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Browsing Tag: writing

This is Just a Giant Paraphrase of “Eye of the Tiger”

  On Thanksgiving I was talking with my Aunt Michelle, an avid, self-published writer, when she said something about the work that took me by surprise: writing is her way to relax. Michelle hustles like nobody’s business, but she cheerfully told me and my mom that she sees writing as her hobby, an activity she turns to as a reprieve from everyday life. She was smiling as she said it. Writing, to my aunt, is absolute joy. As for me? Well, I stood there listening to her while something like gruff shame flooded my body.Writing is her joy. Let me process that for a moment. I have never, ever approached any kind of job with a sustained feeling of joy. Yes, there was the thrill of seeing my name on a masthead when I began working for a big national law book publisher. I loved taking the train into and from the city each day (though I do remember vowing that if I were still taking that same train twenty years from now something had gone very, very wrong). I really enjoyed teaching, too, but the whole truth is that every single morning I would sit…

Because the Mountain Will Always be There

Saoirse was home sick from school today, which meant no basketball practice for her tonight. David was off to Connecticut for work for a couple of days, so I held court at home, getting water and making eggs-in-a-nest and kissing warm foreheads. I snuck in some writing, but today, I did a lot of…sitting. And it was okay.We picked up Quinlan from school later this afternoon, and the ride home along the cold, wet streets was calm. Even Cian was quiet, for the most part, and Quinlan and Saoirse were tucked into the books they keep in the car. Back home, the simplicity continued: homework was out of the way early and kid pajamas were on by four. By 4:30 I’d abandoned plans to cook a chicken soup and placed an order for Panera delivery (one upside to living within walking distance to allllll of the chains). By 5:30, the kids had eaten, dinner had been cleaned up, and we were all under blankets in the living room, with a fire roaring and a candle lit and Ella Enchanted playing on the TV. Like Quinlan said, it was easy to…

I Swear to You I Just Yawned Typing This

Cian woke up yesterday beside me. He was stuffy with a cold and at some point in the middle of the night had crawled in between me and David for some hugs or comfort or the sheer pleasure of lying just so on top of both David and me so that we smothered from his weight, thereby insuring an early advance on the piddly inheritance we’d leave him. He sat straight up–it was 6:15 a.m.–and looked to the sunlight already breaking through the slats of the blinds over the bedroom windows. “Is it moe-ning?” he asked. His voice had a tone of awe to it one would think more aptly used by a person entering a grand cathedral, or seeing the Rockefeller Tree light up at Christmastime. I mumbled that yes indeed, darling, it was in fact the bright, bright, early morning, and I burrowed myself back deeper under the covers. But Cian would not be discouraged. He let out this sort of half-laugh, half-gasp: “I’ve been WAITING for it to be moe-ning!” I love my children. I admire them, and think…