Weekend plans are plotted, swim practices and board meetings are coordinated, RSVPs are sent, and patients' inquiries about their dental insurances and treatment plans are answered.
Then there are the piano lessons to confirm, fourth grade homework to clarify with moms of my kids' friends, carpooling to arrange, and entire fundraising events to organize by the tap-tap-tapping away of my opposable thumbs.
So imagine my surprise last week when I received a text that simply read, "Nice article," from a number I didn't recognize. Hmm, I thought, who in the world could this be?
I assumed it was a reader of this column or my photo blog or my public posts on Facebook, all easily accessed on internet search engines. But how did stranger get my cell number?
A bit befuddled and a touch curious, I texted back. In 10 seconds flat, my iPhone chirped. It was Julian, my ex-boyfriend from college, formerly known as the love of my life.
He had acquired my phone number from a mutual friend. Unacceptable! I made a mental note to defriend this friend, or at the very least put her on friend probation.
They say that romance thrives and emotions run more deeply when relationships are begun in high-stress situations. I can't think of a more stressful time than college (except for maybe dental school, when I met Michael, my handsome husband of almost 17 years -- but that's another, juicier story).
Julian and I met at the start of freshman year in college. I was on full academic scholarship, a Biology major and all-around nervous wreck because I was expected to maintain an overall 3.5 GPA or bye-bye free ride. We were both pre-med but had no classes together.
He possessed the perfect combination of confidence and modesty, despite being quite charming and crazy-smart. The fact he was Asian but spoke with a Latin accent (because he was the son of an ambassador and was fluent in three languages) didn't hurt, either.
Julian may not have been good-looking in a David Beckham or Adam Levine sort of way, and *gasp* some of my friends may not have even thought he was anything special, but I was drawn into his vortex almost immediately.
Ironically, it was my writing, not organic chemistry or parasitology, that brought us together. I was taking the freshman-requisite Bio 103 and Bio 104 Lab.
When the time came for me to write my first scientific paper, I was quite confident that it would be an easy-peasy A+. So you can imagine my surprise when I was handed back what I thought was a masterpiece and saw a big, Sharpie-thick, red "C-" -- with an obnoxious circle around it.
The professor shook his head as if in disgust as he looked at it and then at me and then at it again. Not good, Gracelyn, he muttered disapprovingly, probably wondering why I wasn't an English major.
It seemed my writing style was too creative and biology papers would have none of it. He promptly assigned me to a tutor. What a disgrace, I thought. Me. A tutor. I ranked #1 in my high school graduating class. A tutor. Really?!
Enter Julian, my college-issued, scientific writing tutor. Once a week we met to work on my biology reports and pretty soon, it was twice a week. In a few weeks' time, we were inseparable.
He brought out the best in me. I was smarter when I was with him, wittier in his company, and just generally more inspired. Ahh... young love.
In the tiniest spurts of free time between studying for Calculus, Microbiology and Statistics and Probability exams, we couldn't wait to hold hands.
We spent afternoons playing chess in Central Park, played one-on-one basketball in playgrounds around school (he occasionally let me win), and talked for hours on the phone until the sun came up. He introduced me to his family. He told me he loved me.
Julian was even able to firm up my scientific writing style, a miraculous feat in itself, and by our junior year, we co-wrote a research paper that spring semester. We got an A+.
So there I sat in the driver's seat of my car, iPhone in hand, reading these texts from him, 25 years later, waiting for my children's school bus to pull up. Via texts we exchanged pleasantries.
He was now the assistant chief of cardio-thoracic surgery for a major hospital in New England, which didn't shock me. We spoke of our children, our siblings. Like me he also had a set of twins and a singleton, except he had three sons.
Julian told me how much he enjoyed reading my column on SILive.com every Sunday morning for the last few months. He was proud I was a dentist now and admired how prolific I'd been in my writing and passionate I seemed to be about my family and community.
He mentioned he had just gone through a nasty divorce. I was sad for him. I let him ramble on, trying to digest all his heavy life events, hoping not to see the flashing lights of the yellow school bus until he finished he finished his thoughts.
He said he thought about me often during the last few years of his tumultuous marriage, about the inside jokes and hilarious notes we used to pass each other -- before cell phones were invented.
He spoke of the fun we used to have, plant-sitting for our friends, playing darts in the wee hours of the night, brains numb after non-stop studying. We laughed about how often we ate at the inexpensive BBQ's in the Village.
We had come a long way, he said, but admitted having thought about our first kiss... and what could have been. I was silent as he spoke. So many memories flooded back, memories filled with laughter and innocence, of good times.
However, as I reminisced, two memories in particular eventually stuck out in my mind: One was of me crying in my room after I had discovered his infidelity; the other, the afternoon I met Michael, the love of life, my best friend and father of my three beautiful daughters, the other loves of my life.
And at that moment I was happy Julian had broken my heart all those years ago.
Eventually the texts stopped. He asked if I was still there. I was, but was momentarily busy finding my way out of rosy-colored memories that I think we all have a tendency to look upon with increasing fondness for comfort or entertainment as the years roll by and life' challenges blaze on, leaving their truth unrecognizable.
A few moments after that, my children's school bus screeched to a halt, alongside my car. I politely wished Julian well and thanked him for reaching out and for kind words.
That afternoon I said goodbye to my first love for a second time. My iPhone asked me if I was sure I wanted to delete his contact number. I tapped the yes key.
I kissed my 9-years-daughters hello as they jumped into the back seat, headed toward the other bus stop to pick up my 12-year-old, and continued on with my the happy life.
