It's happening, people. It's really happening! The ole blog! I'm right on schedule for the quarterly update, so let's hope I can continue on this wagon. A few friends had recently mentioned the blog, which motivated me to make it happen, and I'm glad to be right on track with this modern scrap book thing.
As usual, I want to give a little context to this day in the life. It's a Tuesday in November. Normally, this would be a typical weekday/workday. But this day is far from typical, as Brian has been galavanting around the world on a solo trip to Japan this week. Yes, solo trip to Japan.
Yes, B has been eating sushi to his heart's content and seeing the sights and doing whatever his wyld and free heart desires this week. Living life to the absolute fullest and having a marvelous time. But now brace yourselves. What I'm about to say might come as a shock. It's difficult to imagine, actually. But you can handle it. Yes. While he's been solo vacationing, enjoying the fine things of the world that most of us merely dream of, I've been ... wait for it ... wait for it ... solo parenting. Yes. He's solo vacationing while I'm solo parenting.
It's quite astoundingly out of balance, and don't worry. I'm the first one to recognize the imbalance. Yet, the biggest amazement this week is that this imbalance has actually been perfectly fine. He's been having the time of his life, which delights me. And I've been basically crushing the solo parent thing. Not that I could continue much longer or would ever want to do it long-term (my hat's off to all the single parents out there. I salute you.). But for the week, it's been good. The boys have been angels. I've kept up with all my work. The house is the tidiest it's ever been. And it's basically been hunky dory. Brian returns tomorrow, and I can't wait to see him. It's been a long (though good) week, and it will be nice to get back to normal life. But lest this whole "sushi galavanting vacation" and "solo parenting is easy" talk fool anyone, I would love to digress for another quick sec.
I am very proud of where B and I have come in our marital journey. Proud and relived. This week was good. But we've had other weeks that weren't good. Brian has always wanted/needed to take trips by himself here and there. He's a much more adventurous and also more introverted person than I am. He also grew up in an enmeshed family, where his independence was squashed and criticized. As a result of his natural personality mixed with his upbringing, he needs freedom breaks. Time to be alone. Time to break free from the chains of responsibilities and just reconnect with himself. I get it. A long hunting weekend here. A professional conference weekend there. A deep sea fishing trip with his best friend on occasion. Stuff like that. Totally reasonable, really. (In fact, you don't have to be introverted or come from an enmeshed family to need freedom trips.) Totally reasonable. Except that we both struggled with his freedom trips.
While Brian came from an enmeshed family, I grew up in a detached one. Way too much independence and freedom at far too early an age. These characteristics and experiences were encouraged in my family, but there was literally no unity. So (on top of my naturally extroverted personality), I seek togetherness, connection, family cohesion, etc. Years ago, when Brian would take these freedom break trips, I would be a codependent people-pleaser hot mess with him. I was unhappy doing these solo parenting gigs and didn't want him to leave me with the exhausting and overwhelming responsibility of solo parenting life (if anyone has been the solo primary caretaker for young children, you get it. If not, move along.) But I would try to go along with it, hoping to keep him happy. Of course, that would backfire, and he would have the pleasure of coming home to an exhausted, passive-aggressive wife, which would be a lovely welcome home anyone would look forward to, right? Don't we all look forward to reuniting with that kind of person? And Brian? While I was a passive-aggressive people-pleaser, he was oblivious and unappreciative, and sometimes just downright selfish. The more I would try to keep him happy, the more unappreciative he became. The more selfish he became, the harder I worked to angrily keep the peace about his freedom vacations. And round and round we went. In our own ways, we struggled, and our individual struggles fueled the other's struggle, creating this cyclical vortex of tension. This cycle occasionally crept up in other areas of life too, but there was something particularly triggering about Brian's freedom break vacations.
Over the years, we've slowly chipped away at this freedom break cycle and come to a place where it's no longer a cycle, praise the baby Jesus in a manger, hallelujah amen! Of course, we have other issues, but whatever. One step at a time, people. One step at a time. For now, it's a delightful relief to be out of that vortex. In more recent years, we've made great improvements in breaking the chains of that cycle, and now here we are at this solo trip to Japan. Brian has been gone for a week, which is the longest trip he's taken. And it's been good. Really good. I am happy he's had the opportunity to connect with himself through this amazing Eastern culture, and now I'm excited for him to get home. Home, sweet home.
