Today we rediscovered the world of processed food. Saltines, it turns out, are the world’s greatest food when you haven’t been allowed to have anything pre-salted in three weeks. Steak sandwiches and pierogis have also hit the menu. There is no baking taking place in the kitchen tonight. The stew does not have to be inspected six times over. I find myself putting all the Kosher foods away on the first night of Hanukkah. I consider us paid up throught Lent of 2050 on the giving up of food things.

And it’s the weekend, which means that even though I still haven’t done anything to prepare for Christmas, I’ve got a shot at it. For the first time in over 13 years, it’s 10 days before Christmas and my husband has done more shopping than I have. Things Must Be Rectified.

I’m still exhausted, but it’s the exhausted of someone who sees the light of home on the horizon — of things returning to normalcy — of delivery people and pre-roasted chickens and potatoes from a box and eggs that come in shells and bread that comes pre-sliced. In a few more days the dog will be underfoot again and maybe, just maybe, we’ll find time to put the tree up.

I’ve declared myself a firm disbeliever in radiation, though as with anyone in an interfaith relationship I’ve promised to respect Nighthawk’s belief in subatomic particles. I stole a hug yesterday, and will steal another one yet tonight. I can smile again.