Been writing and processing the words “my husband” more than “being a wife” in recent weeks.
Reason for that is actually super clear to me. I became a wife before I met David. In the 7 years I was divorced or maybe 8, I became a woman who trusted herself, who learned to listen, who gave space to others, who took care of herself.
In those things, I became ready to be somebody’s wife. Those journals are where I learned that. Now I can marvel at the tide of him being husband… not boyfriend, not fiancé… husband. It’s fascinating.
But as the headband went on this morning and the sleeves rolled up, I found myself excited and motivated to get the house ready for the kids. Not the girls. The kids. Not Ellen and Lucy. Ellen Aria Lucy Kara and Maddox. 15, 14, 12, 11, 7.
I get to have a 7 year old again :)
I have gotten the house ready for the girls plenty of times. Week on / week off always afforded me a little Sunday practice of tidying and setting.
But this? This new ball game of getting the house ready for the kids has me daydreaming about decorating for Christmas with Kara, setting up Aria for supreme comfort and making the perfect balance of boy / man space for Maddox’s Star Wars toys and legos.
I’m setting aside the cookie and pancake stuff. Remembering the middle girls new love of “no bake chocolate cakes” and thinking of how to make their ingredients set up for them.. not just for the novelty and joy they would get from their own basket, but to prevent the surprise of all the sudden being out of vanilla when I go to use it.
It’s fun. David is down piddling in the shed and the yard. I’m about to put tunes back on and continue my evolution into stepmom, mom, mom of 5, “Erin”.