I haven’t written in a while because, well – life happened.
It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason. My parents have been visiting (which is great), the kids have been sick (which is not so great) and we’ve been trying our best to carve out some much needed family time (which is great, but also kind of a lot of work).
So, I haven’t written in a while.
But now it’s nap time on a blustery March afternoon and I am sitting on a tiny, red kid chair in our sun room, with my computer in my lap, listening to the wind howl over the top of our chimney and the sound of my husband clickity-clacking away on his keyboard just a few feet away.
I am peering outside at the Bradford Pear trees freshly in bloom, their white blossoms moving back and forth in the wind, their petals fluttering softly down to their final resting places. I’m watching a wasp bounce around the blades of our ceiling fan, silently cursing him for finding a route into our home and wondering when he’s going to let his buddies know the way. WHAP! He’s dead. His intel will not be disseminated. Thank goodness for my clickity-clacking husband.
I’m feeling tired. I’ve been up since 5:30 and the adrenaline rush from my workout and buzz of my coffee has long since worn off. My leggings feel too tight around my midsection after an unusually robust lunch and I can’t quite get my body temperature to a truly comfortable place. My throat is slightly dry, but getting up to get a glass of water is too much for me to tackle mentally, at the moment.
The taste of buttery biscuits still lingers on my lips from a decadent lunch at the Loveless Cafe. The flaky, golden crust and fluffy white middle, slathered in homemade jam were far too great a match for my will power, so I indulged in two – then three- then maybe a whisper of a fourth. My children were demanding, but then Archie was also giddy with excitement over his orange juice and a choice of three types of jam and Oliver was precious when he realized the syrup ramekin was just for him. Today, I have no regrets about our sugar-laced lunch. Except for the aforementioned snug waistband.
I catch a whiff of the Crayola watercolors drying on the art table beside me. Leftovers from earlier this morning when the boys and I played “school” together. Our letter of the week was “W” and our number was “5”. The smell is reminiscent of my elementary school art room, always littered with oil pastels and dirty smocks. It’s comforting in a way and delays my tidying, for now.
So, I haven’t written in a while. Because, life happened and I’ve been doing my best to experience it all, as it happens. The sights, the smells, the sounds – all of it.
And it’s been pretty damn great.