koji – esterinaanderson.com

The Italy Situation: A Dog’s Perspective

Posted on 05/17/202605/17/2026 by Esterina Anderson

By Koji Anderson

After yet another terrifying, then exhilarating experience yesterday, I believe it’s finally time I tell you what this whole Italy thing has been like from my point of view.

First of all — this is Koji.

Most of you probably know me already, but if not, my mommy and daddy are Esterina and Daren. Mommy is helping me write this because, despite my many talents, typing is apparently beyond my skill set.

It all started with the crate.

I hadn’t seen a crate since I was a tiny puppy. Back then I actually liked it. One day it disappeared, which I assumed meant I had proven myself trustworthy enough not to destroy the house while nobody was home.

Then suddenly, eleven years later, a giant crate appeared in the living room.

This one was sturdier. More serious.

Naturally, I climbed right in because I remembered the assignment. Also, every time I went inside, treats appeared. Sometimes daddy closed the door and left me in there for a while. Honestly? Not bad. Cozy enough. The crate sat next to my dog bed for weeks, so eventually I stopped questioning it.

Then one day the house became chaos.

Suitcases.
Humans moving quickly.
Doors opening and closing.
Stress smells.

And then somehow the crate came too.

I knew we were going on an adventure because suitcases always mean somebody disappears for a while. The trick is figuring out whether I’m included. I watch carefully for clues:

Is my food being packed?
Is my travel bed involved?
Has someone picked up my leash?

The leash is the final confirmation. Once the leash appears, I allow myself to emotionally commit.

That day, I knew I was coming.

But something felt… suspiciously large-scale.

We all got into a huge car with a driver. Me, mommy, daddy, bags, and somehow the crate too. I sat between them while the world rushed by outside the windows.

A close-up of a black dog with a happy expression, sitting in a car with people in the background.

A black dog lying on wooden floors near a couch and a doorway, with a rug in the background.

Then we arrived somewhere unlike anywhere I had ever smelled before.

Let me tell you something about airports:
Outstanding smells.
Absolutely incredible.

Thousands of humans.
Thousands of shoes.
Old crumbs.
Fear.
Coffee.
Perfume.
Mild panic.
One abandoned french fry.

A sensory masterpiece.

Close-up view of an airplane at an airport gate with a jet bridge attached, with ground support equipment visible nearby.

A black dog on a leash walks along the pavement in front of an airport terminal, with visible signage for airlines in the background.

At one point, some men took my crate away while mommy and daddy walked beside me telling me I was a good boy in the tone humans use when they are pretending not to worry.

That’s when I realized:
Something weird was about to happen.

Eventually they guided me into the crate and suddenly we were separating.

I squeaked a little. Not dramatically. Just enough to register concern.

Then came many loud noises, strange movements, rolling, lifting, waiting, more rolling, more noises, and an extremely long period of time where absolutely nothing made sense.

At some point the whole world tilted upward.
Later downward.
Then loud again.

Frankly, I decided the best strategy was acceptance.

Eventually the crate started moving again and suddenly — THERE THEY WERE.

Mommy and daddy.

I cannot adequately explain the relief.

I exploded out of that crate emotionally and physically although I tried to remain composed.

They tried to get me to eat and drink and use the potty, but I was simply too overwhelmed to focus on bodily functions.

Then we got into another car — this one just for us — and after a long ride we arrived somewhere quieter.

There were two ladies there.
And another dog.

His name was Rhum.

We sniffed each other thoroughly and professionally. He informed me I was welcome to drink from his water bowl, which I appreciated because suddenly I realized I was incredibly thirsty.

That was the moment I understood:
We were staying here.

Soon I was introduced to what appears to be my new life.

A pathway leading to a green lawn with a black dog walking towards the horizon, framed by tall cypress trees and pots with bare plants, under a cloudy sky.

A black dog standing beside a luggage cart at an airport, with travelers and baggage in the background.

Honestly?
I like it very much.

There are hills everywhere, which is admittedly a little tough on my hips, but the tradeoff is excellent smells.

I have now smelled:

olive groves
vineyards
medieval streets
beach air
outdoor markets
approximately twelve thousand years of accumulated Italian dog pee

Daddy likes to say I am smelling “medieval urine.”

I don’t fully understand what medieval means, but I respect the depth of the scent.

The most shocking part of Italy is this:
I AM ALLOWED EVERYWHERE.

Stores.
Restaurants.
Outdoor cafés.
Little shops with meats and cheeses hanging everywhere like some kind of fever dream.

The humans speak in different words now, although honestly I never understood English either, so this has not been a difficult transition for me.

