It’s quiet in our living room while my husband rests his head in my lap; the kids are in the newly-appointed craft studio in the back of the house. A hot cup of herbal tea freshly brewed sits on the coffee table, forgotten (I’d made it thinking Ralph might find it relaxing). My husband falls in and out of sleep and then after a bit wakes and asks, “Are you bored?”
“No,” I tell him. “I’m thinking. I’m hoping to live a long life with you.”
Ralph is tired. Over-tired. We both are. Tonight the four of us attended a lovely and lively show – the Handsome Little Devils, hosted at the college (talented, hilarious, and so kid-inclusive and wonderful). The show I wouldn’t have missed, but this was after a long day: in my case, running errands and visiting a potential studio locale; then cooking from-scratch cabbage rolls and Guinness Stout cake (for the Conch Shell tomorrow); freezing an apple pie and homemade Hostess cupcakes (for company coming Thursday). And of course, all the requisite cleaning and kid-wrangling (mine and others’) I get to do. Tomorrow, in the cooking sphere: garlic mashed potatoes, chocolate ganache, winter fruit salad with lemon poppyseed dressing.
And yes, since you asked, I’m doing about five thousand percent more dishes now that we’re running our “restaurant”.
Sometimes I think Ralph and I overwork and I wonder if we’ll ever be able to get out of that habit. It makes me sad at times to hold the man who was the boy I knew who didn’t have shit to worry about. But at the end of the day, we’re together and I have time to reflect how much this means to me. Holding his hand, I study it and I tell him I like being with you. He says, “It’s pretty great being with you too, you know.”
And so it goes.