I'm back. Or I'm planning to come back. Back to writing, that is. I've missed it. And my fella - who is now my husband - has been encouraging me to give it another go. I'll try not to be plagued by questions of purpose and audience and all those other things that tend to derail and defeat me. For now, I'm just going to focus on craft. Crafting good sentences, to tell interesting stories. The name of this blog is, in case you missed it, "One Ordinary Life. So if you're interested in seeing someone else's ordinary, read on. If not, I'm not offended. I trust that you're out living your own life.
But where to begin?
It's been 15 very busy months since last I wrote. In that time, I've gotten married. Learned a ton about being a stepmom. Learned a thing or two about home ownership (and yard work). Become the friendly voice on the phone for a local coffee roaster. Been diagnosed with allergies, asthma, and vocal-chord-disfunction. Learned to really kayak. Decided I want to own a kayak. Pulled ticks off dogs who wandered into the woods. Read some great books. Watched some awful movies. Met some amazing people. It's been a busy year.
I think I'll have to start small, and let the stories of the last year tell themselves as the weeks unfold and I find a rhythm again. Hopefully.
So today... today I'll start by saying...
Dangit Mom!
A long long time ago, when I was a sweet, innocent child, my darling mother did that thing ... that dreaded, awful thing ... she cast the curse of motherhood upon me.
"May you someday have kids who are just like you." Or some sort of moonlight, margarita fueled mumbo jumbo liket hat. I always knew she was a bit witch-y! I just didn't realize how powerful she truly was.
But...last weekend I sent one of my darling girls to do a simple task.
"Put these tissues in the downstairs bathroom - in the basket." (You know, the basket where the extra TP lives).
Do you see what she did? Instead of stacking them neatly on top of (or under) the other tissue box, she shoved them in and wedged the whole basket up against the drawer above.
In doing so, clearly she fractured the universe in some way. Because, you see, now Bamma (my mom) was right. Sheesh.
Bamma has this great story about when I was a kid. We lived in a house with Terrazo floors. I don't know if I spelled that right. It's a southern thing. Basically, picture a granite counter top, as flooring. Anyway, the story she tells is about a time when she asked me to sweep the livingroom.
I was maybe 8 or 9 at the time.
Feeling lazy, and trying to think of a clever way out of doing this chore, I realized I'd never swept such a large area before. So I announced, "I don't know how."
That should have been the end of it, right?
Nope. My mom invented a truly brilliant parenting trope right then and there. Before memes. Before pinterest. She made it up right there, on the spot, as she put the broom in my hand.
"Well, you can't learn any younger."
Sigh.
And now I feel compelled to say the same to my little darlings.
But I will resist. I will resist. I will resist.
Who am I kidding.
Get down here, darling. You clearly have something to learn.
And you can't learn any younger.
"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it." -Proverbs 22:6
