The phone rang. I took a deep breath and answered it.

“Jennifer, we’d like to offer you a teaching position for the coming school year.”

I accepted the job, hung up the phone and did a little happy dance. I told my husband I had a job.

And then I started crying. Sobbing, uncontrollably. And I kept crying.

At about 2:00 a.m., eyes red and so puffy I could hardly see, my husband finally said, “Sweetheart, I thought you wanted this job.”

I did. I do. I am very, very excited about the position I am taking. If I could have written the perfect job description for myself, this would be it. Not to mention the school is 3.2 miles away — 11 minutes door to door. What is there to cry about?

I suppose on the surface it would seem that the bulk of my sadness comes from the fact that my youngest son will only be in half-day kindergarten this year, so I am essentially giving up the last year I could have had at home with him. And at first I thought that’s why I couldn’t stop crying. But when I look at that son, I see an incredibly independent, free-spirited child who adapts well and, frankly, will probably love having different kids to play with every afternoon. So while I am sad that I won’t be able to eat lunch with my little guy and hear about adventures in kindergarten, I think it’s more than that.