People here love dogs.

Sometimes they bring me water.
Sometimes treats.
Sometimes they bend down and call me “bravo cane,” which apparently means I am an excellent citizen.

I already knew this.

One of my favorite things is going to restaurants with mommy and daddy. They sit for very long periods of time while I rest under the table like a furry security detail.

The only issue is other dogs.

When another dog walks by, I do feel it is important to announce myself loudly so everyone remains aware of the situation.

This has not always been appreciated.

Still, overall I believe my public behavior has been excellent.

We also visit many piazzas, which seem to be giant outdoor human gathering zones filled with conversations, footsteps, pigeons, espresso, and confusion.

They are exhausting.

I often collapse directly in the middle of traffic flow to recover.

A woman stands in a busy square in Florence, Italy, holding a leash attached to a black dog lying on the ground. The backdrop features a historic cathedral with intricate architecture, while groups of people walk and gather around the plaza. — Duomo in Florence

A black dog standing on a cobblestone street in a rustic alleyway, with a stone wall and red door in the background. — Duomo in Florence

Yesterday, however, was the strangest experience yet.

We arrived somewhere with an alarming number of stairs.

An unreasonable number.
A hostile number.

I was already emotionally preparing myself for the climb when I noticed something horrifying:

The stairs were moving.

I immediately lay down on the ground because clearly this was a terrible idea.

But mommy and daddy reassured me with pets and encouraging voices, which usually means they are about to force me into personal growth.

Daddy gently dragged me onto the moving stairs.

At first I trembled.

Then suddenly I realized something incredible:

THE STAIRS WERE DOING THE WALKING FOR ME.

Honestly?
Revolutionary.

By the second escalator I was uncertain but cooperative.

By the third one I trotted right on like an experienced commuter.

I have changed as a dog.

Mommy later told people this story and her friend Sarah — Chester’s mom — apparently said, “You can teach an old dog new things.”

I was very proud to hear that.

Anyway, I thought it was time I explained what this whole Italy experience has been like from my perspective.

Terrifying.
Confusing.
Beautiful.
Exhausting.
Delicious-smelling.

And honestly?

I’d do it all again tomorrow.

A person walking a black dog on an escalator, with another person visible in the background.

Ok — this is Esterina now.

I want to pause for a moment and say how incredibly lucky we are to be able to bring Koji along on this adventure. And honestly, he’s pretty lucky too.

Koji is a rescue dog from a high-kill shelter in Tennessee. On Friday, May 15th, he turned 12 years old. As a larger dog, we’re starting to see signs of age creeping in a bit, but he is still unbelievably happy, curious, loving, and as healthy as we could hope for.

Because Daren, Koji, and I were fortunate enough to find one another — thanks to my son Tom, who originally petitioned for us to adopt him — I’ve been thinking a lot lately about giving back to other dogs and to the organizations that make stories like this possible.

That bumper sticker that says “Who rescued who?” really is true.

I recently created a small section on my website (Digital Downloads) where I’m sharing collections of digital iPhone wallpapers. Some are favorite older photos from the U.S., and others will be small collections inspired by our time here in Italy.

They’re simple instant downloads that cost just a few dollars, and all proceeds will be donated to the Cosgrove Animal Shelter in Branford, Connecticut.

If you’d like to support the joy, comfort, companionship, and second chances that rescue animals give so freely, feel free to download a photo you love.

Digital Shop

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Please feel free to leave a comment or subscribe for future updates.

Settling into Italy – Week 2

Posted on 03/14/202605/06/2026 by Esterina Anderson

Saturday, March 14, 2026

Back in 2010, when Daren and I first got together, I remember my brother Mario talking about a theory he had about slowing down life. At the time I was only 34 and thought I was so old, and of course—like all of us—I thought slowing life down sounded important. I won’t go into Mario’s really cool theory here, but it does involve shaking things up and changing your baseline.

Why am I saying this? Because as I sit down this Saturday morning to write about our experience in Italy, I’m floored that it’s only been a week. It feels like so much longer—and that, my friends, is a good thing. It feels like a month has gone by in a week, and at least for this week my life has slowed down.

One truly amazing thing for me that began this week was my sleep. For nearly the past year—ever since I first started thinking early retirement might be possible—I’ve been waking in the middle of the night and struggling for at least an hour or two to fall back asleep. At first it was the possibility that early retirement could happen. Then it was waiting for the VA’s interpretation of early retirement rules. Then the paperwork finally came out. I applied. I was approved. I had two weeks left of work.

