If this was a movie . . .

. . . I would be on the verge of the moment where the heroine meets the love of her life.

How do I know this?

Because I am currently wearing a tiara and a ruffled apron and paying my taxes. This is following hours spent baking brownies and drinking red wine while reading Tina Fey’s highly amusing memoir. Clearly a moment scripted for the entry of the best friend who has always secretly loved me and chooses this poetic moment when I am at my uniquely zaniest to come and appreciate me.

But it is crazily raining so I totally understand if he isn’t up for that today. Especially since we have not yet met. Next time, OK?

So this is what happens when a highly domesticated animal such as myself is let loose into the wild for a weekend every two weeks. Insanity.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I am so used to having people to take care of and watch out for and cook for and clean for and love on . . . that I literally have NO IDEA what to do with myself when left to my own devices.

No. Idea.

I shop. Too much.

I get my nails done. Oooo . . . sparkly.

I eat. A ridiculous amount.

I bake. This is a new, but not positive, direction.

And apparently I dress is zany outfits to convince myself that life is fabulous. And to lure imaginary admirers to me with magnetic weirdness.

Note tiara as evidence.

I love my tiara. It makes me feel royal and amazing and fun. My kids would be super amused that I am wearing it . . . and yet, they are not here. Sniff.

And I love my ruffled apron. (My son thought I said “waffled” when I described it to him. My waffled apron! Ha!)

I love wine and brownies. A lot.

And yet . . . I would much rather have a weekend of my real regular life where I am not on hiatus and trying to entertain myself by doing crazy shit to make it all seem less empty.

There is something so fundamentally weird in the every-other-weekend phenomenon. Like I disappear from view for 2 days . . . poof . . . gone. And then come Sunday night, I’m Baaack!!

But what am I supposed to be doing during hiatus?  I know I should be living my rich and fabulous life. And I am trying . . . really trying. Yay me!

But that doesn’t make it any less weird. And it doesn’t mean I like it.

About Kristen

Me: Kristen, more than 40-something (don't make me face the number), suburban mom of 2, working girl, therapeutic writer, proprietor of an emptying nest Addictions: Iced Coffee, FOMO resulting in twitchy compulsion to check FB/Instagram/Pinterest in an unending loop, texting, hugging my one child while Snapchatting the other and yelling at my dog

7 Responses

  1. Gman

    I know what you mean. Eighteen years later, I can still tell you what I cooked for supper for the first meal I made to eat solo after my wife moved out.

    I can also tell you the first supper I cooked two years hence for the true love of my life, who came home on dinner break from the newsroom night shift and called out “Hello, little family!” to me and her dog as she walked in the door. A magical moment, that.

    Stay strong.

  2. kirsten martin

    You are doing amazingly well, I believe. And I need to borrow your tiara — every woman should wear one at least once, don’t you think?

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