HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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rule 62 of the handbook no one has written.
There ought to be a rule. Number 62 in the parenting handbook or something. Any words muttered by you or your spouse between the hours of midnight and six a.m. cannot be held against you. The world seems dark and the situation seems dire when your two-year-old son wakes up at three thirty-six a.m. His room is upstairs. Your room is downstairs. Your bed is warm. The covers are tight. The hallway is long and the steps are cold. You lie in bed and pretend you just don’t hear him, hoping your spouse will take this round for you. It’s an absolutely unfair advantage when said crying two-year-old chooses to…
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books. tomes. volumes.
I heart books. I like old books with faded covers. I love used books with inscriptions inside addressed to people who are not me. I like borrowed books. And novels signed and dated by authors I have never met. Even more so do I love the ones signed by authors for whom I have stood in line and waited with friends to listen to the authors read aloud from their own writings. I like the smell and the crisp crisp crispness of a book purchased just off the shelf, third from the rack, touched by no one but myself and the person stocking the bookstore’s shelves. We are always reading…
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a little educational facilities tour.
The School of Keigley has officially reopened its doors after a brief hiatus. (Still trying to rename our school, by the way. We think we have settled upon a better name option, but all parties involved have not come to complete agreement yet.) New calendar year, new location. And let me just say, despite the lower indoor temperatures, I love our little school room. The color is bright (turquoise) and the space is large and we can make a mess and shut the door without cleaning up when it’s time to eat dinner. I’m still working on some finer details and have quite a bit more art to display on…
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baby, it’s cold inside.
This morning the heat bill arrived in my inbox. It was absurdly high. And I think I’ve been chilled in this house since we moved in. Plus, we’ve been enjoying mild winter temperatures here so that makes me nervous. What will it be like when it’s really winter weather outside? I took half a dozen photographs of the schoolroom to post today. But I’m too distracted to take the time to edit them all. I just adjusted the thermostat to 59 degrees. That’s ridiculous – right? I’ll probably put the schoolroom shots up tomorrow. But for now, for today, any heat advice, my friends?
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dinner plans.
The kids are in love with a series of movies all created by the same guy. Hayao Miyazaki. (Yeah, I had to use my Goggle search tool to be certain of dude’s name.) That same Google search claims he’s Japan’s greatest animator. I don’t know. I don’t even actually care. I’m not even trying to write about him today. Not really. What I’m trying to say is that the kids love his movies and they wanted to watch a new-to-them one and have a little celebration. You know, I love celebrations for no real purpose other than the love of celebrating so I said sure! We had decided to fashion…
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ready.
The entire month of December is like a vapor to me. We spent it here and there. In-between one house and another. Packing up. Unpacking. One box down, twelve hundred more to go. For a month I have felt . . . unsettled. Out of sorts. A mess at the new house. A mess at the old house. Stepping over stacks and wading through piles. Internet working. Internet down. Today was a little light at the end of the tunnel. A little peace. A little hope. Every box has been moved. The floors in the main part of the house are clear and there are no makeshift passageways that wreck…
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Change of plans
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full sun.
That’s the color title of the paint in our kitchen. Full sun. The first room you enter if you come in through the back door. Which I imagine you would if you came over for a visit. Although the front door makes for a more dramatic entry point, it’s pretty inconvenient for carrying in groceries and stopping by to say hello. I didn’t edit these photos at all, just snapped them on my phone with the plan to let them speak for themselves. (Well, not entirely. I couldn’t let the photos do all the talking, now could I?) Here we go. (It’s a work in progress, of course. Like this…
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All She Wants For Christmas.
Despite the fact that we will only be opening stockings this Christmas weekend, the kids still love to chat about toys they like and items they would wish to acquire. On a recent car ride, the conversation in the backseat broke down a little something like this: “If you could have anything in your stocking, what would it be?” London asked. Normal responses flowed from her siblings. “A pillow pet.” “Nerds!” “Legos.” “Doll clothes.” Piper Finn didn’t offer such a speedy comeback. She sighed. She pondered. She waited until everyone was done sharing. She took a deep breath. Sounding as if she had just…
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This Season at Our House
Celebrating the Christmas season with these guys is always a good time. But this year has been especially pleasant and low-key. I think it’s because we have jumped off the traditional Christmas train entirely. And by “traditional” I am primarily talking about the exchanging and purchasing of gifts. Our tree’s base is not overflowing with presents large and small wrapped in cheerful Christmas attire. Not that there’s a problem with that if the floor surrounding your tree doesn’t look like ours. This isn’t anyone else’s story – it’s our story. We are not giving and receiving regular gifts this year. What we are doing is this: Filling the stockings with…
Keep Reading . . .
close to midnight/ sisters
An Ode to EB White
five finds friday (ukuleles & queso)
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Can I Get A Drumroll?
Oh my goodness. I am so excited to be back. I can guarantee that I am way more excited to be back writing the blog than you are to be back reading the blog. I will try to restrain my use of capital letters, exclamation points and the bold and italics feature on the keyboard. I said, I’ll try. Okay? I have, like, a bazillion ideas about which to converse. Or monologue. It has been so long since I sat down at this blog, in fact, that I had forgotten my own password. Our internet connection was restored today and I was both elated and downcast. Elated because I really…
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telegram.
Move in to new house basically complete. Stop. Exhausted but loving the quirkiness of this home. Stop. Internet not available until next week. Stop. Hot water heater broke on the second morning. Stop. Kids already getting great use out of the rope swings. Stop. Adorable to have the boys sharing a room for the first time. Stop. Surrounded by boxes yet to be unloaded. Stop. Power outage tonight revealed that we live far from any residual city lights. It’s dark here. Stop. I have a red front door. Stop.
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Moving On Is Hard To Do.
Moving always makes me feel sentimental. And helter skelter. Out of whack. Upside down. It’s such an obvious transition. Such an unavoidable Before and After moment. A time when you are forced to notice and evaluate your possessions. The sum of your life’s collection of stuff. Every drawer to pack and shift reveals old memories, bits and pieces of days and decades past, like so much driftwood. Yesterday, in an old china cabinet that once belonged to my father’s mother, I found a little stack of papers that I probably moved from Virginia over four years ago and haven’t peered upon since. An anniversary card from my mom to…
