It was the end of a six-week period in which my guy was on-call, and I could hardly remember my name. During these weeks, the most my girls get to see of him is a glimpse of his shadow when they wake up in the middle of the night crying because they miss him.
Two weeks ago, my oldest performed in a school-wide ceremony. Parents are not usually invited to these kinds of ceremonies, but since she was performing, I received a direct order to come watch her. One of the greatest perks of working from home is the ability to be available to watch the girls’ performances and shows, no matter how small of a part they actually have in them.
I was 38 years old, with 3 girls in the backseat of my car, 13 years of marital bliss, an impressive resume of several management positions, 4 years into our overseas adventure, and less than a year to our return date, when I decided I needed to know what I wanted to be when I grow up.
Last summer I had coffee with a good friend I hadn’t seen in a while. He ordered a double espresso with a side of steamed milk and I had a decaffeinated brew of ginger, mint, and honey. We had chatted for about 30 minutes, and I was sharing the plans for a friend’s 40th birthday celebration, when all of a sudden he interrupted.
