I’ve lost count of the days I’ve been without my laptop. These days, when the kid leaves for school (because that happens here), she sets a stuffed animal on my notebook (an actual notebook, my faves are marble composition books and I talked them about here.) The stuffed animal is a scruffy looking cat with big eyes which Isla has named after me, and insists is my writing mascot. (Still not as scruffy as this one.) Anyway, the thing is…
Isla’s new trick is to drape herself across the two close together couches in our living room, and kind of just hang out there. ‘This is supposed to be a comfortable yoga pose,’ she says. ‘Is it?’ I ask. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Good. Sit up so you don’t fall and hurt yourself.’ And she does, because I’m her mother, and sometimes she listens to me. She goes back to drawing and shows me her newest masterpiece a little while later. ‘Look, it’s us.’ she says.…
And so, somehow we’ve made it to a full week in the new place. That time where you’re fumbling around, not sure where you are or what day it is. Like the holidays. But with even more junk food, because what’s a vegetable, and how does the oven work? It’s been interesting. And the interestingness started even before we got here. With our loaded up car, and wired kid. We opened the new door, plowed over the threshold. To a…
This post is an update on our move, while simultaneously trying not to talk about the move. Stick with me. I recently read somewhere that the average person moves 11.7 times in their life. That’s a US census thing. Some thoughts: What’s ‘average’? What’s the .7? I suck at numbers, but by my finger counting, this will be my 18th move, and I’m going to share some more moving statistics throughout this post. I’m not being smug. I’m not above…
We spent some time on Saturday throwing axes at the Christmas market. It’s not what you think. Or maybe it is. On Saturday, I’m doing some writing in bed (that happens now), and we’re deciding if we want to get festive. No, really. ‘We should go out. Let’s go out.’ We didn’t go out. We made pancakes, or Neil did. ‘Do we eat breakfast at night now?’ asks Isla. ‘No, it’s just really dark out in the mornings these days.’…
