Part of the re-vamp of this blog will be me participating more regularly in memes, blog-hops and other social blogging projects that I like/make sense to me/want to share with others. One of those such things is Top Ten Tuesday from The Broke and The Bookish. Today’s list is Resolutions for 2016. I prefer the term goals. Let’s call them goals. See, they’re trees, um, goals. And here they are with nifty categories. Writing Start/continue the journal/letters to Isla and…
And so, I don’t have any excuses for not writing. Except maybe too much furniture blocking the computer. And a toddler. But those are really bad excuses. Because there’s also notebooks. And coffee. And pens. And OK, maybe the pens don’t work. But there’s crayons. Because there’s a toddler. Anyway. The last day of the year makes you think. Mostly about what you’ve done with the other 364 days. There’s been a lot of clapping. And crying. And laughing. And…
And so, I’m sitting in the office. My desk is somewhere between Isla’s crib and one of the bookcases. I kinda like that. Symbolism. Or something. We moved up here with more than 17 boxes of books. Yesterday was spent emptying them into the bookcases. In the old flat, I knew them so well, I almost didn’t see them. Favourites and doorstops, old schoolbooks I can’t part with. Those have been moved to the loft. What I’m looking at now…
And so, I’m sitting here in the kitchen. Today’s the first day out of the box for my computer, Truman Bubbles. If you look beyond the monitor, out the giant window, there’s trees. And thistle. On our first morning here, last Monday, we were serenaded by sheep. We’re not in Edinburgh any more. Isla’s been running up and down the hallway pushing her new walker thing. I’ve already removed the musical panel. The TV is obscured by other boxes. However,…
Welcome to a new blogging series/thing/just because I miss you people where I share snippits of life that happens between feeding Isla and well, feeding Isla. I should preface this one by mentioning that the only people who call our house phone are my parents, my husband-when-he-isn’t-in-the-house, and those annoying recordings-trying-to-sell-double-glazing-to-people-who-rent. And so, this morning, I get a call on the house phone. From my not-so-old midwife. About a baby group. I may have ended the call with ‘Iloveyou, thanks.’…
