Strawberry Separation Anxiety

Some days, nothing happens which is overly earth-shattering. Today is one of those days. R left the house on some errands, and tore herself away from her first-born for only the third time in his short existence. (It reminds me of the first years of our marriage, when we could count on one hand the number of nights we'd spent apart -- for the first year I think it was zero.)

We picked the first strawberry of the year from our back yard. Then we ate it. It almost doesn't seem possible that something so tasty could pop out of the ground just outside my door. That was our day. Oh, I also worked on plans to build a mock-up of the Centre Block of Parliament out of leftover ceiling panels for an upcoming dance with a Canada Day theme. That's everything. A ho-hum day.

R seemed to handle the separation quite well. She said that she felt a bit more like her old self today -- physically and mentally. Being off on her own, wearing her old clothes again, for a moment it all faded into the background. But when she came home, there was somebody hollering and shouting about a meal, and reality came rushing back, I'm sure.