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…

Straddling the Line

Okay, so we all know that I when I had Saoirse, I went on a maternity leave that sort of stretched indefinitely into full-on stay-at-homehood.  David and I had always said that if we could do it, it was important to us to have one of us stay home once we had children–it didn’t matter which one of us did it, but since I was the one with the milk-producing boobs and he was the one with the bigger paycheck (did I mention that I was a teacher?), I drew the short straw (or is it long straw?  Whichever one is the awesome pick).  So a few months after our sweet oldest daughter was born, I packed up my binders upon binders of lesson ideas, walked away from my classroom with its incredible views of the Appalachian mountains and solemnly traded my high heels for cute but oh-so-practical Clarks (okay, actually they were Converse back then.  But I’m getting old).   It was a strange, strange transition for me.  I spent that first year at home feeling like I’d left a big ol’ chunk of my…