Saturday, March 9



I keep wanting to write but not having the extended time to think of something really coherent. My thoughts seem short and they change often, with undercurrents of dependible routines holding it all together. It's a struggle to keep up with the house, yet when I let it go it overwhelms me with things out of place, dishes to be done, rugs to be vacuumed. I try at least to keep things kind of orderly in Cedar's zone (the bottom of the rooms).

So my life these days is like this. Indigo eats a stinkbug (out of the water bowl, mind you) and then spits it out in disgust but can't stop eating it again. The stars in the black black sky are soft and twinkly. I left Cedar in his scooter in the kitchen while I ran outside to take that photo above which has been on my mind. Tim was technically home but sleeping. Some days I have low energy no matter how healthily I eat and so I have chocolate. I'm not sure if it helps (but doesn't it kind of always?) I get stir-crazy being in the house but can't muster up the gumption to go out. Then when I do I think I ought to do it every day. Today I took Cedar in the Ergo to the lake paths. We hiked and laughed and watched the gulls and found a birds' nest made of grapevine tendrils. I tried to make cinnamon rolls last week but they turned out too dense.

Cedar keeps getting food up his nose and then it turns to cement. I am so glad spring is almost here. The bulbs are poking up in the garden and I realized how much of June and July of last year, when I was pregnant and then post-partum, I spent inside. And I'm looking forward to seeing what the garden does. I have plans for tomatillos and celeriac. I learned to use the electric breast pump and that thing is great. I adore when the mail comes and am kind of devastated that the postal service will soon stop delivering on Saturdays. I order lots from Amazon, everything from teethers to books to coconut water, and I feel kind of guilty about it since Amazon is such a monster.

Sometimes I can't get the wood stove going and the room fills with smoke and I give up. And other times it's magical and hauntingly beautiful and flaming. I yell at the dogs. I lose things. I forget to appreciate what I have. I want a parrot. When Cedar goes down for a nap I stretch my exhausted limbs out on the bed, climb under the covers and join him for an hour's nap, feeling so wonderful.

I devour books and then get ansty when I finish them and am bookless. I know I need to be with other people more but when I get the chance I'd rather stay home. I think I might be potbound. I discover Indigo eating my expensive organic cotton quilt batting and put him outside. I wait for the geranium to bud. I hug the cat who is getting so thin. I walk in the mud. I pick up kindling. I make a fort in the pines.

I wonder about life. About why we are all here. I let go of my to-do list a little. Sometimes I Do Nothing. I have lots of things I need to do: make suet, call the optometrist, bake the squash. I sit in the beanbag chair and meditate. Someone I know sends me two packs of Polaroid 600 film her mother was going to throw out. I confirm the week we are going to spend at the cabin. I give the dogs marrow bones. I see the colors of the sunrise on the bedroom wall.

I drink water. And eat my greens. I wish our house had less in it. I clean the toilets. I take long, long showers while Tim watches Cedar. Wow, my linea nigra is still there. We watch Game of Thrones obsessively after Cedar goes to sleep and we bring our salmon and asparagus dinner in to eat it in front of the show. I keep meaning to go to bed early. I need a decent haircut. Kleenex are awesome. I wish I had more willpower. I love how the light is soft blue when I nurse Cedar to sleep. His hands are the last word in baby hands. Why do they use glue for milk on the fronts of cereal boxes?

On days like these which are really, um, every day, I ask myself what can I do to make this easier? Some small thing usually pushes itself to the front of my mind. And it helps. And tomorrow is another day.

xo Brooke