There are obviously more details about all of the above. But there's something really important to me about sharing more of a 'whole picture' type of thing. I love posting beautiful family photos and big smiles and vacation details and all that, which is thankfully accurate. But there's more to the story. There's a flip side to the coin, and I love that too. I love the whole brutifal thing.
Ok ok ok. I could go on, but let's get this show on the road. Day in the life. Without further clinical analysis, I give you ...
Tuesday, November 15, 2022
Cast of Characters:
Japanese Tourist (43)
Solo Mom (43)
Thing 1 (10)
Thing 2 (5)
Thing 3 (3)
5:41 am I gently toss and turn, waking peacefully on my brain's own timing. What is this bliss? I slowly come to and feel something still relatively foreign. Rested. I have serious concerns that by documenting this, I am jinxing myself. But I've actually been sleeping great lately. Solid, deep, restful sleep. The boys have been sleeping great, which is obviously a tremendous help to my own sleep. But another contributing factor is that a few months ago, I started taking a magnesium supplement at night. I dare say it's been life-changing. I tip toe into the hallway, hoping to keep the sleeping babies asleep. I always enjoy a few moments of dark quiet in the mornings, sipping my coffee in peace and quiet, before the rush of the day begins with other human beings. And these few moments are particularly important during this solo parenting week -- any little scraps of peace and quiet are crucial to my sanity. But to my chagrin, I see light shining through the crack of JDub's door. This baby who never slept in utero and was subsequently named Jonathan Wyld, continues to not sleep much. I check on him, somewhat irritated that I'll now be missing my quiet coffee time. He explains he was waiting for me to wake up because he was too scared to go downstairs by himself and start his homework. Oh, my heart! How could I possibly be frustrated with such a responsible, conscientious, considerate young soul. Plus, he likely inherited the sleeping issue from little ole me, so I have some responsibility in this matter. Ok, my darling, you can start the day. We head downstairs together. He begins his homework, and I get my coffee. I actually turn on the heat to take that chilly edge off, one of the simple pleasures I've been enjoying without B around this week. He is horrified by heat, but I love it. I turn on the tree lights, which bring a smile to my face every single day. I've been really loving the colored lights this year, but I often go back to the whites just to check on my preference. Who could ever choose between these beauties? They're both perfect. The coffee is also perfect. My thing of late is a scoop of coconut milk melted into it. Absolute perfection.
6:15 am William is barking. I head upstairs to get him, and he's all warm and floppy. He's always been such a snuggly little squish, and we sit there together for a good five minutes. He's all quiet, slowly developing consciousness, red cheeks, fluffy bed-head, just peshus. I dread the day he is done with these snuggles and want to somehow freeze time. We eventually peel ourselves off his bed. Retrieve Thing 3 from her room and all head downstairs. Proceed with the morning school routine. Homework. Breakfast (leftover baked oatmeal). Brotherly chats. Brotherly giggles. Brotherly squabbles. I shamefully throw some crap in lunch pails. I said I was crushing this solo parenting gig, but I didn't say I was feeding the children anything with nutrients. I empty out William's backpack from yesterday and find a particularly cute Veterans' Day thing. I am truly impressed with his coloring, writing, and the teacher's thoughtfulness to do something like this with kindergarteners.
7:15 am We head upstairs for part deux of the morning routine. Clothes. Teeth. Hair. Beds. Random junk and toys cleaned up. I put on my exercise clothes. Throughout all this, the boys are running and screaming. Playing tag. Violently shrieking and cackling. Jumping off beds, slamming each other into walls, loving every second of testosterone-filled life. I am chuckling here and there, with plenty of "not so rough" and "be careful" and "let's not get hurt before school" type estrogen-filled comments peppered in there.
