I drink coffee.
Pick up toys I should have had them put away the night before.
Fry eggs in a seasoned cast iron pan.
Sena is holed away writing.
Alamae and Arlo play together, then wander apart.
For a few moments, the chaos quiets.
Showing posts with label home sweet home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home sweet home. Show all posts
Friday, November 4, 2016
Mornings
This light is the best.
I drink coffee.
Pick up toys I should have had them put away the night before.
Fry eggs in a seasoned cast iron pan.
Sena is holed away writing.
Alamae and Arlo play together, then wander apart.
For a few moments, the chaos quiets.
I drink coffee.
Pick up toys I should have had them put away the night before.
Fry eggs in a seasoned cast iron pan.
Sena is holed away writing.
Alamae and Arlo play together, then wander apart.
For a few moments, the chaos quiets.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Morning Light
The way it reflects off the Chesapeake in sorbet hues. Making silhouettes of the morning walkers across the neighbor's yard. Working its way south, through dirty windows. Catching bedheads and cluttered corners. Streaming through houseplants. Finally, dancing off the disco ball while the shadows are at their longest before gradually, gradually, shrinking, shrinking.
Monday, November 30, 2015
The Tortoise
I'm a sucker for slow. Put it in front of anything, and I will idealize it deep in my core. Slow parenting. Slow food. Slow Sundays. Slow school.
Because slow comes naturally and fast never did.
I was up all night with two sick boys and a teething baby. The plans to return to school books today are put on hold, while we watch movies and read books. We will putter and sip and accomplish next to nothing on this cold, gray day. And it feels good, once you sink into it. Once you accept it for what it is. A day to be sacrificed to small thoughts and smaller projects.
Chicken stock is simmering. And we're all still in pajamas. And tomorrow we will find the time for the things we want to do, and we will ignore the things we don't for just a little longer.
Because slow comes naturally and fast never did.
I was up all night with two sick boys and a teething baby. The plans to return to school books today are put on hold, while we watch movies and read books. We will putter and sip and accomplish next to nothing on this cold, gray day. And it feels good, once you sink into it. Once you accept it for what it is. A day to be sacrificed to small thoughts and smaller projects.
Chicken stock is simmering. And we're all still in pajamas. And tomorrow we will find the time for the things we want to do, and we will ignore the things we don't for just a little longer.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Home Scenes
Normal looks like disheveled sofas and a boy with a bed head begging to watch more television much to his mother's embarrassment and dismay.
It looks like abandoned journals and water glasses, and homeless chords snaking across water damaged free furniture.
Normal looks like sweaters at the ready for fluctuating temperatures inside a house that is almost always too hot or too cold according to my mother. It looks like chairs that are never pushed in and remnants of breakfast yet to be put away.
It looks like spilled toys, piles of overdue library books, and a vacuum always at the ready. Normal looks like baskets filled with diapers and forgotten apples, sun hats and plastic dinosaurs, but never a single wipe when you need one most.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Crannies and Corners Two Years In
Last week marked two years in this house. On the day of our two year anniversary, Alamae James slept on the daybed and I had my niece Jettie in a sling on my chest as I tried to take pictures of this house as it is now.
Once I saw the pictures on the computer screen my eyes went straight to the Skylanders that lay abandoned on the ground, saw the pictures hanging askew. I figured I would go back and take new pictures later, pictures that showed my house picked up and styled. For a week it hung in the back of my mind to do that. The problem is, however, that my house is never more picked up. It is never more styled. It is the backdrop for a life well lived. A large cast of characters, both major and minor, cross the threshold and are welcomed to eat at the dining room table I just inherited from my grandparents. They are invited to sink into the chairs given to us by our realtor just before moving in. Nothing is perfect. Nothing is pristine.
There are dozens of things that I want to change in my home at any given moment. Rugs I want to replace. Pieces of furniture I wish I could reupholster. Projects that needed finished. This house as an expression of me and my family has been an art project carried out with a very limited budget. And like most artistic pursuits, there are times when I am completely dissatisfied with the results and there are other times when I am thrilled. The pendulum will likely continue to swing for years and years. The house will grow and evolve with us. Bedrooms will be shuffled. New art hung. Broken things repaired. Quirky old things purchased.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Ode to Saturday Mornings
The mornings when you don't have anywhere you have to be.
