Wednesday, September 25, 2013


My meditation for the day:

When everything is bothering me and I'm having trouble remembering why I wanted to do anything other than live alone in a cave far from humankind, it's possible that I'm the one who needs an attitude adjustment, not everyone else in the world.

In related news, Jack is having a really hard time teething and was up four times again last night and I'm not my usual sunshine-y self when I get very little sleep for weeks on end.

*goes to happy place*

Wednesday, September 18, 2013


To me, there's nothing like the first couple of crisp days when fall is definitely in the air and you need a sweater to leave the house in the morning.

The first nights when you can leave the window cracked and snuggle under the feather duvet are heaven.

(It's fairly dorky to admit, but our feather duvet might be my very favorite purchase I've ever made for the house.  When I was a kid my best friend's parents had one on the bed in their guest room and whenever I spent the night there the feather duvet just seemed like the most luxurious thing in the world to me.  I caught one on sale a few years back and I still feel like the queen of Sheba when it's cool enough to put it on the bed.  ... it's the little things in life?)

The neighborhood is quiet now during the day because the kids have gone back to school.  The onslaught of tomatoes from the garden has subsided somewhat (thank goodness), and our produce consumption is turning toward winter squash and potatoes.

The peaches at the market have given way to the apples, which means that I'll be hauling a couple big boxes of seconds home because it's almost applesauce time.  (Paul is super excited about applesauce time: his enthusiasm for my applesauce is second only to his enthusiasm for the bushels and bushels of corn I haul home every summer.)

At the coffee shop, lattes have replaced my summer fare of iced Americanos.  The very first trees are beginning to hint at reds and oranges instead of breezy greens.

And, the best sign of fall, my pumpkin, the one I didn't even mean to plant, is turning orange.  The very first pumpkin that I haven't killed, discouraged, or otherwise maimed, is ripening in our side yard.  Really, it should probably be considered Jack's pumpkin, since the only reason it grew there is because I had pumpkins out for decoration in the yard last fall that I never bothered to bring in (possibly because I was ridiculously pregnant and bending over to pick them up didn't suit, and after Jack was born I spent three months curled up on the daybed doing nothing but nursing him, so that may have had something to do with the fact that they were abandoned.)  But, hope springs eternal for the pumpkin, and when last year's decorations rotted, new life was born.  How poetic.  I just hope it finishes ripening in time for Halloween so that Jack's first jack o'lantern is one that grew because of him.  

Monday, September 9, 2013


I've been thinking a lot about intentions this week.

Admittedly my thoughts have been somewhat scattered on the subject because my darling son is teething like crazy right now and hasn't slept for more than 3 hours at a time in over a month, but here's what I've come up with so far.  

I want to live intentionally.  

By which I mean that I want to take the time to notice the little things in my life.

(I told you this wasn't going to be rocket science.)

As far as I can tell, intentions can go one of two ways.  You can intend to do something and actually do it, or you can have all the best intentions and keep going on the way things always have been.

The boy-o is 10 months old now, and watching how fast he is changing and growing up is what sparked these musings.  I want to be intentional about the time I spend with him.  I'm his primary caregiver while Paul is at work, and some days that's not so easy.  Staying home with an infant is isolating and lonely and there are days when you feel like you'll never be able to put your boobs back in your shirt and have an adult conversation ever again.  (I hear that strippers have a similar problem.)  Then, once the kiddo is bigger, you might feel like you'll never be able to get anything done again because he is into EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME.  If it's not the oven broiler drawer it's the dog's water bowl. (You don't realize how much water is actually in there until it's all on the floor.  Five dishtowels-worth, in case you were wondering, and then the floor is *still* wet because you've run out of dishtowels you're willing to mop the floor with.)   

But there are a lot of awesome moments, too.  He learned to clap his hands a few weeks ago, and now we get a round of applause when we walk into the same room he's in.  That feels pretty good.  He also learned to high-five from a friend of ours at the farmers' market, and that's charming, too.  He imitates our "HAH!" when we're playing with him, and he knows how the lizard goes (picture an adorable 10 month old boy poking his tongue in and out of his mouth as fast as he possibly can.  That's comedy gold.).  He delights in his new-found skills of putting objects into bowls and dumping them out again.  He loves the water.  He watches everything and tries to figure it all out.  He's learned to pet Penny gently, and the two of them share toys (... we're working on building good immune systems?) and genuinely seem to get a kick out of each other.

I want to remember all of that.  

And more than remembering it, I want to enjoy it while it's happening, too.  I intend to do that.