7:45 am We pile in Van4Lyf and head to school. The boys chat happily while I continue sipping coffee. It's a quick drive, and we arrive within a couple minutes. This is the first year we've done the drive thru, both for dropoff and pickup. Why in God's green earth did we not start that earlier? Unbelievably more convenient and faster. As soon as we get up to the dropoff spot, the boys put their game faces on. No more giggly silly time. They are men. They are ready for work. They pile out of the van, and I just want to squeeze them. I've been instructed explicitly not to yell out the window at them, but I intentionally (and will continue to intentionally) ignore this rule. I muaach at them and tell them to have a lovely day, etc. And off they go. Talk about crushing it. They have both completely nailed this back-to-school post-covid experience. I couldn't be more proud or relieved. Jonathan's tweenage hair is flopping in his eyes, and William's backpack is swinging below his butt. And they couldn't be any more adorable. I move through the school lanes and wrap up this morning ritual (which actually is something Brian normally does). As I roll up the windows, I experience something I haven't had during conscious hours for quite some time (in four days, thanks to Veteran's Day weekend and Thing 2 home with a bad cough on Monday). Nothing. I hear nothing. It's quiet. Aahhhhhhh. Quiet. Motherhood is such a trip. How is it possible to simultaneously love a creature so much it truly feels like your heart could burst, yet simultaneously be rejoicing in the depths of your soul to have a break from said creature? If you know, you know. If not, move along. I return home to Sandy. Do a little kitchen clean-up and downstairs straightening. Get all my walking gear organized (hat, sunglasses, chapstick, dog brush, pepper spray), and Sandy is trembling with excitement.
8:30 am Gurlfriend and I head out. I adore this daily ritual. I was recently thinking about my love for walking and all the various styles it's taken over the years. I believe it all started when I was in college. We pretty much all walked everywhere. Rain or shine. Snow or sleet. Hills or flat. Classes, grocery store, library, bars, parties, everywhere. We all walked. And I've loved a solid daily walk ever since. There have been walks with the old dogs. Walks with strollers (I've literally walked the wheels off strollers). Walks with prayers. Walks with tears. Walks with the new dog. Walks alone. Walks in the cold. Walks in the heat. And the most recent edition of my walking is that I've been dragging Brian out with me. He gripes and moans about it, but I know he secretly loves it. He feels so much better from the walking. Sitting at his desk and being sedentary all day wreaks havoc on his back and legs, and the walking is clearly helpful. He'll occasionally make mention about looking forward to the next walk, or sometimes he'll get Sandy ready while I'm busy wiping a countertop or something glamorous. And I'll round the corner to see them waiting for me, and I'm like "woah!" He secretly loves it. I've been loving it too. It's a pleasant way to spend an hour together during this new phase of life where the boys are off to school, and we have all this time on our hands. Lovely. But he's gone today, of course. So it's just Gurl and me, like old times.
We head out, and she's got some good pep in her step. It's a beautiful day in Southern California. Somewhere in the high 60s, a crisp breeze, bright sunshine, palm trees swaying gently, really nice. We do one hill and are just getting into gear when I notice a bit of a limp on her. I check again. Super unusual, so I figure I must be seeing her at a funny angle or something. I check again. No, she's definitely limping. I run my hands through her chocolate chips, thinking I'll find a burr or something. Nothing noticeable. I didn't notice anything from that hill either -- just normal walking. Hmm. We go a bit further. The limp becomes more obvious. I check all her legs. Nothing. She lets out a little squeal, that high-pitched dog wheeze through the nose. Poor babyface! I decide it's best to swing her back to the house. There's no way I want her to get injured worse or have to carry a 50lb dog through the neighborhood. Dang. We had just gotten started. But we head back home. I brush her out in the yard, rather than our normal salon in the orange grove. This is one of my favorite parts of the walk, and I get strange glee from seeing the daily haul of dog hair. I cannot do Dr. Pimple Popper. Please, someone kill me before I set eyes on that show again. Can't do cysts. Nope. But I do have some kind of odd dog hair fetish, where I never cease to be amazed and joyful about deshedding an animal outside. OUTside. Key word right there. Anyway, I brush the heck out of her, as per usual, and she loves it. Pants in the breeze with the contentment of a mom at a spa day. I can't even get her to shake at the end of it. She is just laying in the grass, taking delight in her mess. I am also hoping she's not in pain from the strange limping incident, but she seems to be fine. I don't want to chance anything, though. Sorry gurl. You're staying home for the rest of the walk. I leave to finish my walk. Totes solo this time. Like really old times.
