In Writing

So I saw my sweet chickadees off on their grand European vacation with their dad. I drove them all to the airport. My daughter hugged me hard and said, “You’re not going to cry all the way home, are you?”

I’m a crier. She knows this. And I’ve cried every other time I’ve dropped them off. But not this time.

“No,” I told her, and meant it.

I appreciate the solitude. It’s really awesome. And although my kids don’t impede me from doing anything while they’re here (they’re big now, and have their own lives), still I somehow get more done when they’re not around.

So it was that I got it in my head that I should oil all the hinges in my house. I opened the bathroom door, and it let out a mighty squeak. It’s been doing this for the seventeen years I’ve owned the house, probably, but this time I decided to do something about it. I headed to the basement on a grand search for WD40 (the last time I used it, I was probably mourning the Gore/Bush election). I found it in a dank corner, brought it upstairs and ran around oiling everything.

I challenge you to come to my house and make a single hinge squeak.

So, yeah, what I’m saying is I need to start getting out more. I actually have plans every night at the end of this week and on this weekend, so this should save me from scrubbing my bathrooms with a toothbrush. But it’s weird/cool to have the house be empty!

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