Husband is out of town.
Generally speaking, my immediate reaction to his announcing that he's going out of town is panic.
No, it wasn't any different this time. I still panicked. Inside.
I'm trying to convince myself that I am a big, independent woman who can do lots of nifty stuff on her own... right?
So far my nifty-self-stuff includes: taking pictures of myself in the bathroom. Going to church and playing keys, then proceeding to sit in the bag of our welcome area out-of-sight from the pastor so that I could sink into a recliner and close my eyes... and eat snacks... and play words with friends...
What? It's not so bad. I
have get to go to church again tomorrow.
Purposefully not making the bed in the morning, because it doesn't bug me. So there. I wont' make it.
Singing sooooooper loud soooooper late at night.
Lighting up my autumn-scented candles, letting the fireplace stay on for an hour (don't tell him.), and wearing my giant fuzzy pink slippers. It's a good night.
See? I am a big girl. I can do lots of fun stuff without him.
But he is still the kiss to my hug, the pea to my carrot, the shoe to my (giant pink fuzzy) slipper.
And just for kicks.... my bathroom picture.
Maybe not as grown up as I thought. Maybe I revert back to a middle school girl.