When last I posted. yesterday? the day before? three days before? last week? I have no idea . . .
When last I posted I mentioned something about batten down the hatches, get your life in order, my life’s gone all Apocalyptic on me. I mentioned several signs of impending doom. I thought I’d lay them out one by one. Giving a good glimpse of my whiny life over the last several months.
So. To begin: widow and orphans. So, I used to have a husband who lived with me. And he was very nice. He was super incredible (I-think-she’s-just-making-it-all-up-to-make-us-jealous) nice. He still is. He’s just not living with me right now. He’s in a land far, far away. Sent there by the military powers that be. Serving about a mega-church’s worth of soldiers as crises arise in their lives. He’s working hard, working well. Completely safe, really. The biggest threat to his life is that he’s an introvert surrounded by people all. the. time. But it’s his job and he likes it and he’s doing great at it.
That’s the shiny happy talk. The less shiny? the less happy? Holy sister of fruitcake! this is haaaaaaard! Every. single. day: it’s hard. It’s hard in the morning. it’s hard in the noontime. Insanely hard at suppertime. If you’ve read my blog before, you might have picked up on the fact that Ry does a. lot. of cooking in these here parts. Like, a. LOT. And now he’s gone. And these children. These growing children! (the boy is pushing 5’3”, 111 lbs., for those who are keeping score.) These children keep insisting on being fed every single day. I don’t get it. And you know what else I don’t get? Why, after Ryan left, food stopped magically appearing on our table. I don’t get it.
So on I march, through the year. Feeding these beautiful little people I live with, trying to finish this degree that seemed like a good idea to start (and likely was and continues to be a good idea), and trying not to think about just how desperately I miss getting to see my best friend every day. On the bright side: I dropped a few pounds when I stopped eating all those waffles and pancakes and chocolate cakes and cupcakes and ganache and ebelskiver and fresh bread and biscuits and . . . and . . . and. However, as the months have dragged on, I may or may not have replaced some of those calories with some liquid beverages I bring out after the kids are in bed.
At the end of the day, I’ve decided I really like my husband, I really like being married to him, and I especially like being married to him while living in the same hemisphere continent country time-zone house. I like to live in the same house he does. And not just because of his passion for making magic with flour. Although, that nearly covers it.