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Category: Family Life

A Toast and a Sippy Cup

Went to dinner last night.  David, me, Daughters Elder and Younger, that is, along with my mom and brother.  We wanted to do something to remember David’s dad, who passed away two years ago at the age of way-too-young.  In my family, remembering means eating, so eating we did (quite honestly, it also involves drinking–a toast, as it were–but not nearly as much as the eating). I kind of have to chuckle at how we’re still adamant about trying to–at least occasionally–combine our old, young-people-about-the-town personae with our present family.  Like last night, for instance, we went to a Belgian restaurant because David’s dad was of French descent, and Belgium was about as close as we could get.  We were surrounded by tables filled with couples, girlfriends, work buddies–all adults–and, of course, drawing attention with our two small–albeit awesomely well-behaved–girls.  David and I barely exchanged two words with each other, what with all the cutting of food, ordering of milk, wiping of spills.  But, by golly, we did it.  Just like…

Something to Love

Someone new has taken up permanent–however temporary, really–residence in our home. He follows us from room to room. He sits silently in a chair at the dinner table while we eat. He is fawned over, caressed, talked about incessantly, tucked into bed at night. And quite honestly, I’m starting to get a little irritated with him. Reader, meet Blanket: Nope, it’s not Michael Jackson’s son. I know, I’m disappointed, too, because that would make for such a better story. Our Blanket (capitalized as a proper noun to give him his due) is the softest, sweetest rectangle of synthetic pastel fabric I’ve ever touched. Our kind retired neighbors (they travel in a group, and we call them the “ladies.” Not of the night, no. That’s gross. Just “ladies.”) gave it to Saoirse when she was born, and after it spent the better part of two years in a drawer, I resurrected it when Quinn was born because it’s just the best. blanket. ever (or have I mentioned that already?). Saoirse never paid any mind to it, though: I tucked…

Remind Me of This Tomorrow Morning

My friend Susannah once bemoaned (yes, bemoaned, because sometimes you’re just that tired) that staying at home with your children basically just means you’re always doing some form of cleaning up.  And she’s right: wiping tushies, cleaning counter tops, washing laundry–they’re all the tasks we do constantly.  All day long.  Every day.  But I realized something tonight:  my day is food.  Either preparing it or eating it, food rules (well, you know that already, but bear with me here.  I’m on a bit of a rant).  I breastfeed, then get breakfast together for the girls…then nurse some more, then get a snack for Saoirse…then it’s time for lunch, and another snack and dinner and…well, by the time I add in all the time I’m cooking or cleaning up, no wonder the laundry gets backed up. When I look at my day, my week (and my weekend, because if you’re at home you know there’s no difference between weekends and weekdays anymore), I am very aware of how much of my life is the minutiae…