Procrastination as Meditation

Because it is Good Friday, and because I’m trying desperately not to get all anxious-pants about the to-do list I have before me, I’m taking a moment to ponder a little some of the good bits in my life. And because you read, so I share: A husband who cleans bathrooms. Even if he weren’t cute and smart and charming and funny I still would’ve married him on this alone. House plants that are brand spankin’ new. I so enjoy them for the week I have before I neglectfully kill them all dead.     Books. Except for the one I’m reading right now, because it’s terrible. I will not trouble you with its title. These were pretty good, though:     A sweet daughter who says “wack-oom” instead of “vacuum.” And “lel-low” instead of “yellow.” And “boo-ful” instead of “beautiful.”  A home with blue walls and lots of light. Chocolate-chip-cinnamon sugar banana bread, eaten by the fistful, preferably with milk. A beautiful baby who, at almost 11…

I Yam What I Yam, After All

I was at Saorise’s MyGym class today feeling a little frazzled. We’re all getting over a hurricane-force cold, and now that I can move my head about without weeping from the pressure, I’m realizing that Easter is in a few days, and spiritual readiness aside, I’ve got cleaning to do. And shopping. And cooking. And…you get the idea. Especially if you’ve ever hosted a major holiday get-together for your family when you have teeny tiny children running about (or scooting, or nursing, or napping when you need to be shopping…), you know that even if you’re the most laid-back of individuals (secret, please?), there’s some work to be done.  Unless you’re this very nice woman I know–I’ll call her Nancy. She’s the mom of one of the boys in SK’s class, and I know her from the gym (my gym, not MyGym). Nancy was telling me today that she’s all ready for Easter, though there “are some last-minute things” that will need to be done…

As Simple as It Gets

I’d been reading a book on the living room couch with the girls. We’re all miserably sick–snotty, hacky-coughing, bleary-eyed, swollen-faced (pretty image, I know) messes, and we were experiencing just a little window of contentedness before the next round of nose-blowing and tissuing began. Then Quinn threw up all over Saoirse’s book (“It’s ok, Mom. I’m not upset. Quinn just had an accident”). As I was salvaging what pages I could, Quinn somehow managed to grab the handle of the mug sitting on the end table and emptied its (thankfully room-temperature) contents all over herself, the couch, the rug, and a couple of other pieces of furniture. Good times. So I set Quinn, now weeping because she wanted me to hold her, down on a clean part of the carpet and went to grab some towels while SK sat right where she was, happily reading as though the room didn’t reek of a poor man’s coffee shop.  A couple of minutes later found me on my hands and knees blotting Earl Gray out of the (again thankfully…