On Tuesday afternoon, Nick has a guitar lesson. I walk him to the guitar shop, two blocks away, and then sit down on a This-End-Up style blue couch (it looks like the sort of thing we scavenged as grad school furniture) and knit. For half an hour, no one talks to me, I talk to no one--except maybe to answer a question about my knitting--and I can relax. He's probably old enough, really, to walk there on his own; it's also certainly close enough that I could walk him there and then go back and spend the time at home. But I choose to sit on the couch--which I share with other parents, kids waiting for their lessons, and a very hairy dog--and knit. It's a brief window of peace.
Yesterday we got back from our multi-state, multi-college visit about 45 minutes before Nick got home from school. Mariah and I unpacked the car and debriefed a bit with Mark, then I went to pick Nick up. When lesson time rolled around I picked up my knitting bag and joined him. The laundry isn't done, the groceries unbought, the suitcase not yet unpacked. But I had half an hour of quiet, a nice break from the road and from the pressing demands at home.