The summer of my fifteenth year on this lovely planet found me with my first-evah 'real' job: Full-time (and then some as I spent 18 hours a day on duty) babysitter. Days were spent chasing two under 8-ers around an apartment complex that had seen more than it's fair share of action over the years.Teaching the 4 year-old to ride a bike...Teaching the 7 year-old how to build mud huts after the rain...Late-night movie marathons and Barbie vs. G.I. JoeAt the end of summer, when it came time for me to leave they cried. We'd had so much fun that summer that it was in fact hard to let go.

I totally understood how they felt...

or so I thought. Because as I walked down the sidewalk, a tear making it's way down my cheek I heard a little voice call my name desperately. But as I turned to answer I heard the reason for his distress:

"If she's not here we can't go outside!"

Today, after coming to an agreement with someone about my future living situation I got a similar reaction.

And just like that day on the sidewalk, I felt a sting in my chest.