I hear Maroon 5 through the wall, the kids singing along to the music, and one of the puppies barking in the backyard. Now I hear raucous laughter, some growling, and some yelling. I think my sister is body slamming the children in the playroom.
I taste the chocolate chip and walnut cookies that I really have no business munching on a mere ten minutes before dinner.
I smell Frank’s chicken and sausage courtboullion with its intoxicating roux and trinity vegetables. I can also smell the croissants baking, so within the next five minutes Frank will bang on the kitchen wall, on the other side of which is our bedroom where I’m now in lazy bum mode, to alert me that it’s dinnertime. There’s also some sort of pastry for dessert baking, but I can’t tell what it is. This afternoon Frank was scrolling through FoodNetwork.com for recipes and later come home with pastry dough, though he wouldn’t tell me what his plans were. He’s secretive like that; telling me about a new recipe before the plated presentation takes away some of the wow factor. Whatever it is I know it will be good.
I see my umpteenth episode of "America’s Next Top Model" today. Somebody should probably do something about those three baskets of clothes over there in the corner that need to be folded and put away, but it won’t be me. At least not tonight because…
I feel exhausted beyond all belief, my left boob has some funky pinching thing happening, something is twinging in the great down below as an early heralding of my period which is soon to appear, and I have a lovely Lupron headache that I can’t seem to shake.
But all is good, and I feel joyous and soothed my family’s miasma of sights, sounds, and aromas.
Frank is knocking.