9:30 am Back home. Minimal sweat today, as it's decently chilly. I miss summer. I'm ready for the holidays, but I miss summer. I let Sandy back in the house, and she is bouncing around like a child who stays home from school when they're sick. Before school, they're puking and running a fever. Fifteen minutes into the sick day, they're jumping off the couch. Ok, I guess she's not injured, which is good. But sorry gurlfriend, you'll have to wait for tomorrow's walk now. Mama needs to move on with the day. I do my daily 10-minute floor exercise routine and get a good stretching sesh in there. I make myself brekkie, an arugula omelette with avocado and buffalo sauce. News flash: I'm not vegan anymore. I gave it a good 2 years and actually loved it. But due to some strange digestive things that crept in (think bloating that looks like 7 months gestation, aka your baby is a honeydew), I recently added back fish and eggs. Bloating went away, and I now have my good ole saggy kangaroo pouch back. But feel much better. I clear out my inbox and review my lecture slides for today. Through all of this, Sandy has resigned herself to lay on the floor. Every time I glance at her, she is glaring at me. Side eyes. Glaring. Then as soon as we catch eyes, she looks away. We go through this charade several times, and it gets funnier each time. She is seething with fury to have gotten her walk cut short. Ooooo she's pissed. I can't help but chuckle, though, and try to reassure her that we'll walk again tomorrow.
10:30 am I head upstairs to get myself cleaned up and ready for the day. Paint the barn. Snap a couple photos of my latest products because I'm always curious about what other people use. Try to take a selfie and laugh at myself for never knowing how to do it. I take several, and I look so weird in all of them. Every angle is bad, and I wonder if I really look like that in real life? Ugh. I give up and dive in head first to a goofy one. Ok much better. This one I can live with.
11:30 am I pack up my bag, bustle the kitchen again, and head out the door. Today is a teaching day. It's the first semester I'm back on campus since before William was born. I have such a love-hate relationship with it. I had really mastered the art of working exclusively from home and embraced it whole-heartedly for the past five years. So when it was announced that all online faculty would need to do half their contracts on campus, I was not thrilled, to say the least. I'm still not thrilled. It's like going from a Tesla to a 1987 Chevvie. The most efficient, proficient, high tech work of art, through a time warp machine, back 30 years to a gas guzzler bumpity rickity old pice of junk. People really hype up the social aspect of in-person classroom stuff, and I do agree that there's a chemistry among people when we're physically in the same space. And that chemistry can't be found online. So I get that. But come on. If you need meetings and office hours and sitting in lectures and whatnot to have a social life? Then we need to talk. You need some therapy, my friend. Find your social life outside work. Ok end rant. Anyway, I am not thrilled at the requirement to leave the comforts of my home and teach in-person, but once I'm there, I do actually enjoy it. The kids are cute, and I do like that chemistry. While driving, I am enamoured by the leaves and changing colors. It's so pretty, and I hadn't really noticed the fall colors until recently. I also love that my commute is only about 15 minutes, involving zero freeways. Delightful.
12:15 pm Lecture starts. This is an Abnormal Psychology class, the quintessential undergraduate psychology course. So fun. I love it. I love seeing their eyes light up about all these diagnoses, and their fresh enthusiasm is contagious. With a great course like Abnormal, I don't need to put on much of a dog and pony show, as the material itself is fascinating. Today's topic is oppositional disorders, with a special focus on conduct disorder. There are a couple students who are really lit up about this and want to share stories. There are a couple others with glazed over stares. And then the majority (40 total students) are somewhere in between. I enjoy myself, and the time goes quickly. Right before I dismiss them, I shamelessly ask a student in the back to take a photo of me in action. I contemplate telling them it's for this blog, but I don't want them finding it. So I tell a little white lie and omit that detail. I tell them I'm working on a project where I document my work. Partially true. For their benefit. They don't need to know they're being included in a weird blog of a middle-aged white lady. And for my benefit. I don't need stalkers. Ok. White lie justified. After class, a few other students linger around to chat and ask questions. This seems to happen every lecture, although the lingering students vary from lecture to lecture. Seems to be based on their interests of the topic. I love that. That stuff doesn't happen online.