Then my father-in-law got into a bike accident. There were issues with one of the kids. My father had his last hospital visit and subsequently passed away. And then we realized that with my retirement, Daren could also retire—and we decided that we wanted to move to Italy so I could pursue Italian citizenship and we could experience at least a year living in another country.

Daren’s retirement. Kid issues. Turning 50. All the excitement, setbacks, and obstacles had me waking up around 2:30 every night.

Until this week.

It’s been at least five nights now that I’ve slept soundly. I cannot tell you how refreshing this is. I feel like a new person.

Slower time—and a good night’s sleep—will do that to you.

So what have we been up to?

Saturday, March 7

We last blogged last Saturday.

That afternoon, after sending the link to our blog out to friends, loved ones, and social media, we went for a hike. Daren had been exploring more on foot than I had, so we took the dog, donned the hiking boots, and set out to walk.

There are multiple hiking trails right off our property—some literally starting on the property and others just down the street. The day was absolutely gorgeous. Spring is blooming here: daffodils, flowering trees, and tons of tiny wildflowers everywhere—on the walls, alongside roads, in the grass. It’s so pretty. Everything feels new to us and new to the season. It almost feels like providence that we arrived just as the season is opening up for a new experience.

Side note: Last week we ended up shopping every single day. While still in the U.S. I made a really good list of what we’d need to purchase upon arrival (a lot more than you’d think). Right before we left I placed a large Amazon order for items we knew we needed immediately—dog food, a dog bed, vitamins—things for which we wouldn’t want to spend much time comparison-shopping.

After that, though, we wanted to shop locally as much as possible.

We both love to cook, and when you start from scratch with spices, ingredients, and kitchen implements—bowls, measuring cups, a hand mixer, rubber spatulas, just to name a few—you end up needing an obscene amount of things. Cooking, health, and baking are important to us, so it was worth the trips and expense, but it definitely took some doing.

Back to Saturday… after hiking and feeling refreshed, we (not surprisingly) needed to shop again. We left the dog at home this time and decided we’d like to go out for gelato for the first time before shopping.

It was about 2 p.m., and we hadn’t really explored our own town yet, so we headed toward the town square. What we’ve been repeatedly surprised by is how everything closes in the middle of the afternoon. This is no joke. Even the gelato shop was closed!

Everything opens again around 3:30 or 4, but there is truly almost nothing open in the middle of the day. There are certain assumptions in the U.S. about how Europeans—and Italians in particular—live. Some of them are absolutely true. This midday closure, at least outside tourist areas, is definitely one of them.

We ended up at a pasticceria instead and had coffee (mini coffees—the norm here) and pastries before heading to the grocery store.

And whoa—the grocery store was a madhouse. A true scene. This must be when all the locals who work during the day do their shopping. There was no parking where we had parked before, but we eventually found an underground parking area we didn’t know existed.

It was chaotic and kind of fun to be in the middle of the bustle of a Saturday early evening in Italy. By this point we’d been in enough stores to know the lay of the land, so we grabbed what we needed without too much fuss and headed home.

From Daren:

That evening we went out to dinner for the first time right up the street at a place that serves pizza just once a week, and by up the street we mean up a very steep hill. We had learned from our landlord that about a quarter of a mile from our home there is a small community hall or meeting room on the second floor above a small store. Apparently, many of the local “nonnas” (grandmothers), come together every Saturday to make and serve pizza in the community room. We were somewhat suspicious and uncertain how this might work. But after parking the lot across the street we found things exactly as described: a large community room filled with local Italian families, a squad of elderly men serving tables, and a large kitchen with a team of elderly women making pizza. There was a menu, a range of drink and pizza options, and after about a 30 minute wait after ordering, two tasty pizzas to eat. We are still sorting out what “pizza” means in Italy. It’s not clear how much regional variation there is, but so far “pizza” has meant something round with cheese, tomatoes and toppings. While this sounds a lot like home, the similarities end with the shape and the components. What has been strikingly different has been the width of the crust. This pizza, and others we’ve had since, are incredibly thin. More like flatbread. And no Italian pizza is ever cut into slices, so you tackle it with a knife and fork and later use your hands after working it down into smaller sections. Whether similar or not, the pizza is delicious. We most enjoyed being surrounded by local Italians talking, laughing, gesticulating, and clearly enjoying a shared meal in their community. Notably, there were very few phones visible. Conversation and camaraderie were preferred over scrolling!

Sunday, March 8

Now that the house and shopping basics were set up, we were ready to venture outside of town and see what was around us.

