Of all the highs and lows of owning a second home/cabin/whatever the -- sort of strange -- high is that my sweet husband -- for some reason -- wakes up with me and sits with me while I feed the baby when we are at the cabin. Really? I know. Strange and adorable, right? But I think it is evidence that the cabin might in deed solve the problem that we saw coming down the pipe, which was that we are both so independent that it was becoming easy to just not need each other. (That on top of all the other problems I have like not truly understanding the meaning of life, not really loving (or not hating) to be outside, and organizing my days to give me more breaks from the little children that I profess to love so dearly.)
But now I find myself with an audience at 2 a.m., and I just might decide I like it better that way. As much as I like my space, when we get back from the cabin I miss everyone ... and especially my man. And on top of that, my shows seems less important, and the laundry doesn't seem so vast. But spiders do go back to being freaky ... and dead.
That's enough typing: Is Tim home yet?
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