Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
Both of the "boys" are asleep. The Man is trying to catch up on all the shut-eye that he missed while working the air show, and Littles is worn out from a long day of playing with yours truly. I went in around 5.30pm to see if the Man wanted to wake up for dinner (he's been asleep since around 11.30am), but even the delectable scent of hamburger pot pie wafting into the bedroom could not rouse him. Too bad for him--I'd left a secret message on the top of the pie. It is no longer since I ate the "U" out of the "I <3 U."
So, I sat down with my meal and Julie and Julia and thought about blogging and food. Naturally. At the end of the day, my pie crust isn't very pretty and I make meals that come (at least partially) out of a can, but I'm okay with that. I've never aspired to be a gourmet cook. If it tastes good, I'm satisfied. And most of the time it does. Saturday night's pork chops excluded, but I blame that on the fact that Josh got off work an hour and a half later than I'd planned for. C'est la vie. (Note the exquisite use of French--not only am I under the influence of Julie and Julia, but I have also just finished reading I'll Never Be French (no matter what I do) by Mark Greenside.)
At any rate, one load of laundry and some peach cobbler later, it's good to be home and writing. I love our little home and our little family, and I love that I've spent today writing and being a mom. As I told my sister today, I feel happier and healthier when I'm writing, as if, in some way, using my gift makes me more complete. Just getting words out on the page and seeing them take shape into something tangible and real makes me feel alive again. But who knows, it could just be the effect of the rain...