I got to make dinner for my family last night, the last night home—made spaghetti with kalamata marinara, roasted baby broccoli with parmesan on top of it, and some feta garlic bread. Nom nom nom. I did most of the cooking when I lived with my parents, and it’s nice to know that I’m missed.
My mother and I went out for coffee before dinner—I think she would like to make this a tradition. She asked me how things are going, and we ended up talking about the adoption quite a bit; she concluded that I need to have a baby. I don’t know, maybe she has a point. I’m feeling frustrated these days, and it doesn’t feel like my ideas about how to conduct this end of the adoption are working out or are what Ruth and Nora want. Don’t worry, I’m sticking to the prearranged child production schedule…but both Mr. Book and I have said to each other that we feel ready to have a baby. September can’t come too soon. Someone said to me recently that I will never have the relationship with Ruth that I really want, and that rang true, and now I’m not sure what to do. Remain available, be gracious, try to focus on other things.
This is a lame entry. Something better is bound to come along soon.