I am a fabric addict. Prints and textures call out to me begging me to create something fabulous with them. I tend to lean toward practical, but I do love a good dose of whimsy. I long to sit in my house and just make wonderful silly things I find on Pinterest. I blame my mother. She will tell you this is no surprise…the blaming part, not the addiction part.
I now know what celebrities feel like.
“Are you Pascal and Rapunzel? Lucky Rapunzel.”
I seriously just read the headline of a suggested post entitled “How to Assemble the Perfect Fall Cheese Board” and I honestly think I broke my eyeballs rolling them so hard. Clearly my blog interests are varied and strange, and I do love me some cheese, but that aggregator has no idea who I really am. My interest in assembling the perfect fall cheeseboard begins at cheese and ends with consuming the aforementioned cheese.
One of the greatest phrases in my life is “Parent’s Night Out.” All of the words in the world in any combination of positive expression will never accurately explain the euphoria I feel when these words appear in my email. For why, you ask, do I have such joy when surely I must have these nights all the time?!
Not so, my friends. Not so.
It’s fall in New England and for us that means it’s obligatory apple picking season. It’s also tourists getting in my way driving super slow so they can take in the gorgeous foliage along 95 season, but I digress. We live in Massachusetts and apparently it’s the law here that once the temperature drops below 70 degrees you must participate in the mass harvesting of other people’s fruit. I have not yet met anyone up here that hasn’t done their part in gleaning all that New England’s many orchards has to offer.
A couple of weekends ago, we visited my sister-in-law and brother-in-law for a playdate with my nephew Mr. A. They have a million miles of land just north of metrowest Boston with wildflowers and a path down to the creek just out back, so I can pretend it’s the country. It also means they can do things I’ve been wanting to do for years, but may never have the time or the physical space to attempt. One of those things is a lovely little organic veggie garden. They grow corn, bell peppers, cucumbers, pickling cucumbers, jalapeño peppers, watermelon, beefsteak tomatoes, indigo rose hybrid tomatoes and Italian sweet peppers.
So I’m taking a class now. It’s something I’ve started and stopped several times – this new version of me. I’m not entirely sure what I’m working towards, but I know it’s different than what I was and what I am now. I suppose it’s supposed to be a better version of me, but I’m not really sure what would be better or why I need to really be better. I do know that ever since my career hit a huge speed bump – read position elimination at a crucial point in my path – I have been adrift and unsure of almost everything.
Today a bunch of Trader Joe’s Wheat Crisps soaked up my feelings and it felt amazing. It would only have been better had they sidled up to a personal-pan-sized wheel of Brie with some raspberry jam and gone all in.
Work has been rough lately.
Oh, you too? (Hugs)
I have yet to meet the parent of a toddler or preschooler that can tell me they took less than 20 minutes getting their offspring out the door even close to what “on time” might look like. Miss O is no different than her peers in this regard, especially when there is a choice between Legos and brushing her teeth, but we may have finally found a chink in her tiny armor and it looks like this:
There are moments, usually in the middle of one of Miss O’s tantrums or the aftermath of a tantrum, that I find myself wondering if this is the moment that I’ve ruined our relationship. Is this the moment when I’ve said something that will forever change how she feels about me as a mother or as a person?
Suburban Jackpot 