March 3rd

Posted: March 3, 2013 in Uncategorized

Dear journal,

If I had a normal person’s work week (ha, what is normal?), I would be saying Thank Goodness It’s Friday. However, the only difference between weekend and weekday for me is when I make lunch (either in the morning, to be packed and eaten at school or work, or around noon). Speaking of which, the girls mentioned that they are more than capable of packing their own lunch, and Nick indicated that he didn’t mind doing his own either (Ellen is still battling the phone in the longest staring contest I have ever seen), so I guess there really isn’t a difference between weekday and weekend for me.

Friday, however, means that Andrew is coming home with Nick tonight, to have dinner with all of us. I don’t really know what to plan for entertainment beyond that – everyone might go their separate ways, or people might want to engage in a card or board game. Either way, I’m just excited to have something slightly different from routine to look forward to. I changed up my day by taking a run really early this morning, meaning that I was back just before the girls left for school, but that just left the rest of my day wide open. At least I got some grocery shopping done. I tried to get Ellen to come with me, but she figured that would be the exact time that potential employers would be calling. When I got back, carrying a few more bags than I should have carried by myself, she was in the same seat, and it didn’t look like she’d moved an inch. I just went about my duties, putting things away in the fridge and pantry, and preparing various items for meals I plan to cook over the weekend. I wish I could say where I got my culinary talents, but it likely wasn’t from Mother, who always preferred things that came in cans – they were easier to stock pile in the pantry than fresh foods. Making dinner, to her, meant finding the can opener (or one of them, anyway, since she seemed to keep at least four at all times) and heating a can of something on the stove.

I ate out of that pantry for two months after she died, before I had to do any substantial food shopping. We would have been fine if there was a particularly harsh breach of the barricade, if only she had learned to lock the door.

At least all this new-found free time has given me an excuse to start going through all of the papers I found in the master bedroom (it feels weird to call it Mother’s old room, but also strange, in this context, to call it my room, because it wasn’t my room when I found the papers). Most of the ones I have looked through are just old junk, but a few have old photographs that are interesting, so this isn’t a total waste of time. At this point, and up until Ellen finds herself a job, I will leap at any chance to not have to watch her wait for the phone to ring. Before long, she’ll be checking for a dial tone every few minutes, just to make sure the phone is still working (which will lead to her worrying that they tried to call while she was checking, and since they got a busy signal, they moved on). Now that I think about it, I’m not sure what is worse: her looking at the phone or me imagining what is or could be going through her head. If I cannot stop focusing on what she is doing, I’m probably the one who needs to get a life in this situation.

Anyway, my hands are still black with old newsprint, so I better go wash up and get dinner on the go so we can have a pleasant evening – or something like that.



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