Six years ago, I was a single 38-year-old woman with no plans of a family. I was renting a tiny house and a huge barn on 140 acres of land. I had two dogs, a cat, a donkey, and four goats. In addition to my full time day job, I was a volunteer firefighter. I spent my spare time donkey riding, taking long walks with my dogs, and reading in my hammock. If asked, I would have said I don’t like children and never intend to get married.
Now here I am, 44 years old, with a life that I would not have believed had some fortune teller told me six years ago. What I really would not have believed is how happy I am in this life.
My son Alex turned five years old a few months ago. I’m married – to a frikkin’ knight (more on that another day). Sir Hubby has another son, Danny, who is twelve and spends summers and Christmas holidays with us. We own (who am I kidding – the bank owns it) a house in town, where I try to turn our little urban lot into as much of a farm as possible. We have seven hens at the moment, at last count nineteen kinds of fruit grow on our property, and I’ve turned what was the front lawn into raised vegetable beds.
I have less spare time now than I did in my earlier solitary days, but I often spend that time in front of the computer. So I thought – what the hell, spend a little less time playing online puzzles and write a blog!