"Get in, sit down, shut up and hang on."
That is exactly how life feels right now.
This is not a complaint, but rather an explanation of sorts, as to why I cannot tell you where I have been or what I have been doing. I am, however, feeling compelled to write a list in hopes it may speak for me. Think of it as a very unpoetic poem:
A car has been purchased and it's not what I would have imagined in a million years. Suffice it to say, I remain an East Coast stereotype.
A birthday has been celebrated, someone turned six and someone has a new mermaid Barbie who wears so much eye makeup I'm wondering how she keeps her mascara from running underwater.
My sister was here over the weekend and I somehow tricked her into baking Isla's birthday cake, a sinful French chocolate cake, and cleaning the top of my kitchen cabinets, which were covered with a layer of grease and two years worth of dust.
Ian learned a new song on his guitar and we spent a half hour on Saturday morning, with the phone on "speaker," listening to him serenade us from across the sea with deftly strummed chords.
When we put Ian on speaker phone, Isla has a habit of stealing him and hiding behind the couch in order to keep him to herself. This inevitably starts fights.
Esther wants to be with Ian on her 10th birthday, coming up on the 12th of December so we are shooting for being in England by that date.
I might be going to Guatemala as a guest blogger with the Save the Children organization: Fingers crossed, breath held, scream of excitement waiting agitatedly in the wings of my throat.
We've been enjoying/lamenting yet another Indian summer: the kind of weather that makes any honest New Englander highly suspicious of things to come. Sinfully warm and delicious, but doing nothing to reduce the tick population or promote the upcoming ski season.
I took all the pictures off my computer yet still I get a startup disk full message almost every time I turn on my computer. Help. Could it be iTunes?
Isla told me I was a magnificent butterfly one night, then she said I was elegant and pretty the next. What is she buttering me up for?
This morning she rushed back to the door of her classroom to kiss me on my left cheek, forehead, right cheek, nose, chin and mouth.
After months of badgering from Isla about making our house look more like a home, I got our rug out of the attic, and my big comfy chair from my parents' house, picked another chair with a "free" sign on it off of someone's front yard, and did my best to make our living room look more like a living room and less like a ballroom. I'm liking it. So are the kids.
I've been contemplating going off my antidepressants because I don't like the numb way I feel upon waking up each morning. It's as if they might also be anti joy, anti hope, anti-sorrow, anti-feeling, anti-life. I used to be a morning person. Now, it seems, I am a morning ogre.
I'm reading To Kill a Mockingbird to Esther, which has started an interesting conversation regarding the meaning of the word "rape." I realized my first attempt at explaining missed the mark when she said, "But why would anyone do that if they were married?" Help.
I've been getting special assignments to write BabyCenter articles for Yahoo's Shine blog. Like this one, and this one. I'm supposed to be writing an article right now and this little diversion has been a perfect way to procrastinate.
I'll be back. Leaving you with some photos: