I started by booting up the family computer. Mr. Smith leapt up to supervise, taking a position next to the warm monitor, where he could watch me smugly through the golden slits of his eyes.

Like most things electronic, the iPod required special software that had to be installed. I hardly have Jason’s skills with a computer, but most uploads are pretty idiot-proof even for me. Sure enough, the installation wizard appeared and I was off and running, clicking I Agree, Yes, and Next in every dialogue box that appeared.

“See, I’m smarter than you think,” I informed Mr. Smith. He yawned at me.

Ree was already sorting through her CD collection. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain Jason needed some Disney music to accompany Billy Idol. Perhaps he’d run faster listening to Elton John from The Lion King. Or, let’s not forget Phil Collins’s industrious work on Tarzan

The computer announced that the iTunes software was up and running. Ree scurried over with a fistful of CDs. I read a few instructions, then showed her how we could insert her CDs into the computer’s drive, and all the music would be copied onto Daddy’s iPod. She found this magical beyond words. Then of course we had to visit the online music store, and download some classics from Led Zepplin and the Rolling Stones. “Sympathy for the Devil” has always been a personal favorite of mine.

Next thing I knew, it was already eight o’clock and time to get Ree to bed. I returned the iPod to its hiding place beneath the oven mitts. Ree quickly gathered up her scattered CDs and stuck them back on the shelf. Then it was upstairs for a quick bath, teeth brushing, potty, two stories, one song, a parting scratch to the cat’s ears, and at long last, quiet.

I returned to the kitchen, brewed a cup of tea. Tomorrow was Labor Day, essentially the last day of summer vacation for myself and Ree. After this would begin the weekly grind of shuttling Ree off to preschool, then getting myself to the middle school. Jason would pick her up by one P.M., then I’d need to be home by five so he could get to work. Lots of hustle and bustle. My husband and me becoming two ships that passed in the night.

I was nervous. I was excited. I was scared. I’d wanted a job. Something of my own. It had surprised me as much as anyone when I’d picked teaching, but I had enjoyed last year. The kids looked up to me, soaking in knowledge, but also kind words. I liked that moment when something I did made a roomful of tweens smile happily. I liked twenty-five kids calling, “Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,” probably because it wasn’t my mother’s name, therefore Mrs. Jones sounded like someone highly competent and respectable.