not so lonesome.

I ate this entire frozen Margherita pizza all by myself last night.

There is something called the NAMM show that takes place every January in Southern California that manages to steal my husband off for 5 days for "business." I use quotation marks because while it is clear he works long 16 hour days he also gets to go to schmoozy dinners and party every night. I wrote this post last year during my husband's NAMM stay about how odd it was to feel so alone in a big house, my husband's missing effervescent presence making the space feel so empty and dark. The soundtrack of a man (electric razor, awful music choices {sometimes}, loud sports TV, gross bodily noises) is missed from this house and there is no suitable substitute for it's void.

That man and his place in this house is special to me, but this year is different from last. I am not all alone. My sweet little boy is here, just starting to giggle this week and bring a new sound track to this not-so-empty house. Sweet baby laughter, the tinkling of funny baby toys, the rhythmic rock of a baby swing, hungry cries and funny pooping grunts. The soundtrack of our home is different with just the two of us here, but sweet mama and baby time sounds is just fine for now. We'll welcome papa home tonight and enjoy family-of-three sounds before two long (family-of-six sounds if you count yappy terrier barks & hungry cat yowls).


Also, I'd like to comment on something. I am not sure why I feel so compelled to comment about this, but I do. Regarding my post last week, Scars: Reading some of the comments I get the impression that I left the wrong impression when I wrote it. I read it back out loud to myself and it says everything I wanted it to say, but it seems I've left the rest of you with the feeling that I am still saddened Elliott's scars. That they still dredge up a bad taste in my mouth and memories of awful experiences. They do not. They did for several weeks. But now, they mean more to me than I can ever express; they remind me of the fight Elliott fought; the fight my husband, my family, and I fought. Just as his scar has healed, we are learning to heal from this experience, too. That badge of honor on Elliott's chest will be something I always hold in my heart, and now, I can look at it with pride.


  1. Charlotte, your son is so cute, and he is not only cute he is a cute fighter!


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