If we were having coffee, I’d ask how’re you doing? I know it’s been a while. Picture this, on Monday. ‘Isla, get dressed, please.’ ‘I hafta finish my toast.’ Good point, go with that. ‘Isla, get dressed now.’ ‘I hafta finish my juice.’ OK, vitamins. ‘Isla, get dressed.’ ‘Well, your hair is either grey, or the color of poo.’ I got nothin’. ‘Mummy, do penguins have a good sense of smell?’ Survey says: maybe. And so began our morning routine…
So, in my last post, I kinda-sorta-maybe pledged five posts a week this week. Yeah, not so much. For a few reasons: Mustard Sandwiches Isla is off school for two weeks, and she’s in the ‘let’s eat mustard sandwiches’ stage of development. She was very proud of herself when she made her own sandwich on Monday. I kinda freaked out when the only thing she put in there was mustard. I was convinced she’d rip her stomach up and get…
The TV show Friends started before I left New York and ended when I’d been in Scotland for quite a long time. It was my constant in that period of transition, and others. It eased some third-culture issues, and won me some friends with my Janice impression. I’d sit and count the references to Long Island, when I missed it. It saw me through the deaths of my grandparents, the dissolving of the family I came over here for, and…
My Dad and stepmother (not officially or of the evil variety) have moved in while they are um, between houses. I originally planned to write a blog series, a post a day about their stay. That hasn’t worked because I’ve only recently found my way back to the laptop. Isla is back at school today after a long weekend, and when she’s home she still asks me to hang out with her, SO THAT’S WHAT WE DO. And so, today.…
A few years before I met my husband, I wrote A LIST. On it, I noted all of the things I was looking for in a partner, namely my forever partner. I folded up the three pages, put them at the back of my journal. Planned to offer the list to the Moon, and see what happened. Real talk, I ended up offering the list to my washing machine first, transferred from my journal to a sweater with pockets. The…