I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

We went to Greve in Chianti first, and then right down the road to a small hilltop town that was ridiculously picturesque. These two small towns in the heart of Chianti were packed with Tuscan/Medieval charm and we felt like we’d taken a trip back in time as we surveyed the city walls and walked through the central piazza.

March 8 was International Women’s Day, and it’s a much bigger deal here than in the U.S. Mimosa flowers were everywhere. There were free drinks for women and all kinds of celebrations happening wherever we went.

On the way home we (yet again) needed to grab a few things from the grocery store. We stopped at Lidl—the only store open past about 1 p.m. on Sundays. We had gone there the previous week and vowed never to shop there again, but this time we were pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to find things and how inexpensive everything was. It takes some time getting the lay of the land in a new grocery store and a new country!

We will be back. Both to Greve and Lidls that is!

Take a close look at Amazon box on the door, truly up a hill in the middle of no where! haha

Monday, March 9

We had so much fun visiting a new town on Sunday that we decided to do it again. This time the destination was Arezzo, by train.

Again, I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

I was tired—just beat. I’m not sure if it was the Zyrtec I’m taking for allergies or if I’m finally unwinding now that we’re here and settled, but I was too tired to really enjoy the city. Because of that, I had no interest in exploring the art or churches. Daren enjoyed it very, very much.

I found the city a little “meh.” The lunch we had was terrible. It wasn’t my favorite day or my favorite place—but to be fair, I didn’t really give it a chance either. I was just spent.

And just like that – Womens Day is over…

Tuesday, March 10

We needed to be home Tuesday (blessedly) for our washer and dryer delivery and a conference call related to our new consulting LLC.

I headed out on my first solo run. I jogged and walked (lots of hills!) for 5.6 miles and oh my gosh it was exhilarating. I hadn’t exercised in well over a week and it felt amazing. And the scenery!

I was out for 75 minutes and honestly didn’t want to come back.

When I got home the washer and dryer had arrived—yay! Laundry again.

From past Airbnb experiences in Europe I remembered that laundry machines were not the same as in the U.S., so I was prepared for very low-functioning machines that would take forever, especially since we bought inexpensive models. But we were pleasantly surprised! Nowhere near as large or powerful as what we had back home, but much better than I expected. Daren was worried that without 220 voltage electricity as we have in the US for dryers, we’d never get the clothes dry. But much to our surprise, after about 1.5 hours, we had a fully dry load of laundry.

Overall—a great surprise.

Wednesday, March 11

This was a day of work and figuring out how we want our life here to look.

Since I stopped working last June, I’d developed a routine that loosely mirrored Daren’s workday—exercise, showering, and daily activities earlier in the day while he worked. He worked right up until the day before we left, so now that we’re here and somewhat settled, we needed to build a new kind of day where we’re both home.

At first we kind of assumed we’d each keep doing our same routines. But it quickly became clear that wasn’t really going to work.

So like the two weird geeks we are, we grabbed paper, pens, and a computer and headed to a little café with Wi-Fi to try to level-set our expectations about what a typical day might look like.

I’d love to tell you we figured it all out.

But instead we got very jazzed about traveling and spent most of the time talking about all the places we want to visit while we’re on this side of the pond. We started mapping out what times of year would be best to visit certain places when we suddenly realized the time.

Another conference call was coming up, so we headed home. We need to revisit the conversation about a daily routine and still figure out the travel. No rush, we have time! It’s hard to get used to the concept, I’m sure we will but for now the idea of “no rush” is still incredibly novel.

Thursday, March 12

Another day at home. No meetings. Lots of computer work.

And another long run for me.

I thought the first run might have been the magical one—the “first time back” effect—but this run was even better. I took a slightly different route and tried to dodge some inevitable rain. It wasn’t the sunniest day, but I was completely in the moment and in awe of the scenery.

I took a ton of photos.

Which inspired me to come home and start playing around with editing them. After a warm shower and the need to rest my legs from the hills, that’s exactly what I did.

Daren also went for a run, and in the mid-afternoon we both ended up parked on the couch doing our own things. He read and I edited photos. It felt so nice to just be and to be creative that we abandoned the swordfish we had defrosting on the counter and decided instead to stay right where we were, order a pizza, and watch a movie.

Our first pizza delivery in Italy using “Deliveroo”, a European version of Uber eats delivered by scooter—smooth process and really different, but delicious.

Friday, March 13

And then yesterday—oh my.

We woke up leisurely, had breakfast and coffee, and then packed a day bag, ushered the dog into the back seat of the car, and headed out to San Gimignano.

The day was perfectly sunny and warm—about 15–16°C (in the 60s°F)—and the town was adorable. The walled city was full of tourists, but as I texted my friends back home, there’s a reason some places are touristy.

