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.