The mornings when nothing needs to be done.
The mornings when your bed is invaded by smiling faces, ready to wrestle or curl up in your arms or hide under the blankets.
All week long you look forward to them, try to plan your upcoming weekend to accommodate them, knowing that in a few shortyears some of the cast would rather sleep until noon or will be too embarrassed to barge into their parents' room before everyone is in a state of full dress.
Mornings you have trained yourself to be rid of thoughts of dirty dishes or floors that need to be swept.
You stay until they are ready for milk or other distractions. You stay until they leave you in a crumple of blankets with the morning light shining in.
All week long you look forward to them, try to plan your upcoming weekend to accommodate them, knowing that in a few short
Mornings you have trained yourself to be rid of thoughts of dirty dishes or floors that need to be swept.
You stay until they are ready for milk or other distractions. You stay until they leave you in a crumple of blankets with the morning light shining in.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
No Budget Nursery
My kids have never had particularly wonderful nurseries. Sena's was the most put together, but back then I wasn't all that interested in home decorating / design, and I didn't really know what to do other than the things found at department stores. I ordered something uninspired and relatively neutral for her room and hung a bunch of artwork my mom gave me. Gus used the same things, but somehow it seemed even less his space. I never loved any of it.
When Arlo was born, we were living in a smaller house than we are now, and we had to findspace where we could. His crib was tucked into Sena's bedroom (although he never slept in it), and his dresser was in the living room, which I promise was less pathetic than it sounds. However, even after we moved when he was six months old, I never really decked out his room because I always figured we would have a fourth child, and Arlo wouldn't be in the teeny, tiny little bedroom long.
Now here we are, standing on the edge of a fourth baby, and this time I actually want to design some sort of baby space. And despite the fact that the room is very small, chances are the baby girl will be in there for a very long time to come since I don't plan on moving, and our house only has four bedrooms. The room needed to be able to easily transition from a baby space into a child space, and it needed to be done on almost no budget. So I found myself robbing Peter to pay Paul. I stole the plants from my classroom at school. I hung one ofthe mirrors my sisters bought me for my bedroom in the baby room instead. I moved a wall hanging that had been in my room to the baby's room since it matched the quilt that had been on the guest bed for the past year. I inherited some Nabsco bird plates from my mom, and shuffled dressers around. I moved a wooden crate from the living room to fill with books. My mom made the curtains and bought the curtain rod (thanks, mom). The only thing I actually bought was a bamboo shade.
I'm not quite sure how I became so dependent on my mom. I am certain that I would get about 1/3 of all house projects done without her help or inspiration. Not only did she make the curtains, as I mentioned, but she also came over and gave the walls and trim a fresh coat of paint and helped me hang everything that requires skill beyond a simple wall hanger. I guess I'm going to have to learn how to do some of these things because some day I might need to help my own children with these sorts of tasks, but for now, I just lean on my mom.
I'm pretty happy about how the new baby's little space turned out, I'll be even happier once she's in it.
When Arlo was born, we were living in a smaller house than we are now, and we had to find
Now here we are, standing on the edge of a fourth baby, and this time I actually want to design some sort of baby space. And despite the fact that the room is very small, chances are the baby girl will be in there for a very long time to come since I don't plan on moving, and our house only has four bedrooms. The room needed to be able to easily transition from a baby space into a child space, and it needed to be done on almost no budget. So I found myself robbing Peter to pay Paul. I stole the plants from my classroom at school. I hung one of
I'm not quite sure how I became so dependent on my mom. I am certain that I would get about 1/3 of all house projects done without her help or inspiration. Not only did she make the curtains, as I mentioned, but she also came over and gave the walls and trim a fresh coat of paint and helped me hang everything that requires skill beyond a simple wall hanger. I guess I'm going to have to learn how to do some of these things because some day I might need to help my own children with these sorts of tasks, but for now, I just lean on my mom.
I'm pretty happy about how the new baby's little space turned out, I'll be even happier once she's in it.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Christmas Tree Tales
Last year, our first year in our new house, I thought I wanted to switch up our Christmas tree. I thought wanted something less colorful. Something with lots more white, with pine cones maybe. Our tree suddenly seemed garish to me in our new space, a little tacky or kitschy. But the kids would have none of it. And besides, I didn't have the money to switch it up anyway.
