I have literally seven (seven!) blog entries awaiting postage. Seven. Spring, with activity in hyperdrive, is hard on my blogging habit, and having two children may actually finish it off. There are so many things I want to do with the precious time I have when someone doesn’t need me–go running, clean my floors, do my nails, write, sit quietly, sleep–and I get approximately one of them done every two or three days. One or both of my children has been waking up at 5:30 or 6 for the past three weeks, and well, I’m just so not a morning person. Sigh.
It’s Friday night now, which means Jason is playing hockey and I am pretending that Henry is actually asleep (as opposed to calling for me to ask if we touch spiders or request ice in his water) and I have a few moments to myself. For the past month and a half we have sort of been treading water, just maintaining through a period of travel and visitors. And now suddenly we are all home for the foreseeable future, and Henry is three and Lucy is coming up on five months, and the sun is warm and shining. And I am desperate to find a routine and plunge forward into normal life.
For the second night in a row, I went running after dinner tonight. Short–always short, because there is just no time between nursing a baby and making dinner and nursing a baby again–but I’ll take it. I’ll take the 20 minutes all by myself, the fact that my maternity yoga pants finally don’t fit anymore, the escape from the house where we’ve been cooped up with a sick boy for two days. It seemed so easy to fall into a workout routine after Henry was born, but I sure can’t figure it out this time around. So I’m just going to have to learn to run fast.
I finished two books this week. I’ve been reading Jane Austen on my phone while I nurse Lucy, starting with Pride and Prejudice and then Emma, and I just flew through Persuasion. It has been many years, and I’d forgotten what a wonderful protagonist Anne Elliot is and how, well, cleanly it is written. Northanger Abbey is next. The only problem with this plan is that if I stick it out for a year I will eventually have to read Mansfield Park again. Blech. I also finished The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, by Marie Kondo, which was a random impulse buy at Costco. Apparently I am a sucker for advice on simplifying my life. I wish I had the capacity right now to take all of my clothes out of my closet, touch each piece and ask if it sparks joy.
For the past three weeks we have been putting in our garden at an agonizingly slow pace. It is so unfortunately that planting time coincides with our busiest time of the year. Last week we got our second round of seeds in, and I’m pleased with the baby kale, carrots, and beets (new for us!) that have popped up. Not so pleased that nary a bean plant has shown its head. Our weekend plans include an early morning trip to the farmer’s market to buy a rhubarb plant (!!!) and tomato plants, followed by breakfast out…since our little people like to start the day with the sun.
I’ve decided to start bringing my flowers inside this spring. After spending a week at my parents’ house with bouquets of tulips and bundles of lilacs on every table, I realized it would bring me joy to have flowers I grew in my house. I have been waiting for my flower beds to overflow with blooms before I bring them in, but it turns out I’m just not that good a gardener, and I’m just going to have to bring them in one at a time. This week a bright red oriental poppy bloomed out front–first one in maybe four years–and our yellow knockout roses have blossoms all over. I have a pretty cup of chive flowers on my kitchen counter. There is nothing like a hard winter to make spring flowers seem magical.
Okay, that is enough for a Friday night.