Eureka(s)

It has been, frankly, a craptastic couple of months, in a whiny, bratty, world’s-tiniest-violin sort of way. I haven’t wanted to write this post, because, well, blahblahblahfart, who wants to read it (or write it, for that matter) but I can’t seem to write anything BUT this post, so this post we get. Sorry, kids. Better luck next time.

Here’re the facts: in the last month, we moved into our new home. I landed (!!!) my first book deal. My oldest children are wrapping up a wonderful school year, and the wee-est child has hit that amazing baby-into-toddler stage where he’s developing by leaps and bounds and every day is a bit of a fantastic miracle. THIS SHOULD BE AWESOME.

Okay Then. 4.29.14. Boxes

So why does it all feel like it sort of sucks? 

First, let me just say: there’s a bridge nearby over a river that flows through our part of Pennsylvania (this is starting to sound a lot like this, I know). A bunch of years ago, some ice chunks took out part of it, so now the bridge is standing halfway out over the river, useless, and then it just…ends. It disappears. And this, my friends, is pretty much the way my brain has been working the past couple of months. The ice chunks have wreaked their havoc. So, in honor (resignation?) of these incomplete thoughts, a bullet list of randomness, I give you, from the kitchen of my new home:

  • It takes a shockingly short amount of time for a neat room/house/car to disintegrate into something that looks like shredded, used tissues. Three kids, two animals, and two inconsistent adult humans will do that, new house or not.
  • Speaking of shredded, used tissues, everyone in my house has been battling spring colds/sinus infections/ear infections/allergies. It’s awesome. You know what else is awesome? Having your three-year-old climb into bed with you on a Saturday morning, then throw up directly into your hair. Yeah. I know. It was chunky.

Okay Then. 4.29.14. Window

  • We sort of don’t like our house. This is a big one, and the reason why I’m so…stuck. I mean, we like the house, sort of–it’s the best choice we could have made with the time we had, in the weirdly popular place in which we live-but we have had to swallow a bit of discontentment that it’s not exactly…us. Or the us we like to think is us, anyway. The house looks like every other house on the block (is actually a beige-r, plainer version of some really lovely ones. They probably have greener grass, too [get it?!]). It’s darker inside than what we’re used to. And for people who aren’t exactly the most social creatures on the face of the planet, choosing to reside smack in the middle of a neighborhood wasn’t exactly the most uh, self-aware move we’ve ever made. But we needed the bigger house, so we sacrificed the character, the “perfect” location, even though we said, said, said we’d never do that (I think that’s the real issue, right there). But our kids already have playmates. We really like their playmates’ parents. We have the space I imagined one day having. And thank God our neighbors are nice (even the one who politely told me my dog took a poop on her lawn. Dagnabit).

Okay Then. 4.29.14. View

  • You can see mountains from my windows. And part of a creek. And, the steeple on Wegmans and the back of Target. Yay, suburbs.
  • Cian fell down the stairs. The wooden stairs. I don’t know who was crying harder (I do. He was fine after 30 seconds). Welcome home, sweet baby. Here’s an ice pack and three years of future talk therapy for your trouble.
  • We have a garage. WE HAVE A GARAGE!! Though I may have mentioned that already. That part’s awesome.
  • Agent Katie emailed me to say that my publication contract is in the mail. That’s also awesome. What with all the boxes and paint cans and wailing about shipping prices for furniture we suddenly need, for a moment there, I forgot I’m supposed to be a writer.
  • We just agreed to have the builder of this house install bookcases for which the previous owners hadn’t opted (they also hadn’t “opted” to put a closet in the master bedroom, which is why the last-minute closet they added looks like an odd cathedral to clothes built out of the garage rafters. I will have pictures of this one day. You have to see it). This is something we weren’t going to do right away (because, money), but we, apparently, are a family that cannot unpack 3/4 of our boxes unless we have bookcases to put them in. Nerds, unite! We belong together!

Okay Then. 4.29.14. Book Boxes

  • I like books.
  • I am feeling crazy and behind and out of control and overwhelmed and vaguely antisocial (see: overwhelmed) and frustrated that I can never, ever start a task and actually expect to finish it the same day/week/age. You would say this is because we have a lot going on, with the move. My mother would say, we have three kids, so duh. I say: Leah is Leah, and you can’t change a Leah.

popeye

  • Cian has developed an ear-splitting screamyellcry when he wants attention. He wants a lot of attention, often at 3 in the morning, lunch time, snack time. I don’t mind the need for hugs. I do mind worrying the neighbors will call to complain. Third kid = biggest lungs?
  • Speaking of inconsistent (weren’t we, a little ways up on this list? See what I mean?), I, having had this same sparkling, unchanging personality for the last 30-coughcough-some years, have decided not to fight my feast-or-famine way of doing things anymore. I am not a do-one-load-a-laundry-a-day person, I’m a do-it-all-in-one-shot-dump-it-on-the-couch-and-fold-until-my-fingers-bleed sort of person, because that’s the way my brain works. Same goes for sorting through paperwork, and cleaning the house, and writing. I can’t piecemeal things (is that how you say it? Or did I just make that up?). I have to do it in massive, dive-on-in chunks, because the way my brain works is that I get all obsess-y like and distracted when I’m in a particular zone, and I can’t come out of it very easily. Is that a particularly happy, easy way to live? Well, yeah, no. But is it the way my brain is wired? Yep. And I’ve just got to learn how to run with it. I think. Laundry Day is Thursday. I’ll let you know then.

Okay Then. 4.29.14. Bed

  • Cian just barfed all over himself. I’m not making this up. Explains the scream-crying earlier. Gotta run…
  • And I’m back. More chunks, if you’re interested. A plague has descended, I’m afraid.
  • One last thing? Frozen has taken over my house. My spring has turned into an eternal winter. You probably know me well enough by now to guess how that’s sitting? The music is in both cars. The songs are sung constantly, sometimes by me. I was blasting Wreckx-in-Effect in the minivan on the way to preschool pick-up the other day as a way to cleanse. Disney is trying to steal our souls, and damnabit, “Let it Go” is just too darned catchy.

Is this the worst, most boringest, most annoying post I’ve ever written? Possibly. Will I really want to read this in twenty years when I’m all nostalgic and reminisce-ylike? I doubt it. But it’s my life right now, it’s where my melancholy little brain is (read: I don’t do well with change, there are too many fuzzy pieces that I can’t seem to quite tie down, and my own creative outlet has been…this post), and now that this update is out of the way, I can move on to something else.

Okay Then. 4.29.14. Cian Book Feet

So, let’s move on, shall we? I’ve got unpacking to do.

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