Lunch was phenomenal—exactly how I remember food in Tuscany from our first trip here ten years ago.

Afterward we stopped at a nature preserve. It honestly wasn’t the prettiest hike and probably not somewhere I’d recommend, but it was exhilarating to be out in nature after the bustle of tourists, a great lunch, and browsing through shops full of seriously beautiful things.

San Gimignano is just over an hour away. The drive there and back was just as beautiful as being there. I drove there and Daren drove back. We took different routes and each got the experience of navigating the hills and simply looking out the window.

The ride home was magical. The sun was setting while spring showers came and went, so the lighting was gorgeous. We played an 80s music mix and sang along, jokingly trying to translate lyrics into Italy, while driving through the hills, just feeling alive.

Dinner was simple—some appetizers with delicious local cheeses we had picked up earlier. Then we collapsed onto the sofa for another movie before heading to bed, truly satisfied and grateful for the experiences we’re lucky enough to be having.

We miss everyone back home. Feel free to comment here. Feel free to text us. Keep in touch please!

On Our Human Inchoate Brain

Posted on 04/07/201805/08/2026 by Esterina Anderson

Have you ever considered the possibility that our brains are quite inchoate?

The Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines inchoate as “being only partly in existence or operation.” Dictionary.com describes the word as “just begun and so not fully formed or developed; rudimentary.”

From as early as I can remember, I was taught in school and church that humans are the most developed and intelligent creatures on earth. Through my Catholic elementary school training, I had “learned” that we, as humans, have dominion over the planet and all the creatures on it.

In fourth grade, I learned about the solar system. Like many children in the ’70s and ’80s, I had to create a physical model of the planets. I was fascinated and longed to learn more. The church and my classes preached that we are here in God’s image. There is no other intelligent life—but that always seemed like such a boring story to me.

My Catholic school did teach us about the Big Bang theory. They also taught creation. It didn’t make sense, of course. No one, including my parents, questioned what felt like an obvious conundrum to me. When I asked about it, my teachers or mom would seemingly make things up on the spot—explaining that the Bible’s or science’s exact numbers might be fuzzy, or that one day of creation described in the Bible was actually millions of years.

Sometime around middle school, in a science class, I first heard that humans only use 10% of their brain. It was unclear whether that was all we were capable of or simply all we used. I was a disinterested pre-teen and, though I wondered, I wasn’t curious enough to raise my hand and ask.

One night in high school, after a shift at my ice cream scooping job, I lay under my covers with the telephone cord stretched tightly from my nightstand, talking to the brother of one of my coworkers. He was a little older than me. We had flirted a few times, and he had asked me for my number. I had a private phone line in my room, so I was able to talk with a fair amount of privacy. The phone line was a Christmas gift from my parents one year—and thinking about it now as I write, it was likely a gift for everyone in the household.

We didn’t talk about anything scandalous, but the privacy allowed my mind to wander and random thoughts to surface. Somehow, the conversation led to the question of space and other intelligent life. I remember being totally engaged and just expressing thoughts as they arose. Some of them were:

If dogs can hear things we can’t, what makes us think there aren’t things we can’t hear?
Does that apply to our sight too?
Are there things right next to us we can’t see?
We only know the colors on the visible spectrum—what if there are more we simply can’t perceive?

I thought about this conversation many times over the course of my life and expanded on it into other thoughts and theories. When talking with others, I sometimes found myself in heated intellectual debates about science and what we know. Some argued that we would know if there were other things around us or other intelligent life. Others held strong religious beliefs that we are all there is and are made in God’s likeness—so stop asking questions. And some were more open-minded and curious when I shared these thoughts.

Last night, I was lounging on the sofa with my husband while streaming the latest Star Wars movie. Our dog Koji was on the floor below us. At some point early in the movie (before we fell asleep), Koji got up, seemingly perturbed. He stood in front of the TV in full soldier mode—tail high, the hair along his back raised. He was partially growling and partially squeaking in fear. He paused, cocked his head, and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Eventually, he decided there was no danger and came back to lie near our feet, this time with one ear alert.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Koji thinks of this rectangular box that we sit and watch. It makes noises—sometimes dogs barking or a doorbell ringing. When this happens, he becomes confused, running around barking or growling. He is completely incapable of understanding that we are watching a story. The concept of a movie or even a book is beyond the scope of his brain. We can’t explain it to him—and even if we could, he doesn’t have the sensory ability to perceive it the way we do.

This brings my thoughts back to us.

