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I have finally dusted off the ice cream maker we got as a wedding gift—it took a few soupy sorbets to figure things out (namely, that you really do have to wait a day for that bowl to refreeze), but I have finally hit upon an amazing recipe, and we are in love. Homemade ice cream really does taste better than store-bought, and the magic of seeing it form is delightful. Not to mention the flavor possibilities.

I was stirring the cream mixture over medium heat the other night, waiting for it to thicken, and wondering when I last did something that required ten minutes of standing there. Making ice cream isn’t something you can do quickly; it’s probably the dessert that requires the most waiting to make. The only other time I wait for anything is for patients to dilate in clinic, and I’m always getting things done in the meanwhile.

I finished my last day of residency yesterday. Four years of taking call, seeing patients dumped by other doctors, returning pages, having no control over my hours or lifestyle. I returned my pager today—I may not even have one this year—which felt terribly odd though wonderfully satisfying.

Being home more has been wonderful. Like making ice cream: time to take my time. Time to think, to do new things, to keep up with chores and sleep rather than playing constant catch-up. Time to be with Ellie: we dance to music, eat new foods, invent games and stories and wave to everything in the house. Time to love on the cats, who are so attention-deprived they rarely leave my side. Time to take care of Dave, who still works a tough schedule.

I begin to see what residency cost. Not so much the work hours as the fatigue, the lack of energy and spiritual and emotional reserve. Now I have time more to remember myself and all the things I liked to do, to think about other people, to feel rested, to practice healthier habits. I don’t regret any of it, and probably shouldn’t underestimate the amount I’ve learned, but boy, am I glad it’s over.