Not after the kids, or between work and the house. I mean, I do, of course, but when I say “I have to run,” it’s not because I’m looking for a nice way to finish a long phone conversation, or “I have to run” when I realize my daughter is waiting for me to pick her up from school and I completely forgot.
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.
“But mom, you’re making your meatball sauce, right? And the chicken soup!”. I was standing in line to use the payphone. The girl ahead of me was about to finish her conversation with home when she remembered to ask, just at the last minute, for one more treat she hoped to get when she returned home from a 5-day sleep-away camp: her mom’s cooking.
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.
