Three years and three months later

As Father’s Day 2018 comes to a close, I’m wearing earbuds while I read and write in bed, listening to my MaMuse station on Pandora. Rob is snoring softly beside me. Moxie is asleep in her own bed downstairs, having been carried there after catching the train to Slumberland from the parental bed station. I wish I were eating homemade pot stickers, the ones I added to the extended family pot luck earlier this evening. I’d never made them from scratch before—a keeper recipe.

I miss the family I came from. I’m thankful for the dear people I’ve gained through marriage, adoption, and plain friendship.

Look at this. I’m blogging again, Who’s really got time for writing? I certainly don’t, yet here I am. Seems like nobody even reads blogs these days. So I guess I’ll be talking to myself, mainly.

Foods of a day spent celebrating Rob and our dads:
Shaved ice made from peach nectar
Banana yogurt breakfast parfaits with squares of orange chocolate
Rhubarb custard pies, one beautiful, and one that couldn’t make custard without the forgotten eggs
Beef pot stickers
Thai curry popcorn
Root beer floats at church
Pot luck at Ahma’s house and the plate of food I had to abandons
A bag of Gin Gins for Rob