Friday night date with two blue eyed girls

Yesterday was a brutal marathon of research and writing. Trying to get this business and grant proposal in place. Love the lawyer. He's putting together documents and registering businesses and applying for certifications in record time. He wrote a beautiful IP protection document for me to hand off to folks. Where has he been all my life?

Today, I woke, set the kitchen timer and cleaned for an hour...and then another hour. Went for a run. Cleaned some more. Finally got the apartment into some sort of order. Good thing, too, because I ended up bringing J's kids back for homemade pizza and cookie making. Also a Netflix double-feature: Boxtrolls and The Croods. 

This is the first babysitting gig I've had since my Cameroonian boys last summer. An interesting side-effect of being affiliated with the military: I'm a trusted agent and people invite me in to their families. I get it. I invite people in to mine, as well. 

Funny thing: I spent so much time with J in Gabon and Cameroon, and I get a kick out of what his daughters say about him. 

"Dad doesn't like it when things go to waste," says Rebecca with an exasperated sigh. "He doesn't like sugar, but he ate my leftover fruit loops today and drank the milk."

This made me belly-laugh. In 2013, when he came with Eve and me to Gabon, I remember thinking how like my father J was. That is SO MUCH the sort of thing my dad did when I was a kid. 

Took the dog for a walk after I took the kids back home. 7-year-old Holly came tearing out of the apartment in her bathrobe and followed me, talking all the time. Did I know they were the first kids to have scooters? Did I know she had brown hair when she was born? Did I know she knows how to pick up the dog's poop? She didn't think Rebecca would mind being left alone while she and I walked the dog: "because I read in her diary, and she says she wants to be alone." 

"My parents wanted to name me Holly," I said. "But it would sound funny with my last name."

"What's your last name?"

I told her. 

"What's  your last name now?"

"The same."

"So that means you're not married?"

"I'm not married."

"Did you ever want to change your last name?"

"Once."

"When?"

"I was in love with a man. I wanted his last name very badly."

"What was his last name?"

I told her.

"Did you want to have kids with him?"

"Very much."

"But you didn't."

"No."

"Why not?"

"He had a very secret life. His work was very secret. He would have to give it up if he wanted to be with me."

"What kind of work?"

"He was a spy."

"What do you do if you're a spy?"

"You pretend to be someone you aren't so you can get information."

"He couldn't do that if he wanted to be with you?"

"No."

"So he wanted to be a spy more than he wanted to be with you?"

"Yes."

"Maybe when he stops being a spy, he can be with you."

"I want that very much."

Back home. Rebecca's waiting outside the front door for us. 

"You were gone for hours," she says, more out out of hurt than reprimand. We left her behind. I've stayed awake for a couple extra hours, trying to make headway on the proposal. Still behind the power curve. 

Saw a photo of a friend on facebook kissing her boyfriend. He is a Dutch Submariner. Hurts.