So one of the goals here is to regularly write a new story, new poem, new essay, or post a new art piece.
For the first time in a long desperate sojourn through the hills and desert of our life we have found an oasis.
Oh, how we intend to capitalize on that. She has exploded in a flurry of art and calligraphy that I have not seen from her in any way in the past ten years. My writing has improved and the children are even joining in. Attempting poetry and art in an attempt to be doing that cool thing mom and dad are.
I tried NaNoWrMo and got 40k words written before the end of the month despite only spending 20 of the 30 days at my house in that month. So life has been good to us. And we’re grateful.
A short fat pudgy overly full diaper eyes of sparkling coffee noise machine is currently tugging on my leg to remind me that not all of us are always grateful. But for the first time he’s able to do so in a house and not an apartment. Which is a rather amazing improvement to everyone in our little domestic group.
Now he’s lolling on the floor waving “Goodnight Gorilla” at the sky while gurgling a long winded announcement of how he feels about that book and plastic dinosaurs. I’m sipping coffee and thinking about how much weight I’ve put on but not in a sad depressed way. Instead I feel indulgent and happy. I’ve gained weight sure but I’m not worried about food on the table or paying rent. We’re still paycheck to paycheck but now we’re not behind and we see a future where we’ll be ahead.
Delighted giggles accompany that thought as my eldest measures my youngest and reports he is 28 inches long. He thinks the interaction is excellent and runs off toddling around with an exaggerated belly thrust out in front of him like a snow plow.
The oldest wisely lets me know that she is opening stuff for me and I should go back to typing. If she wasn’t the oldest she’d be Romona Quimby; who is in point of fact her idol in a lot of ways.
Middle child has the sniffles, sore throat, barely breathing nasty ick and declared he was going to bed… a full hour and a half before his normal bed time. Which despite being cute and despite my general peaceful contentment has me a bit worried. Not because he went to bed early but because the breathing is so rough for him. Not breathing sucks.
The most perfect one is in her newly established art room finishing up another wave of wedding invitations trying to get them done before the weekend. Her cellphone is blaring a weird cross of rap music, Christmas violin music and some Celtic vocal stuff.
And we’ve just established that eldest is 49″ tall. She declares that I must easily be at least in the hundreds of inches. Because clearly I’m the standard. I like this fact even as I know it’s inherent falsehood.
And now the diapered noise is past his limit and needs to be carted off to bed. But I’ve written so I guess that much is good.