If we truly evolved from amoeba to monkeys to humans over trillions of years, what makes anyone believe, even for a moment, that humans will not continue to evolve into something even more intelligent than we are now? If we are only using a fraction of our brains, then perhaps our brains are inchoate. Perhaps there are things right next to us that we simply cannot see or understand—just as Koji cannot understand the television.

I personally believe there is so much out there that we just don’t know—and cannot possibly know—because we don’t yet have the sensory organs to perceive it. When I bring this up, people often seem uncomfortable and dismiss it quickly. I’m not sure why. Electricity existed long before we discovered how to harness it. It seems unlikely that we have already discovered everything there is to discover.

It would be even more unlikely to believe that the limitations of our five senses are enough to understand everything the universe contains.

If we evolved from monkeys, we know they are limited.

We are limited too.

Because, in my very humble (and perhaps slightly crazy) opinion, our brains are inchoate.

via Daily Prompt: Inchoate

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Please feel free to leave a comment or subscribe for future updates.

A Cold August Morning

Posted on 11/16/201503/24/2026 by Esterina Anderson

Thursday, August 27, 2015

I am walking our dog Koji. It is the first day this summer when I am out in the early morning and the air actually feels cold. I think about how it always feels this way at this time of year. Each summer there is a specific day where I wake up and it’s a bit chilly, unlike the day just before. I recall the first time I had this realization just 13 years earlier. Tears fill my eyes, a lump fills my throat.

That day was August 26, 2002. Until that day in since Tommy (my oldest son) was 15 months old I had been a stay-at-home mom for the most part. I was in college and I worked part-time at A&P and was in the U.S.C.G Reserves, but only opposite my ex-husband’s shifts. At that time Tommy was 5 and his sister Gabby was 3. It was my first day of work at what I considered at the time a “real” full-time job. It was also Tommy’s first day of kindergarten. When my alarm went off that morning the sad realization that I had to get out of bed before my body or the kids woke me up was startling. My initial gut reaction was that it would only be for today, but it quickly sunk in that this would be the sensation I would have every morning going forward. Ugh. I wasn’t quite ready to go into the work force. My then husband and I were really struggling to make ends meet since he got out of the military just a few months earlier. My working full time was a necessity for us. I felt extremely tired. I distinctly remember when I walked from the bedroom to the bathroom that morning that it felt cold. It was so very unlike the warm summer mornings I had been used to, even just the day before.

I begrudgingly waited for the shower water to warm before heading in. I wasn’t sure how the new morning routine would work, how long it would take to get ready, and get the kids dressed and fed before dropping them off at their new daycare. I was a bit worried. Nervous butterflies. My husband went to work hours earlier for his own shift, and I was left to get the kids ready for this first day of something new for all of us alone. I dressed and woke the kids. They too were not used to being woken up. And by golly – it was just chilly in the air. Somehow I don’t remember much about the morning or how I got them situated or where they thought they would be going; but I do remember being cold when we first got in the car, and driving over to Buttons & Bows daycare in Naugatuck. They weren’t nervous or excited or sad – they just were. It was me who had those feelings. Overall I was sad. Today was Tommy’s first day of kindergarten, and neither I nor his father would be there to witness this very special occasion. The bus would come pick him up and cart him off to school with the other children whose parents worked.

Somehow the sadness quickly passed as I started the drive to the new job, trying to navigate unfamiliar roads with a print out of map quest directions in hand. More nervous butterflies. Where to park? Wow, there are so many people who work here walking into the building! Will I find the right room in this massive hospital I was entering? Am I really qualified for this job?

Somehow I made it to the correct room to start a two-day orientation. Everything was new and unfamiliar. I was almost in a trance, there was too much to take in and it wasn’t all quite registering. Sounds, lights, colors, smells. The VA Hospital felt like the military somehow. Familiar, but not quite. At certain parts of the day I thought about being home with the kids and how much fun we had that summer. Then I thought about them at Buttons & Bows, and how they must feel similar to me. I felt sort of guilty for some reason. Lunch time came and I went outside. What struck me the most was that it was hot! I had to take off the sweater I put on at the last minute that morning. I ate my lunch in the warm sun, alone and nervous. I didn’t define myself as someone who worked outside the home. I felt like an impostor. I checked my two day old cell phone that I had just gotten from Cellular One that previous Saturday. No one called. That must mean the kids are doing well. I went back inside and finished up the day.

When I got home that evening the kids had already been picked up and were settled in at home. They were beaming about their day. They were OK! Tommy told us as much as he could in 5-year old vocabulary about school. I was sorry I missed it but glad to know that they were happy. I wasn’t as excited about my day as they were, but it was a success. I came to the sad realization that as they were going to get older I would be missing many other things in their lives. This is a normal and expected part of children growing up, but worse for parents who work.

