this is a page for

Browsing Tag: organizing

Onward, with Jazz Hands

The kids have told me that my half-jokey-but-really-I-was-seriousness declaration of “Onward, with joy!” as our family motto is basically the un-coolest thing I have ever done in their entire lifetimes, so just imagine their (implied) glee when our friend David texted me the Latin translation of the phrase, and I thereafter made it a habit to walk around the house shouting, “Puram, et gaudium!” with such abandon at the people who live here you’d think I was trying to gain late access to Hogwarts. I am the coolest. My children have grown over this past year, as children do. Saoirse is now twelve (and a half, she’d want me to add), Quinlan turned ten in the middle of lockdown, and Cian is seven. In approximately three seconds they’ll all be off to college and I’m going to handle it just fine, I swear. But because we have two pre-teens in the house and a little brother who is heavily influenced by said preteens, David and I have rules they beg us to follow now. You already know about the PURAM…

Even Though ‘Starting Small’ and ‘Brain Reprogramming’ Aren’t Exactly Synonymous

If I make just one resolution this new year, I think it’s going to be something like: Make Intentional Use of Time. And also maybe Write Shorter Blog Posts. But one thing at a time. That’s it. It’s all I need: intentional use of time. I’m not talking about adhering to a super-strict schedule. In six years of parenthood I’ve learned that if there’s anything I can count on, it’s going to be that I can’t count on anything, “schedule”-wise. Someone’s bound to wake up with a nightmare the night I’ve decided to set the alarm for five. Some’s probably going to get sick and barf all over herself at the breakfast table on what’s supposed to be the busiest day of the week. Someone else might, oh, I don’t know, partially dislocate his elbow on New Year’s Day and necessitate an eight p.m. trip to the local urgent care center (looking at you, Cian). It’s just…life right now. It is what it…

I Mean It This Time

So, we’re putting the house on the market again, this time for good. David’s had to resort to using either the girls’ room or ours as his office, depending on which has fewer people in it at any given moment, so it’s time. We like our real estate agents, I’m not knocked up, I’m getting more than four hours of sleep at night. No time but the present. No excuses. And, if we sell the darned house before the weather gets warmer, I won’t have a chance to weep the tears of longing into a pool that won’t be ours for much longer. So, to that end: There is a desk chair in my living room. It was in the family room, then the girls’ room, and now has migrated there while we wait for the newly-cleaned carpets to dry. Carpets are disgusting. When that much dirt is pulled out of your carpets, it is entirely possible to hear your grandmother tsp-tsking you from heaven with the hand she’s not using to hold a vodka martini (what kind of liquor…