but I don't mind, no I don't mind

In high school, I hated mornings. I hated driving to school. I hated being there. I hated spending Sunday dreading the upcoming week, and I hated Mondays the most. The only joy I found was in blaring Fleetwood Mac’s Monday Morning and singing along at the top of my lungs. I’d roll the windows down and I’d think about how Lindsay Buckingham’s voice made my tummy all squiggly. (You’d think this was 1976, but no, it was 1997.)

**

I went to the beach on Saturday with Izzymom and her beautiful children. My son held hands with her son. We spent three and a half hours together and didn’t mention the Internet once. (To be fair, we were wrangling kids most of the time.) But still.

**

Feeling disjointed. I have a sore throat. Beef stew in the crock pot — the house smells like sage and salty broth. My girls are coming for Thanksgiving. I planned meals again this week. The baby got his first skinned knee today. I reconnected with an old friend this afternoon. I'm going to work on my fiction again. I want to bake a pie. My girls are coming for Thanksgiving and they'll center me and for a few days our family-nouveau will be whole and for that, I am so very thankful.