The next day I woke up and it was cold again. And by the time I left work in the late afternoon it was downright hot [again]. It was the same the next day, and the day after. Until the crisp autumn days began to swallow up some of the heat, and when I left work those afternoons there was a chill in the air. And so it goes, the seasons change. The winter came and I had to really bundle the kids up in the morning. Just a few short months later when the snow melted and there were signs of spring, my car felt surprisingly warm in the afternoons. Eventually the mornings warmed up too. Before I knew it, it was late August again and I remembered the previous year’s sensation when I experienced the first of the cool mornings and hot afternoons. A year went by in a flash. Then so did two years, then three, and now 13.

Today, 13 years later, this first cool morning air following the humid summer mornings is all too familiar. This particular morning I am filled with an unbelievable sadness. I blink back the tears as Koji happily pulls me along on his leash. I inhale deeply trying not to cry, becoming slightly distracted from my own thoughts in an attempt to make smoke rings like I’ve seen pictures of American Indians doing with the condensation of my breath. I notice the heat from Koji’s breath too. Tomorrow we will be bringing Tommy up to college in Maine. His entire school career had come and gone in the blink of an eye. A few months ago our families came from New York and North Carolina for his high school graduation. Cards from relatives near and far poured in. It was our mailbox that had the graduation balloon. It was hot out. It seemed like there would be so much time before he had to leave for school 3 months later. And here we were. Tomorrow was the day.

Hints of light are coming through the sky as Koji and I walk the streets of our familiar neighborhood. I reflect back on the past 13 years. They went by so quickly. When I first started working I imagined I would only do so until my ex and I got back on our feet. I really wanted to be home with the kids. That first winter started the many years of snow-fretting that parents who do not work outside of the home likely do not realize. Which parent would stay home when both school and daycare closed? I had to use my vacation days when it was my turn, which diminished time with the kids in the warm months when they were home with little to do. I did however cherish those early snow days. I would make hot chocolate with marshmallows and graham crackers with peanut butter for breakfast. They would squeal with excitement about this special snowy day treat. Years later when the kids were teenagers and there was a snow day, and my now husband and I went to work since they were old enough to stay home; it was Tommy who would wake up and prepare this same treat for his sister and two younger step-brothers.

After the first year passed of my being in the workforce full time, my now ex almost went back into the military. Even with both of us working full time and me keeping my old part time job at A&P, we were still struggling to make ends meet. We were all prepared to make the entrance back into military life. I was kind of excited. I would be able to stay home again and pretty much wherever we got stationed, the location would be a new area to explore. The kids were a bit nervous about this change, but I don’t think they fully understood it. Just before we had to make the final commitment, I got a promotion at work that resolved all our financial problems. We thought long and hard about whether to take the plunge and stay in the civilian world, or head back to the military family life we were used to. My ex wasn’t crazy about going back in and here was out opportunity to make it in the “real” world. I quit the job at A&P and only worked at the VA. The kids were ecstatic. I was a little disappointed, but trucked on.

Just a year later my ex got a new job and huge raise. We were at last not only financially free, but had breathing room. For the first time when I went grocery shopping I didn’t have my eyes on sale items only. When the kids asked for a cereal off the shelf, I was able to say yes. It felt great!

For a short period of two years time while I went back to school to get my MBA, I cut my hours back and had Thursdays off. The kids ended up loving Thursdays. I did too. I would wake up before dark and get a start on my schoolwork. The kids were able to sleep in a little, and when they woke up I would always make them a special breakfast since the other days of the week were rushed. I would then lovingly get them off to school on the bus in front of our condo instead of dropping them off at daycare or with a neighbor. I would go back to my studies, usually taking a break at lunch to walk by the pond down the street and then heading home to whip up a batch of some sort of homemade dessert. The kids usually knew I would have some treat after school waiting for them. They would come off the bus with big happy smiles on their faces while I waited at the door, excited to see me- but also looking past me to see what kind of goody awaited them inside. They’d drop their backpacks and sit at the table with their after school snack and a glass of milk. We would talk about the day and then split up again until dinner time. If it was warm enough they would go out to play with the other neighborhood kids.

I had many different daycare arrangements while the kids were in their early elementary years. Friends and neighbors, different daycare locations, odd shifts with their father watching them for partial or full days. It was a constant struggle worrying if their dad would be late, the sitter or their children would be sick, or the daycare would be closed.

