They’ve hit a sweet spot and it’s so lovely. E is almost 4 and R just turned 3. They beg to play with another daily and then spend the entire time in endless imaginative fun full of Paw Patrols, unicorns, and Super Kitties. (Žak Žak Dunie always nearby and often roped into the fun) R came over the other day and E immediately begged to put on a matching bubble sweater (made lovingly by Mamele), after which both girls disappeared into the basement to build a unicorn corral. We are frequently lulled into a false sense of security as they disappear to play with zero fights, then realize, oops, they’re not quite old enough to ignore when they reappear with faces decorated full-tilt with markers or you realize they’ve absconded with your Allen wrench and buried it in their mud kitchen paraphernalia.
V wanted to know the other day if I cook elaborate breakfasts because I enjoy them. My snort of incredulity took him by surprise; he had no idea why his question was so funny. At this stage of life, there are very few times I enjoy any stage of meal cooking – let alone breakfast, which I don’t even eat most of the time. I dream of the day that children don’t walk into the kitchen and immediately moan “NOOOoooo, I won’t eat THAT.” (ironically enough, I wouldn’t actually label my kids as picky eaters at all. But comments always have to be made regardless of whether they plan to eat it or not). I dream of the day I don’t have to listen to endless soliloquys made by my offspring describing the repugnancy of smells, distastefulness of textures, and litany of foods they’d like to ban. Currently, they agree, the only food they’d like served are French fries and pancakes. V – who usually eats his dinner in solo, blissful silence long after the dishes have been washed and the kids have vacated the room…doesn’t quite get it. His experience of family meals are (in my opinion) mostly joyful Saturday mornings, lazy and full of whipped cream, or else weekend takeout, involving little prep and much excitement. By the weekend I’m over it and struggling to plan, or else crockpotting something easy-ish. Do I sound bitter? Maybe. I’m sure he’d be able to write a lengthy complaint about his early morning commute, late evenings of endless paperwork, and how I get to sleep in on Fridays.
A friend was recently discussing her inability to organize her kids’ rooms and her desire to just spend all her time in the kitchen, making bread and homemade stock and delicious casseroles. I told her she really should have moved to the same city as me, that way she could cook for both of us and I could spend my time blissfully organizing both our houses. It would have worked nicely.
Just another E moment of making goofy faces in the mirror when coming down the stairs.
These stairs were flaking lead paint everywhere when we bought the house three years ago and I was full of good intentions to strip and sand and stain, but then got discouraged at how much work it required and didn’t really know what I wanted them to look like anyway. The risers are sploshy from being stained at one point in the house’s 100+ years of history and can never truly match the treads. I liked the idea of staining them dark, but not everyone agreed with me. All the trim and banisters still need to be stripped (or maybe replaced, in the case of the not-original banisters?), but now I have visions of putting down a carpet runner. Who knows. In the meantime, I’ve learned to just not look at this stairwell too closely.
Running to a friend’s house on a dreary and oh-so-cold January day will put a leap into any girl’s step.
I’m trying to be light-handed on edits this year – no photoshopping out random twigs or electrical poles to make the image cleaner, no touching up of faces to get rid of pimples or cuts. Dodging and burning is ok, since that’s basic darkroom stuff. Color tweaking and contrast are also fine. This image bummed me out, though, because the colors were just flat. It was overexposed. The composition isn’t great either. But it was so cold outside that I snapped it in a rush and then forgot to try again for something better while hurrying to catch up to N. And then suddenly the day was over and this was the only salvageable photo I’d taken. I do like that neither of her feet are touching the ground, though. A little Richard Avedone moment that makes me want to revisit his work.
This small corner of our home might not look like much, but it gets the most traffic out of the entire house. It’s the dish washing part of the kitchen, the art storage (hanging off the other side of this door), the entrance to the only downstairs bathroom (and only currently working bathroom in the house going on three months), the entrance to the laundry room, AND the back door of the house. It’s a lot. I dream of building an addition one day; of separating the kitchen and bathroom and laundry and not having to deal with children zooming by at full speed every time I’m carrying a hot dish because “I NEED TO PEE!”
I’m trying not to feel too guilty about how many nights in a row I’m letting them have TV time. It’s COLD outside. And this house is small. And gosh I love that peaceful hour or so where I can actually do my own thing.
Hitting a new season of life – endless activities and extracurriculars, scouting events that bring the boys home late enough that I have to actively work at staying awake, and new school activities like journaling and reading solo and memorizing prayers for First Communion. This ain’t baby and toddler life anymore, that’s for sure.
That Lamplighting part of the night, when our battery operated candles flicker to life with a soft glow and the neighbors’ Christmas lights go on; the house has been scrambled back to rights and jammies are wiggled into; everyone has calmed down and we’re (mostly) at peace. It’s my favorite.
A Pattern of Words 