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Sometimes, even Mom leaves an empty toilet paper roll. I just wanted to see what it felt like to be a kid again, assuming somebody else would take care of it.
You know what happened?
I was the next one to use that bathroom. I, Mom, still got to change the roll. What rolls around, comes around.
On another note: my default response to any indulgence is to decline. Nope, don't need it. Life is fine without it. It's just money down the drain. Can't afford it. The old one hasn't broken down totally yet.
No, nope, not now, never.
You know what? Sometimes, it's fine to say yes!
Last night, after an extremely long day at a property, on the phone trying to work out a deal, and long drives for a closing in one city and getting papers signed in another city, my default setting was saying to go home. It had been a long day. I could snack on granola bars in the car for the 1 1/2-hour drive back to the house. The Cinnamon Altoids I'd had for lunch were still doing the job.
Wait! What was wrong with taking some time to have a real dinner, actually sitting down and enjoying it?
Guess what? Nothing is wrong with that! I'm not gone most evenings. My children are fine.
So, I enjoyed every bit of a sit-down meal with the two ladies who had accompanied me to the last appointment of the day.
And it was the best time I'd had in a long time.
Sometimes, just a bit of refreshment is all that is needed for carrying on.
Life has been drastically different from a few months ago. Some elements remain that ring of that time; other elements have been replaced.
To tell you the truth, I've been saying goodbye to a picture I had--a picture of a happy life with my husband and children in our happy home in a happy neighborhood, where we loved and respected each other, and had the scent of home-made bread hanging in the air.
I love making bread and hearing my loved ones make yummy sounds while they eat it.
Those close to us already know about the divorce we're going through. It stinks, and it comes wrapped in a package of humiliation and embarrassment.
While we work out the final details, I feel like a stranger in my own home. Boxes everywhere; fancy dishes wrapped in newspaper; the few movies I do care about when I have a chance to watch anything lined up and ready to go.
Everything feels off; I can't settle in. I can clean and organize, but it's not mine anymore. Even the paint color feels different. It's become a stop until a new home can be established.
In the end, I am praying for peace: peace in each of our homes, peace inside our children, peace in us. Peace that passes all understanding.
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