2:00 pm Done with work for the day and head home. Quite a nice life, if I do say so myself. On days like this, where I put in a couple hours of work and call it a day, I am extremely grateful for this life. And I also remind myself of all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into building this lifestyle. It all worked out somehow, and I love my life. Head toward the school to get the babies. I arrive about five minutes early and get to catch up on texts with the girls. Love these daily chat rituals with best friends. The bell rings, and it's time to make my way through the clusterfluff of vehicles. I try to catch the boys on video as they run with such free-spirited childlike happiness to the van, but I get shooed along by the principal. Don't get me started on her.
3:00 pm We're all home, and it's time for the afternoon rituals. The boys can't even get their backpacks off before starting on basketball. Eventually they are in the house. Emptying backpacks. Dumping lunch pails. Putting away shoes and whatever else. Washing hands. Getting snacks. This time of day is always a bit chaotic, but of course I want them to feel the freedom to let loose at home. They've been cooping up all their crazy stuff while being perfect angels at school all day, so they need to go a little nuts at home. Both of them practice piano somewhere in there, and I love the songs they're working on. Both of them sneak in rounds of Fortnite or Roblox. Everything is a little mixed together during this time. Somewhere in here, I declare it's time to build two shoe racks for Brian. Backstory on this one: about four months ago, he crashed his closet shelf to smithereens when he tried to use it as a step up to the attic. After the mass clean-up from that fiasco, he declared he was "going minimalist." Yes, you read that correctly. Minimalist. Brian. He thought it would be a grand idea to stuff all his clothing in storage bins and live in four t-shirts. For all these months, he's worn the same shirts to all activities, including this trip to Japan. And this minimalist then declared that he would live this way until we completely demolish the remainder of our perfectly functional closet, and spend $40k on a massive remodel, which would include wooded shelves, drawers, all kinds of high-tech lighting, etc. Mmm hmm. Yes. Minimalist.
The before closet:
Earlier in the week, I had pulled out all the bins, hired our handyman to install a new shelf, and rehung all his clothing. I had also pulled out all his shoes (which he had been storing in dresser drawers. I'm still baffled by this) and threw them in a pile by the bed. Will someone reading this please send an intervention to my home? He won't listen to me. He thinks it's perfectly normal to own all these shoes, but to only wear one pair. Because he's a minimalist. See what I'm living with, people? See? Ok anyway. I had also ordered shoe racks as part of this project and wanted to complete this project before he gets back home tomorrow. I enlist the boys to help with construction. They are in and out of the project. The racks get constructed with only one broken nail and a few cuss words. Not bad. Jonathan diligently helps me get all the shoes loaded and organized. Through all this shoe stuff, he is processing a very exciting development that's unfolded during the week. He (through the use of yes/no notes that were sent to him via several classmates) admitted he does in fact like his crush. This happened on Thursday. We then had a three day weekend for him to live with dreadful regret, uncertainty, anxiety, angst, all of that, waiting for Monday, when he would learn the crush's reaction to his admission. Finally Monday came. He was dying. I was dying for him. I sent him off to school hoping the best for his innocent heart. Thank God, he bounced out to the car with a note from the crush, saying that she likes him too. We're not venturing into the realm of dating or girlfriends or anything like that yet. But I'm so thankful that this first experience with romance is positive for him. So far, anyway. Ok back to the shoes. Through all of the shoes, he is chatting about this girl and all his thoughts and musings about what's happening. I love that he's open and telling me all this, and I hope and pray these conversations will continue. At the end of the chat and the completion of the shoe organization, he says "I only have three pairs of shoes, and I wear them all. Weird." Wise beyond your years, my son. Wise beyond your years. And closet "remodel" project is complete.
