that Norman Rockwell fuzzy mental picture he sometimes places over reality.
The real success was mine. I only made two kids cry in the course of the day and I made it back with no more, no less, than the 4 kids assigned directly to our care before we left the school this morning.