sunday night

I had forgotten. I love Sunday nights. I clean my kitchen on Sunday nights. I get ready for the week on Sunday nights. I wash lunch boxes and run the dishwasher with water bottles and the weekend’s mess. I cleared the table and gave it a good scrub and that’s no small feat in this house. I am doing laundry. I picked up the ever-growing pile of sweepings, long ignored, and put it into the trash. The recycling is ready for Tuesday. It looks nice in there. It has been several years since I’ve had a Sunday night like this but I’m on my own again and it’s all up to me. It’s easier to get things done knowing that.

He only had one drawer here. A pair or two of socks and a shirt. Some pajama bottoms that I had bought long ago for a nephew who I never saw at Christmas so they lived in the attic until he wore them. Not so hard to put that all away. Cleaning the kitchen tonight I found a coffee cup he drank out of with the silt still at the bottom. It’s soaking now. Before long there will be nary a trace. Poof. Gone. I feel bad for my children because they don’t understand about people growing apart. At least he hadn’t been around much in the past months so it isn’t a giant black hole for them but it’s still a loss.

Ending a dying relationship is a positive thing but it takes some time to come out on the other side. Stages to go through and all – especially when he finds someone shiny and new just like that and you’re pretty certain you won’t. Maybe it’s enough to put on a little mascara and be noticed while grocery shopping. I may be in the not-so-young department but I look okay and it’s always nice to be checked out unless by a creeper, as my kids would say. It’s probably best to leave it at that for now.

I often hope I’ll come back in another life as someone who marries their high school sweetheart and lives happily ever after. I used to love seeing the photographs on my old neighbors’ wall: they married young and I marveled at all the hairstyles they had been through together. I used to want to come back as a gear head so I could have a muscle car and know how to fix it. That was in my twenties. In my early thirties I wanted to come back as a dog with a really good owner. Then, in my late thirties, I just wanted to come back happy.

And I did. Mostly. Ralphie and Violet give my life shape and meaning. I may have more sass in my future and other frustrating and hard times but there are these two wonderful, affectionate, and loving creatures lying in my bed waiting for me to snuggle in between them. Clean sheets. A path cleared to the bed. Perfection. Off I go.

9 thoughts on “sunday night

  1. Nailed it again, Sugarplum. Rocketed me right back to the moment, and even froze me there for a second, when I found a pair of shorts behind my bedroom bookcase. We had been in one of those frenzies, I’m guessing, that only happen in the beginning, and torn each others’ clothes off, tossing them wherever. I dug around in my sewing box and found my pinking shears and cut the fucking things into dust cloths. They were that good, soft cotton knit that works well on glass.

  2. This made me feel both happy and sad. Happy because it reminds me about gratitude in the ordinary and in family. Sad because of loss on top of loss in my own life. If it’s any consolation….I was 64 when the new guy and I found each other and it’s good. Happy? Sometimes certainly. But I still find happiness to be elusive and slippery. Maybe that’s how it is for everyone. When it shows up tho I wallow in it.

    • Happiness is elusive and slippery. Good thing we can usually find a little of it even in the worst of times. I am glad you found someone you love at 64 and that you had real love for many years before as well. It would be nice to someday feel that too.

  3. Awesome. Wonderful if you’ve been reading every blog post, like I have. But if someone started here, this would stand on its own. And you look better than okay. You happen to be gorgeous. Water mascara to play up those eyes.

  4. Water? Where did that come from? Anyhoo – wear the mascara. Some really gross guys will check you out. But nice cute ones will too.

  5. I’m really relating to your posts! I discovered your mom’s writing several years ago (Safekeeping is one of my favorite books ever) and damn, if those genes don’t pass on the good stuff – it happened in this case, for sure! I am so glad I discovered your blog. This one really hit me. I know exactly how you feel on Sunday nights when stuff is picked up, and you feel contentment and you’re ready for what’s ahead. Please keep writing.

    • Thank you, Kim, for your lovely comment. I am so glad you’re finding relatable stuff and that you’re a fan of my mom’s (and now mine)! Yay!

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