"I think I used to belong here, but the only way I can tell is that I miss you still and I cannot find you here..."
And so it begins.
The husband has reached his destination. I'm here. I'm doing the sole parenting thing. I'm surrounded by people. I'm lonely.
I ate dinner in the sukkah last night at shul and sat alone. There were more people there than I've ever seen at sukkot, yet I wrangled the kids by myself. Idiot me didn't think about the hell that is a buffet dinner with 4 children, especially one who needs a high chair, but someone else always gets the lone high chair first. The youngest was in "fine" form and people laughed as I tried to carry two plates of food while herding her with my foot. :::sigh:::
After countless people gave me amused looks and outright laughed at me (I haven't consulted my rabbi, but I'm fairly certain beating people isn't shomer shabbat, which is good, because I very well might have otherwise), a very sweet woman (also mother of 4, but hers are all grown) jumped up and carried my plates to our table. I could have kissed her if I wasn't busy trying to keep the youngest restrained (remember, someone else beat me to the high chair).
The kids opted to move inside after the flies started winning the battle for dinner. So I rounded up all our things (which was cumbersome and frustrating) and the youngest (who was also cumbersome and frustrating) and made my way inside--to the lone table in the back. The kids inhaled the rest of their food and ran to play with their friends. I sat there alone (with the youngest, but since her dinner conversation leaves much to be desired, I'll consider myself "alone").
I had hoped to sit and chat with a friend, but her baby exploded, so she had to rush off. I took the youngest to the play room where a friend and a new acquaintance were, but they soon filed out to head back to the festivities in the sukkah (to which I tried to return, but the youngest made that difficult & I didn't want to distract the others). So we headed back to the playroom where I cleaned up all the while feeling very sorry for myself.
At shul after services this morning, I thought I heard my husband's voice and it took me a second to realize that wasn't possible. That was a let down (and not in the good milk-spraying way).
Gah! Just gah! It's only just begun. GAH, I say (this time in all caps, although I'll forgo the use of excessive punctuation to show my displeasure).
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