Saturday, June 27, 2009


1. I think Marta may be getting sick. She was in a funk all day, and when I put her to bed she said repeatedly, "Nurse, nurse." Huh? We haven't nursed in months. Aren't they supposed to forget that?

2. These past few days of leaving first thing in the morning and staying downtown until naptime are getting to me. Before heading east towards our house, I've been swinging around the streets we love, wondering if we'll ever rent one of those houses while we're building (as is the current plan), and more importantly, if we'll ever, ever, ever sell our house. I noticed someone grabbing an info sheet today, but I think it was the new neighbor who was moving in. Must have wanted to see if she could have gotten a different house for a different price... ? I do love my house, for its durability, for its child-friendliness, for its quiet swingset spot and for the beauty of the yard when dusk is falling and there's just a hint of moisture in the air. I love that when we go for a walk, the kids can run down the street and aren't confined to the sidewalk, and that all the neighbors are out after dinner just saying hello and picking at their lawns. I love the deck, where the girls play in their sand table and water buckets while I make dinner, and I am In Love with our built-ins. But I love being in the middle of the jostling, simple downtown in Petoskey even more. And I love the idea of our dream home, currently residing on blueprints in our closet that Trevor pulls out every couple of days and looks over, and over, and over. I love the garden that's already growing on the land in town, which never gets weeded because Marta doesn't like to stay near me while I try to tend it. My very favorite part of living there, though, is the idea that if I want to be anywhere, I can walk there.

3. Trevor is coming home in a few hours, and while I'm looking forward to seeing him, I always get mixed feelings just before he arrives. Of course I miss him while he's gone and am always happy to see him again, but I really like being alone sometimes. While growing up, whenever my mom and sister would leave for a weekend my dad and I would say our farewells to them, nod to each other and I would go upstairs, he downstairs, not to reappear until my mom and sister came home. I just like the quiet, I think. I'm pretty sure this sometimes gets to some of my friends, who are phone talkers. I don't know if it's my tendency toward the written word, so that I would rather blog or e-mail about life, but I very rarely jump on the phone to call a girlfriend. In fact, I really only call my sister, who is a little bit like just another part of my brain, so talking to her is, in a way, talking to myself, and girlfriends when I make a pointed effort to remember that I should. Isn't that lame? Isn't talking on the phone part of being a girl? It's not that I don't enjoy chatting with friends; when they call me I'm always surprised that we haven't talked in awhile, and am so glad they made the move to call. I guess it never really occurs to me in my day-to-day routine.

So anyway, there's that. My lameness in phone talking and husband welcoming, revealed.

4. I have come to the conclusion that having one child is difficult. Having one toddler and one newborn is harder. And having one toddler and one preschooler is easy compared to the first two. With Berit gone these past two days, Marta and I have had a lovely time just playing. The house has stayed relatively clean, I haven't cooked a lick and there haven't been any scheduling issues. But. The. Days. Last. Forever. I don't know what the heck to do, and Marta doesn't have her sister to play with. We've been upstairs, downstairs, up-upstairs, in my room, on the deck, on the porch, in the lawn, in the garage, on the swingset, downtown, shopping, blah blah blah. And when I look at the clock, it's STILL only 2:30, or something very, very far away from bedtime. So even though having two active kids is often rushed and harried and a whole lot messier, the days are more productive and enjoyable.

5. My neighbor stopped over today, to chat a few minutes on the front porch. I think he felt obligated to, since I bring his dog over to my house every day and left him cookies last night. So when he knocked on the door I was in black stretchy pants, was vacuuming like a maniac (because when am I not cleaning my floors, truly?) and had a tiny little sweaty area right between my boobs, which were totally visible in my "I don't plan on seeing anyone right now" t-shirt. He's a couple of years younger than me, unmarried, a complete bachelor and, I'm pretty sure, fairly "cool." His conversation centered on the sandy lawns we have and I talked too fast, too much, because of the whole t-shirt thing and the fact that I was trying to chase my child, my dog and HIS dog around my entry way, keeping bugs out but the appropriate creatures in. I think any coolness I may have possessed in his mind is gone, which is probably a good thing since I'm not sure I could live up to it for long, anyway.

And those are the things I've been thinking about all day. Please refer to my earlier comment regarding lameness.

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