The seasons that run smoothly for me are, unsurprisingly, the ones that involve focus and order. The routines, the boundaries, the guidelines – I’m wired for it all. Once, on a hot July day when I was no taller than her mailbox, my aunt announces a trip to the fair to pet the pigs, try
Well, no, I can’t exactly claim the same perspectives (nor groundbreaking insights) of Virginia Woolf. But truthfully, I’d never deny the beauty of a room of one’s own. A space for writing or thinking, for arranging things just-so, for practicing what it means to make a small, seemingly insignificant mark on this world – or
It’s a running joke in our friend circle that I’m impossible to speed up (surprise, surprise) and Ken is impossible to slow down. A single glance at an empty calendar square and the man’s found a way to fill it with four conference calls, three house projects, two oil changes, one heaping pot of curry
I don’t profess much expertise in the homekeeping department, which is precisely why I so chiefly excel in my role as Ruthless Curator. The less there is to dust, the less there is to dust, you get me? Still, Ken has twice this month complimented the state of our floors and I’ve become no stranger
While we have yet to instate a family game night (yesterday, Scout tried to dump of box of playing cards through the heater vents, so we’ve got a ways to go over here), I’ll forever be an advocate for a good old-fashioned match of wits. Growing up, it was always Trivial Pursuit with my grandparents,
For the record, I’m not of the school of thought that life is in need of hacking. It is what it is – some days more bonkers than others – moment after moment knocking around together to create some semblance of order (or lack thereof). Life is life is life, and I’ve yet to witness
It happened when Ken was out of town. 3am, to be exact, when the toddler was in one of his weird sleep patterns, the kind where he wakes hungry and vibrant in the middle of the night, running wildly around the kitchen island, banging pots and pans, bunting golf balls, hollering nonsense after nonsense and
Hey you. I know you’re out there, bustling with everyday stuff on top of non-everyday stuff. Maybe you’ve just shut down your computer and you’re heading out the lobby for the last time in ’17. Maybe you’re headed out the door to drop the kids off at school or daycare, or maybe not at all