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Thursday, December 6, 2018

with scarves of red tied 'round their throats

This morning I read a thread about the Joy of Cooking and was tweeting my affection for that cookbook, and as I leafed through my battered copy and thought about how the recipes in Joy have fed and nourished my family for the past twenty years I found myself welling up with nostalgia.  Part of it is my love for books, especially those that have educated me and made me a better person, part of it is the holiday season, which is centered around food and family memories, and part of it is that my oldest son, currently still in bed upstairs, sleeping off a night of bingeing "The Legend of Korra," will be leaving next Wednesday for his mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (TM), and our family will be irrevocably changed.  I am a crier anyway, but it's worse now than usual.  My feelings about missions and baptisms and the church in general are complicated and beyond the scope of this particular post, but in a nutshell:  I want him to go, he needs to go, and I hate that he's leaving.  It's not just him being gone, it's also that it begins the emptying of our nest.  In two more years our second child will leave, then our third, then our fourth, and we'll be on to the next phase of our lives.  Which I am excited for!  But the last fiveish years have been the best years of my life, and I have cherished them.  We have loved and joked and argued and played and eaten most of our meals together for a long time now, and I will be sad to see these years end, even if they are being replaced by something else that is (possibly) just as good.  Parenting is a wonderful, heartbreaking endeavor.