Sunday, August 17, 2008

60 Minutes

When Andrew was a kid, the ticking stopwatch on 60 Minutes signaled the beginning of the end. Sunday evenings brought the demise of all things glorious and wonderful.

Goodbye cartoons and Cap’n Crunch. Hello Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, our Lady of Guadalupe.

Next week I’ll be facing my own 60 minutes. (I’m not getting shuttled off to a convent or anything—although that actually sounds kind of appealing right now.) Andrew’s leaving for sunny Spain in six short days. And I’m trying to steel my brain for eight days and nights home alone with two toddlers.

Yeah, I know a lot of women fly solo for years and years. But their decades of misery don’t make my week any easier.

Plus, life just isn’t the same without Andrew’s steady, mellow presence. I’m Fire and he’s Ice. He’s Yin and I’m a bitch. And that works for us. Except when we’re apart and then I feel like flying over the cuckoo’s nest.

So mark your calendars and give me a call sometime between the 23rd and the 31st because I’m going to need some adult conversation.

Oh yeah, and here's a picture of a chicken and a cat I saw talking to each other when we were out for a walk.


Sister One said...

You'll be just fine. I'll try to remember to call. Don't forget that Katie offered to take your kids so that you could go with Andrew. Now that sounds like the option I would have gone for!

SisterTwo said...

Wish we could come for a visit. But with school starting, volleyball practice, getting ready for the cow dispersal sale, moving farm equipment and the change in owners at the ranch we don't seem to have the time. I wish the kids would come for a visit, I sooooo miss rocking Anderson at night and all the kids' cute pictures make me miss them both even more.

Your descripition of yourself verus Andrew, sounds so much like Keith and myself. If he knows whats good for him (Keith), he won't agree with me. But I'm sure both my daughters would agree.