The kids were all gone by 7 am today. I have gotten an obscene amount of work done, uninterrupted, and am lounging in the backyard with the new addition to our family, Meg.
I have a solitude playlist going, and I’m living the good life!
At least until Ben’s doctor appointment this afternoon. Yeah, lucky us. The glamour of medically complex parenting just cannot be overstated.
Otherwise you will find me winterizing my garden, running, getting my house back together after a summer of neglect, writing, or more likely, doting on the sweetest dachshund ever to set paws on this earth.
Regardless, a weight has been removed. The constancy of parenting my boys has eased, and I feel like a helium balloon with just enough ballast to keep me from soaring into the stratosphere.
Yesterday Ben locked me out of the house. I stood on the deck trying to show him through the sliding glass door how to push down the lever he had just flipped up. It took several minutes. I almost cried in frustration, even though I could have summoned Hannah or gone through the garage. Not because I was stuck, but because the situation was entirely symbolic of our lives. The ridiculousness. The patience required. The task that should be so easy, but is almost unmanageable. But we didn’t give up. We stuck it out. Together. And we did it. We prevailed. We always do.
Nine months people. I can relax for 9 months.