We had the day to ourselves. Sarge had the day off, and three little children were at school. He calls it "killing time," which aggravates me to no end, someone who is constantly running out of time and wishing she had more. So I'll call it "quality time."
We went to get coffee together, intending to sit and conversate (like adults! unheard of!), but the place was packed, so we took our coffees and acted like the suburban adults that we are, who go nowhere between the hours of 9:00 am and 10:00 without their store-bought latte with a cutesy little insulator thingie. We ran errands that we had absolutely no need to run, but it was time together, talking like adults (!) and enjoying one another's company.
And, we went to the library. I was so pathetic at the library. It's been so long since I've been able to look at books without pictures that I don't even know where to begin. We browsed a long time. Sarge knew just where to go, just the books and authors he knew he wanted to read or not. I looked at non-fiction, I looked at fiction, I looked at romances, and inspirational fiction. I'm too old for romances. I'm likely to fall asleep over non-fiction. I haven't had enough strife in my life to identify with so many fictional characters - it seems so many revolve around the aftermath of the death of a child, and frankly, I just can't handle that. Or career women. Because I totally can't relate to that.
I guess, however, there are no stories of happily married women with (mostly) normal children. Because our lives are just not interesting enough to fill up a book. But that's not really a bad thing, now is it?