4:30 pm We're creeping up on dinner time, but cooking doesn't sound amazing. I ask the boys what sounds good to eat, and they resoundingly bellow Chipotle. Done. We pile in the car. On the way down our street, we run into Rebecca and her dog, out for a walk. We chat for a bit about Brian's Japanese trip and the chilly weather. I love random run-ins like this. Get to Chipotle and get our grub on. Man, mine is spicy. I don't know what about these veggie tacos is so spicy, but my sinuses are getting cleared out. The boys eat like ravenous wild wolves, devouring eight-pound burritos like they haven't seen food in three months. I wonder what teenage years will be like with them. As we're wrapping up, I have another random run-in with an old friend from a Bible study I did years ago. We chat quickly before moving on. I love these moments so much! Makes me feel like I'm not in metropolitan Los Angeles, but more of a small-ish town where there's a community of some sort.
As we're piling in the car, J mentions that Cold Stone sounds good. Oh boy. It's right there. Oh man. So tempting. But so terrible. But Brian's on vacation, and these boys have been nothing but angelic. Ok why not. Let's do it! The boys pause, not quite understanding if their hippie pescatarian health freak mother just actually said yes to Cold Stone? They almost have to shake off the shock. But it does sink in, and they are amped. It's in the same shopping area, so we may as well have walked. But whatever. We're already in the car, so we re-park. On the way into Cold Stone, my threading joint is right next door. My eyebrows have been in desperate need of some attention, and it looks pretty empty in there at the moment. In continued spontaneous decision making, I tell the boys we're running in there quickly. It'll only take a minute. It literally does. I ask J to snap a photo of me getting this done, as I jump into the chair. I suspect he is embarrassed, but I really want a picture of this strange process. A sweet young Indian woman cleans me up, and I imagine the boys are watching in horror from behind. All done. Walk next door to Cold Stone.
I am so intoxicated by the smells of freshly made waffle cones that I forget to take a picture in there. Dang it. I love all the colors and candies, and it's every child's (and adult's) ultimate dreamy treat. I go through all the flavors with William, who has never been to Cold Stone before. I feel simultaneously proud and guilty. I ooo and ahh over all the goodies, and they hem and haw a bit about what to order. J settles on banana ice cream with Twix, and W goes with cookie dough and Oreo. Sadly, there is nowhere to sit inside Cold Stone, and it's much too chilly to sit outside. The teenage employee puts lids on the cups without even asking, and we take them home.
6:00 pm We're back home, and the boys are champing at the bit to dig into these delectable treats. They sprawl out on the counter and start going to town. I sneak a bite from each of theirs and am quite relieved I didn't order one for myself. I can't believe I'm even saying this, but I don't like it. It tastes like a pile of frozen sugar. Shocking, I know. But it just doesn't taste good. I suppose I have trained my taste buds to like things with more intense flavors. Dark chocolate with sea salt. Dark chocolate cups filled with port. Frozen mango slushy. These things have flavor. I soon notice that William doesn't seem too enthused by his delicacy either. After about three bites, he declares he's done. I'm simultaneously proud and irritated. We put it in the freezer. I send the boys upstairs to get showers. I cannot even begin to explain how amazing it is to simply send them upstairs like that. Granted, when Brian is home, he does bath time while I clean the kitchen. But them being old enough to do these tasks independently while I'm solo parenting is fantastic. I relish their independence while I straighten the kitchen again. Soon enough, William comes downstairs all clean and in fresh jammies (that he put on by himself ...backwards). So cute, and not many things better in life than a clean baby.
