Nothing to say.
We've gotten through a bout of strep throat, cellulitis, the stomach flu....or as we call it around here February and March.
There is nothing wrong, things are ticking along, we are doing our share of laughing and grousing and we are always running out the door trying to beat the clock. That's nothing new.
I have friends who are struggling now - marriages in trouble, jobs on the brink, grieving for someone. We've got none of that here. We chug along, like good little engines, grateful for the food in the fridge and the warming weather.
My job has settled into a new high-pitched whine of stress from 8:30 to 2:50, after which I've become pretty adept at forcing myself to let it go. I'm invested when I'm there, I'm present and accounted for, but when I come home, I'm present to my family.
I'm taking more pictures, which makes me sort of giddy. I'm putting together a little portfolio, hoping to be able to have a little side business this summer when school is out. I love meeting new families, and I love the challenge of finding those special sparks between them while I click away. I love the challenge of light and mayhem.
I'm the captain of my Neighborhood Watch. A less intrusive Gladys Kravitz, more interested in keeping the kids and pets and properties safe than making sure there is no witchcraft happening at the house across the street. I didn't want the job, but no one else would take it, so here I am. Someone should do it. Might as well be me.
Joe-Henry got a new bike, and a new helmet. His adorable polkadotted helmet is gone, replaced by a Gary Frank cammo-skull and crossbones affair, more suited to his nine year old badass self. He is excited to play machine pitch baseball again this spring. No, basketball. No baseball. No, BASKETBALL. Sigh, okay, I'll sign you up for basketball. After which he comes in from shooting hoops for five minutes with the kid next door and says "Mom, I've decided to play baseball. Basketball's too hard".
I just feel more like living my life, than writing about it. I'd rather be appreciating the mundane moments, soaking up the gut busting laughter that nine year old boys get when they talk about farting or the word "glockenspiel".
So thanks for stopping by. Sorry I've been absent. Hope you are well! I'm filling my cup, I'll be back when it's overflowing.