I awoke in a rough mood–feeling sugar hungover from all the dough I ate the day before, body sore from working out this week, and generally sleepy. But AA was up, showering, and yes, as I confessed on facebook, I hadn’t made him a lunch. When your awesome husband works 12-14 hour days and you get to be at home with the kiddos, pouncing on the internet every chance you get, eating cookie dough, sprawling in the hammock with your two monkeys, not showering, all these luxuries, you really ought to make his damn lunch.
So I got up, pulled my bathrobe on, shuffled downstairs, fumbling a little with the kitchen lights. Who knows if the dog was fed–I mean, she barks as though she is starving no matter what. She’s fed, the water is put on for oats, and I survey the kitchen. A little humus. A number of kiddie leftovers-maybe-they’ll-eat-it-for-lunch-tomorrows, cheese in abundance, no eggs, lots of pickles, defrosted chicken thighs, eureka! Deli turkey breast. Sliced. Grey Poupon. Cheese. Bread. It’s a sandwich kind of day.
Cherries, sandwich, yogurt + blueberries + pistachios, almonds in the shell, humus & celery to dip. Yup. He’s got something to eat for the day. The oatmeal is bubbling and as I drain out the oats, abandoning the murky water it boiled in, milk pours itself practically right into that oversized tupperware he’ll eat from on the bus. Out the door, my love, and another day at work.
Upstairs, not a peep from the kiddos’ rooms. Sew I so. And write a few guest posts for other blogs. And talk on my headset to my sister, Molly. And wait for the morning to really take off.
He woke up happy. She woke up lonely. The pain of living in your own private bedroom. He dragged an antique wooden chair over to the wall, at the foot of her crib, saying “I will read to you as you wake up.” And so he did. Sheep Take a Hike. Her face smoothed of cry wrinkles, listened to his fanciful imaginative version of the story. She sang along. She clapped. She loved this tender love moment.