By the time we were trimming it last Thanksgiving, I realized the error in my thinking. Christmas trees, like most things in life, should serve a greater purpose than being a fashion statement.
I distinctly remember gathering the things for our very first Christmas tree. Sena was nine months old, and I had saved a hundred dollar gift certificate to Pier 1 my aunt had given me for my wedding. With Sena in the sling, we ventured out on our own, which didn't happen very often. I usually did everything with my mom, then as now. But my mom had just bought a house in North Carolina, and she was busy doing all the things that are involved in buying (and most importantly, decorating) real estate. Anyhow, Sena and I went shopping and made what felt like very important design decisions, just the two of us.
I was really proud of myself. I was proud of the pink and turquoise ribbon and the brass star. I was proud of all the bright wood and felt ornaments, proud of the glass bulbs I later found at K-Mart. I was 20 years old, and it felt like the most adultthing I had ever done, and I had done it without second guessing myself.
None of this is particularly significant, but you couldn't have convinced me of that at the time. I was setting the tone for my family's future holidays.
Every year, each of the kids gets an ornament to add to the tree. Buying those ornaments might be the part of Christmas shopping that I put the most thought into. The year we went to Paris, that's where Sena's ornament came from. Gus got a carved shark back when every book we read was about those scary, beautiful beasts of the sea. I'd be lying if Ipretened that I didn't try to find ornaments that fit with the style of our tree. The tone I set that first Christmas stays with us. The tree tells our story, and our story is important to me. Tradition is important to me, more important to me than creative change.
So our tree remains bright and full of jewel tones and memories. It might not be the tree I would pick now if I was starting fresh. But that's the moral of the story. I'm not. I already have a half written story, and there is no need to change it.
By the time we were trimming it last Thanksgiving, I realized the error in my thinking. Christmas trees, like most things in life, should serve a greater purpose than being a fashion statement.
I distinctly remember gathering the things for our very first Christmas tree. Sena was nine months old, and I had saved a hundred dollar gift certificate to Pier 1 my aunt had given me for my wedding. With Sena in the sling, we ventured out on our own, which didn't happen very often. I usually did everything with my mom, then as now. But my mom had just bought a house in North Carolina, and she was busy doing all the things that are involved in buying (and most importantly, decorating) real estate. Anyhow, Sena and I went shopping and made what felt like very important design decisions, just the two of us.
I was really proud of myself. I was proud of the pink and turquoise ribbon and the brass star. I was proud of all the bright wood and felt ornaments, proud of the glass bulbs I later found at K-Mart. I was 20 years old, and it felt like the most adult
None of this is particularly significant, but you couldn't have convinced me of that at the time. I was setting the tone for my family's future holidays.
Every year, each of the kids gets an ornament to add to the tree. Buying those ornaments might be the part of Christmas shopping that I put the most thought into. The year we went to Paris, that's where Sena's ornament came from. Gus got a carved shark back when every book we read was about those scary, beautiful beasts of the sea. I'd be lying if I
So our tree remains bright and full of jewel tones and memories. It might not be the tree I would pick now if I was starting fresh. But that's the moral of the story. I'm not. I already have a half written story, and there is no need to change it.
Friday, December 12, 2014
Home Scenes
I think about house projects so much lately-- what corner I want to attack next, what needs painted, what needs cleaned, where to move things around. I suppose it's a nesting instinct, but despite the fact that this is my fourth baby, it's the first time this bug has bit.
What has plagued me in pregnancies past is a wave of anti-social tendencies coupled with a sadness over my lack of social engagements. It's a strange and confusing combination of forces. Basically, I don't particularly want to make plans. What I want to do is burrow into my hole and think about all the ways I can make said hole cozier and cuter. But then it occurs to me that I'm not seeing my friends, and I worry that maybe, somehow, I managed to lose all my friends. I convince myself that this pregnancy completely and profoundly changed my basic personality, and I am no longer a raving extrovert. I worry that I have become family-centric homebody who still possesses a great deal of fear of missing out.
