Ira Glass is Always There

I made fried cauliflower and potatoes for dinner. In one pan, because it was for only one person in the house.

My youngest son and my husband were away at a soccer tournament and my two oldest ones, as of five days ago, now go to college together. (dropping off the second child is no easier than dropping off the first. if anything, you feel it more because you now know the ache of their absence. my hope is that in their lonely times -- not saying they're going to have them, but if they do  -- that they remember how I hung on their necks when we said goodbye)

From a household of five two years ago, to one person here, the one typing this.

I ate angel food cake for breakfast and for lunch I scrambled eggs with cheese and cream in the same pan I ate out of.

I lived by myself once, for five years. That time then never felt like this day today.

Because I didn't know. I do now, but I didn't know then what it feels like to have people you've had in your life since the first seconds they were born, living somewhere else.

I look in the mirror and wonder if I would have recognized myself in this reflection 30 years ago.

I've had twenty years of weekends with three boys, but this weekend, I'm taking myself for two walks a day, and catching up on my Ira Glass. Faithful Ira Glass.

If you see me later at the store cradling a family size box of Lucky Charms, assume that all is well, and it's just me missing the days of when 64 oz. of cereal lasted two days.

I miss the full house, but it's not all broken cracking heart pieces.

I miss my children, but space has cleared up to catch up on Ira, because room has been made from not having to clean my children's bathrooms anymore.

 

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