When Tommy was in 4th grade I finished my MBA and was promoted to a new job. I had mixed feelings about it because it meant I had to go back to work full time. I really felt bored in the position I had and was ready for a change. Accepting the new position meant more money and less boredom, but the trade off was that I had less time to be a mom. The choice wasn’t easy. The kids were rather proud of me and were only slightly disappointed that I would no longer be home Thursdays. We had enough money to buy a house and move the kids to a town with a good school system, and into a neighborhood where they could ride their bicycles in the street. Tommy was at the end of 5th grade when we moved to Cheshire. He was excited while Gabby was very hesitant. I had no reservations about moving and continuing to work at this point. It was 2008. I did worry about how we would manage when the kids were teenagers and could get into trouble after school with a lack of after school care as my catch net, but there would be time for that.

Only there wasn’t. In the blink of an eye the years flew by. My ex and I started having marital problems before we moved to Cheshire and they did not resolve themselves. My efforts were spent working to save a failing marriage, then a divorce, new relationship/home/step-kids; working on helping the kids and pets adjust while trying to nurture a new partnership; all of which moved incredibly quickly. At one point I attempted to apply for one day of telework per week. For two weeks while the paperwork was being routed Gabby would excitedly ask me every day if I heard anything back. Tommy was a little too old at the time to care and was indifferent. When I did find out that my request was denied, Gabby put on a brave face and said it will be alright. I myself felt hardened somehow.

Another blink of an eye and I was suddenly teaching Tommy to drive. He got his license, then a job of his own. Before I knew it he was taking SATs and his high school was having student-parent sessions about the college application process. Another promotion opportunity came up when Tommy just started his senior year. I wondered if trying to learn a new job would be too difficult in my increasingly complex home. It was Tommy’s senior year, we just got a new puppy, we were having problems with my husband’s ex, and my own children were having issues with their father. Again I felt a bit bored in my current position and it was a toss up between money and learning versus focused home time and boredom. I took the job.

A whirlwind of college visits ensued and then the application process seemed to be over in a heartbeat. Tommy always wanted a puppy and took the brunt of the responsibility for training, feeding, and walking the dog. The holidays came and went. Tommy found out he got accepted into all the school he applied for. My husband and I went on the acceptance visits circuit. There were suddenly senior pictures & events all around, and then the culmination of the graduation. Now here we are. I don’t know how it happened, but my little boy grew up and was about to move away. Until a few days ago I thought I would be fine, but now that this change is staring me in the face I’m completely broken up. I will be one of those parents who cries and hyperventilates the whole way back home from the college drop off.

I am rounding the corner with Koji back toward my house. In another minute I’ll be inside on one of the last mornings that will feel normal. Of all the firsts and celebrations that make the fanfare throughout the years like first birthdays and other milestone birthdays, first day of school, communion, end of sport seasons, concerts, start of high school, graduation etc; the most transitional moment happens very quietly. There are no family and friends visiting and celebrating or handing out presents or money. Hardly any of our family even knows which day Tommy is leaving. It will be a quiet drop off. Just me, his sister and his step-dad. His dad moved away and is living in Massachusetts, treating tomorrow like any other day. My friends and the people I work with hardly have a clue that my heart is breaking. I knew back in 2002 that I would miss many things throughout the years. Only I did not know at the time how quickly it would go. In these years Tommy learned to read, ride a bike and navigate peer pressure. He went through puberty, had his first kiss, first girlfriend, first heartbreak. We had normal teenage ups and downs without too much drama. Now he was a grown man. This all happened in front of my eyes while I spent these precious years in the workforce.

We are just feet away from my house now. Koji doesn’t want to go back in and very deliberately sniffs the grass across the street. I pause and let him, looking over at my warmly lit home while I shiver in this cold August morning. That same lump fills my throat. I worked for 13 years and let his life pass. Would it have been any different if I stayed home? Did I have a choice? Does it matter? Will Tommy or Gabby ever understand how much they mean to me? I feel the need to let people know how emotionally challenging it is to be a working mom. It can only be worse for a single parent. Most workplaces including my own are not very flexible and do not allow compressed, flex or telework schedules. Would the world be a different place if the organizations understood the challenges faced by single parents or two adults in that work outside the home? All I can do now is go back inside, put on a brave persona, take my little boy to college tomorrow and continue on knowing that I did the best I could. It will warm up and be hot this afternoon. The mornings going forward will be cooler, and soon the days will as well. The seasons will go on and life will continue.

“Come on Koji-poo” I say. Koji looks up at me, I give him a slight tug on his leash, and we head back inside ready to tackle another day.

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