However, I have been down this anti-social path. I have crossed this introverted bridge. I am certain that in a few months, long as those months may seem, I will suddenly remember that I like going places on weekends. I will simultaneously forget all the little tasks I had hoped to accomplish around the house, I will be back to the non-baby bearing me, a woman who is less productive, but quite frankly, more fun.
What has plagued me in pregnancies past is a wave of anti-social tendencies coupled with a sadness over my lack of social engagements. It's a strange and confusing combination of forces. Basically, I don't particularly want to make plans. What I want to do is burrow into my hole and think about all the ways I can make said hole cozier and cuter. But then it occurs to me that I'm not seeing my friends, and I worry that maybe, somehow, I managed to lose all my friends. I convince myself that this pregnancy completely and profoundly changed my basic personality, and I am no longer a raving extrovert. I worry that I have become family-centric homebody who still possesses a great deal of fear of missing out.
However, I have been down this anti-social path. I have crossed this introverted bridge. I am certain that in a few months, long as those months may seem, I will suddenly remember that I like going places on weekends. I will simultaneously forget all the little tasks I had hoped to accomplish around the house, I will be back to the non-baby bearing me, a woman who is less productive, but quite frankly, more fun.
This weekend we have plans, and I am equal parts excited and prematurely exhausted.
The first winter cold has found its first victim. Gus coughs and complains, and I let the clean dishes from last night's birthday dinner remain on the counter so that I can sit with him and watch a movie in the waning afternoon sunlight. I reheat leftovers and send Tom and Sena to the library for provisions for a storm that exists only in my imagination. A few flurries this afternoon leaves me wanting a real storm, an unexpected day off with my kids by my side, books and DVD's piled by our side.
However, I do want to go to all the places and see all the people- a sleepover at my sister's farm on Friday and a night out sans kids on Saturday. But still, the thought of sleeping in overwhelms me. Sometimes when I start to feel deprived of sleep, I start to pick off plans one by one, so that I can fall asleep early, stay asleep late. However, the busy weekend leads into the last week of school before a two week break, so imaginary storm or not, there is rest in my future, or so I tell myself. And there will be time for the projects that dance through my head like sugar plum fairies. And if there isn't time, it's because they just weren't that important.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
This Weekend We Did Very Very Little
This weekend was the slowest sort of weekend. We didn't go anywhere. We didn't see anyone. We mostly just were.
The kids came home from their week away late on Friday evening. We celebrated by renting Malificent and making a giant bed on the living room floor. The next morning I made a big breakfast, while debating my own Saturday plans. I was supposed to drive to Baltimore to have brunch with friends, but I had missed my kids in a way that maybe only pregnant, hormonal mothers can miss their children, and I was not emotionally prepared to leave them again. So I bailed on my plans, and then promptly regretted my decision. It took no time for my kids to leave me in favor of outdoor explorations with friends. I was left with a quiet house and conscience guilty over canceling.
But as the afternoon wore on, Tom and I started in on projects. We put more hours on scraping and sanding and priming our new, old doors. I dusted neglected corners and scrubbed every baseboard, and I was happy to do it all dotted with the frequent interruptions of children in need, the very interruptions I was so happy to have a few hours without the week before.
The beauty of slow weekends is that there is time for all the forgotten things; time for jumping contests and bubble baths. Time for rounds of board games and morning reading sessions. Time enough to soak my kids in and feel back to being myself.
The kids came home from their week away late on Friday evening. We celebrated by renting Malificent and making a giant bed on the living room floor. The next morning I made a big breakfast, while debating my own Saturday plans. I was supposed to drive to Baltimore to have brunch with friends, but I had missed my kids in a way that maybe only pregnant, hormonal mothers can miss their children, and I was not emotionally prepared to leave them again. So I bailed on my plans, and then promptly regretted my decision. It took no time for my kids to leave me in favor of outdoor explorations with friends. I was left with a quiet house and conscience guilty over canceling.
But as the afternoon wore on, Tom and I started in on projects. We put more hours on scraping and sanding and priming our new, old doors. I dusted neglected corners and scrubbed every baseboard, and I was happy to do it all dotted with the frequent interruptions of children in need, the very interruptions I was so happy to have a few hours without the week before.
The beauty of slow weekends is that there is time for all the forgotten things; time for jumping contests and bubble baths. Time for rounds of board games and morning reading sessions. Time enough to soak my kids in and feel back to being myself.