6:30 pm My sentimental clean baby thing is quickly ended when I walk into the living room and see the empty poster board I had purchased days ago. I had gotten it so we could make a welcome home sign for Brian, and each day has just flown by without much time to do an art project. I let the boys know we need to do it for sure. They get excited about it and get their markers and creativity flowing. Wonderful. The start of what I see is super cute, and I am delighted they are having fun with this thoughtful gesture. They are really into it with talk like "I'll do the W yellow. Ok I'll do the E red. Ok." Lots of planning and scheming about the colors and working together lovingly. I decide to sneak away during this harmony and do my own bedtime routine. I wash my face and get into jammies and look forward to the end of the day drawing near. As I'm finishing up, I begin hearing shrieky giggles. I'm glad they are having fun, and I go back down to see the finished project. Upon my arrival at the poster, I'm greeted with two stomachs filled with marker tattoos. A belly button filled in with black marker on one and the words "fat shit" across a chest of another. What the? They are cracking up, and I can't help but join them. Didn't see that one coming. Good one, silly boys! And the poster looks amazing! We will hang it on the door in the morning. For now, it's time for round two of showers. I shuffle them back upstairs to remove the tattoos.
7:15 pm I have two clean tattoo-free babies. Time to start tucking in. There is the usual crazy loony toon stuff happening between the two of them. Running back and forth between the bedrooms. Shrill laughs that I am shushing. After what seems an eternity, I get William in bed. He is all squirmy with his snuggles, but oh so cute. We sing Frosty the Snowman and all the versions of Mama Loves Me (Daddy, JDub, William, and Sandy). Night night, sweet angel face. Mama loves you. And Daddy will be home tomorrow. Muaaach.
I sit down for our nightly reading with J. We're doing The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe right now, which I am actually reading for the first time. I have always wanted to see what Narnia is all about, so I'm discovering it with Jonathan now. We're both loving it. He has lots of comments and questions, especially about the witch. After this, we scroll through golden retriever reels, our other nightly ritual. Some are hilarious. He gives Sandy some final pets, and I get him tucked in. Night night, sweet angel face. Mama loves you. And Daddy will be home tomorrow. Muaaach.
I scroll through my phone and catch up on "the news" (IG and Facebook). It's nearing 9pm, and I'm getting heavy-eyed. I tell myself I'll scroll for another minute. Within a few seconds, I stumble upon a link my cousin posted. She recently lost her husband after a tragic and grueling bout with ALS. I have loved following their journey, in a morbidly compassionate way, if that's possible. My heart has been heavy over his somewhat sudden death, and I think of her often. Raising their two girls alone. Coming home to a quiet bedroom. Finding a new normal. She is so strong and inspirational, it's mind-boggling, really. I had wondered if there would be a recording of the service (in Texas), and I'm glad to see now that yes, here is a link. Of course I get lost in this service.
I haven't attended many funerals in my life, which I suppose is a good thing. But hands down, this is absolutely the best one I've ever seen. It is beautiful. The music has clearly been chosen with specific meaning to his life and personality. There are stories shared concisely, not an open mic that drones on repetitively for years. There is a children's time, where about 10 kids pile on the stairs and have someone (with quite obvious training in mental health or clinical work of some kind) talk with them (and all of us) about grief. There are some teaching moments. And my cousin speaks about her husband, telling stories that capture his life and how she will miss him. I am bawling my eyes out and laughing out loud too. A gross snot face hot mess. Going through Kleenex without shame and glad I am in my jammies on the couch and not needing to hold it all together in public. Such a gorgeous tribute to a truly wonderful man. He will be missed, and my heart is with the family. And my mind is on my own family.
Life is so short. It's precious. We are fragile little beings -- physically and emotionally. And then it's over. Well, something is over. What the afterlife looks like ... that will have to be for another blog post. The point is that life is precious. And I love my life. I love these boys, these miracles of life, with every scrap of my heart. I love gurlfriend and all her filthy fur. And I love my big ole messy handsome extravagant minimalist, man of many interests, independence seeker, freedom breaker husband. So much. I miss him.
10:30 pm I climb into an empty bed for the last night (until next time). I get my magical magnesium supplements in my system. I sink into the pillow, feeling the contentment of a good day come to an end and ready for a good night's sleep. I am excited for the morning, when I can finally see my hubby again. I love him and all his adventurous ways. I love our story and how we've figured things out together and how we'll continue doing that. I love that we've chipped away our old cyclical vortex about freedom breaks and are into a new chapter. I love that this trip was amazing and fun for him, and the week was perfectly pleasant for me. It's a good life. I love it. And I want to live it for a long, long time.
