I spent a while yesterday trying to figure out where the past few weeks have gone, and I realized that they have been a blurred haze of unbounded domesticity. Moving into a new home – a real home, for equal partners with equal footing and equal floor space – has been mind-blowing.
For the first time in my life, I want to come home at the end of the day – and when I get home, I find myself doing things to make the house better. This must be what normal people feel like!
And Raven, well, he is thrilled. He is thrilled about the house, and about all of the reasons we moved into it. He has worked – hard – since last summer to make things stronger between us, and I see where he has changed.
It wasn’t a result of that, precisely, that led him to choose to do this, but it somehow meant a lot more than it ever has when he sweetly and thoughtfully bought something for me. For us, really, because we both bake, but intended as a gift for me. For our house, to mark this next stage of our lives together. I saw the clarity in his gift, and the fact that it comes from joy rather than something… less fun is the best part of it. It was incredibly generous, and it is incredibly shiny. I’m in love. With it, and with him.
Here’s to better baking, gestures that are truly heartfelt, and eating all of the cookies I can possibly fit in my stomach. That is really the only outcome of having one of these in my house.