Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Please Mr. Postman

Getting the mail was a highlight of my day when I first had Michael. It was often my one and only trip out of the house. I didn’t care what was in there – junk mail, bills, letters – whatever was in our little, brown mailbox was a reason to figure out how to get myself together enough to make the one minute walk out of the house, hopefully without a crying infant.

Fast-forward 20 years and trips to the mailbox have once again captured my fancy. Amy began applying to colleges in the fall. When the notifications began rolling in, I’d often open all the mail right at the street. It was exciting to find out that she’d gotten into each school.

(Yes, I had her permission to open her mail.)

The problem was, yes, she was accepted to the school, but she had to audition for the program she wanted to attend. So even though Sean and I were jumping for joy that each school said, “Come on down!” she couldn’t have cared less. Nothing mattered until she found out about the particular program she wanted (musical theater).

The letters of acceptance/rejection for the programs were supposed to start flowing March 1. But I started obsessively checking the mail that last week of February… to no avail. The letters didn’t make it to our house until the second week of March.

When I finally saw an envelope with an official college logo on the return address spot, I nearly fainted in the street. I opened it right away and then then almost broke my neck on the ice running up the driveway, screaming at Amy that she’d gotten in!  

While she claimed to be excited, she did not share my outward enthusiasm.

This was unacceptable.

I took her hands in mine and said, “This is how you do it.” And I jumped up and down like a little girl and screamed my head off. It was at that moment that I realized Amy was not the only one who'd been holding her breath for the last five months when the audition process began.

Since the first letter came, one more arrived via the USPS and one via email. (The email one was decidedly not as fun.) All were yeses. So now the decision process begins.

Sean brought the mail in last night. My excited jogs to the mailbox are on hiatus for four years. But at least Rebecca got a taste of how excited she should be when those letters start rolling in.

Her excitement shows itself in the inability to formulate 
a complete sentence. I don't get that...